Operation Zulu Redemption--Complete Season 1

by Ronie Kendig

  Boone thrust his jaw toward the door. “Exactly. Go.”

  The trip took forty-five minutes, delivering her to a business park in Reston and into the empty parking lot of a building still under construction. Uncertainty chugged through her as she parked then climbed out. Glancing around, Téya had a nauseating feeling. Phone in hand, she dialed the bunker.

  But a text came through before she could finish.

  Third floor.

  Téya repeated the words of the text in a mutter then glanced up at the building. “Right,” she whispered and started for the stairs she spied already completed and tucked into one of the main corner supports. Gypsum board, nails, and chunks of wood littered the stairs. As she stepped onto level three, she found a wide open space as big as a Super Walmart. In the opposite corner, Trace sat against a cement barrier. Beside him stood a man. Holding a weapon.

  Téya’s hackles went up as she closed the distance between them. She mentally cursed herself for not being more thorough, for not demanding Boone give her a weapon. But she hadn’t expected trouble. The guy wasn’t holding the weapon on Trace, but it was clear Trace was annoyed. Yet… Trace had the know-how to take down this attacker.

  She thought of Boone’s expression. His terse behavior. He knew. Boone knew something was wrong.

  Lifting his eyes, Trace met her gaze. There was so much in that simple move. His head didn’t move. His body didn’t. Just his eyes. Crowded with wariness. With determination. They were in this together. Somehow.

  Téya had fighting skills. So did Trace. He hadn’t used his. So she wouldn’t use hers. She’d wait. Threading her fingers, she came to a stop a yard in front of Trace and the man.

  “Your hands,” the man demanded, his words thickened by an accent she couldn’t quite determine.

  My hands? What did he want with her hands? She gave Trace a look and he responded with an imperceptible nod.

  “Your hands!” the man shouted now.

  Lifting her hands up, she offered them to him, palms up.

  He stomped forward, the gun aimed at Trace as he did, a move that pulled Téya up straight, but she saw Trace out of the corner of her eyes give a quick nod.

  Scowling, he gripped her left hand and flipped it over. The scowl in his dark features dug deeper as he met her gaze fiercely. Then turned over her other hand. His thumb swiped over the burn mark and the scowl washed away. He smiled and gave a breathy laugh as he stepped back. “Forgive me.” He bent his torso toward her.

  Did he just bow to me?

  “I had to be certain,” he said as he offered another quasi-bow then holstered the weapon at his hip. He motioned Trace closer. “You may call me Nesim.”

  “Why would we call you anything?” Téya finally asked, her disbelief thick in her words.

  “It would help since you are going to work with me.”

  Trace hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t smiled. Laughed. Nothing.

  “Sorry, I don’t work for you,” she said.

  “That mark says you work with me,” he countered, tugging down the corner of his shirt. There on his collarbone was a tattoo of the star-crescent. “He marked you.”

  Téya folded her arms over her chest, effectively hiding the brand The Turk had given her.

  “What do you want, Nesim?” Trace asked. “You’ve gone through a lot of trouble, breaking into my car, bringing me here, having me call her out. You have snipers watching us.”

  Fear scraped Téya’s courage, ordering her to search her surroundings. But she couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

  “What do you need?” Trace asked.

  “I need Téya to come with me.”

  “No way—”

  “For what?” Trace asked at the same time she refused.

  “To find Majid Badem.”

  Her mind bungeed. “Who is that?” She slapped her hair away from her face. “You know what? Never mind. I don’t care. I am not helping you.”

  Nesim’s confidence never wavered. “But you will, Miss Reiker.”

  “Yeah,” she said, her gaze bouncing from Nesim to Trace—why wasn’t he saying anything? “Why would I do that?”

  “Unmöglich Festung.”

  Warm dread spilled down her spine. She knew with those two simple words, this man had her. She’d do whatever he wanted.

  Téya

  Reston, Virginia

  8 June – 1900 Hours

  “How do you know about that?” Téya’s mouth went dry, painful buried memories from the past roaring to the present. “Nobody knows about that.” She tried to swallow. Tried to ignore the probing look from Trace.

  “It is not important—”

  “It is important!” Téya’s heart hammered. “That…that was buried. Erased from records.” From my life.

  “What’s it mean?” Question low and even, Trace locked gazes with her.

  She couldn’t breathe. No, no. She couldn’t go back there. Back to her stupid teenage years when she sought affirmation over conviction. Acceptance over morality. Téya turned away and paced, holding her stomach, willing the contents of her breakfast to stay there. They promised. Vowed it’d be redacted.

  Panic clawed at her, threatened her with tears. Tears! She hadn’t cried in she didn’t know how long. She’d survived on adrenaline. On being tough.

  She jerked to Nesim. “You can’t know about that. They erased every trace of it.”

  “Not every,” he said with a smirk. “We are good at finding what cannot be found, what does not want to be found. Would you like to tell your colonel what we know? Or shall I?”

  “Téya.” Trace’s tone warned her he wasn’t going to be patient much longer.

  She whipped back to him, angry. But not at him. At this man—Nesim, who’d thrown this massive curveball into her life. Oh that the heavens would open and suck her out of this miserable existence. She just wanted to go back to Bleak Pond. Back to the simplicity of just being David Augsburger’s love interest.

  “You don’t need to know this,” Téya said, the growl in her voice evidence of her panic, of her need to protect the one thing she’d never told anyone about. “What does this have to do with anything?”

  Nesim’s smile only became more sinister. “Trust me—you do not want me to go forward without your explaining a few things to your colonel.”

  “Téya,” Trace said, coming closer and lowering his tone and head. “The analyst who’s been coming after us—he can help us stop her.”

  Téya struggled to keep back the tears. Fought the bouncing of her chin. The weakening of her defenses. “I promised I’d never talk about it. I sold my soul to make it go away, Trace.” Tears blurring her vision, she shook her head. “If I open this can…”

  He touched her shoulder. “It stays here, between us. He already knows. I need to know. Nesim said it’s directly connected to why he’s here.”

  Gaze down, Téya nodded. The silence in the unfinished building gaped at her. Téya surrendered. She had to. “I was seventeen, living in Germany with my mom and stepfather, who was in the Air Force. There was this base built into the side of the mountain near our neighborhood. The teens hung out on the mountain, having drinking parties and…other things. It was like this challenge between the guys to try to sneak onto the base. We called it Unmöglich Festung—the Impossible Fortress—because it was impossible to get into. It’d been a Nazi stronghold or something.” Téya shook her head. “This new guy showed up at school. I was stupid and wanted him to like me. He dared me to break into the facility.”

  “So you did.”

  Téya swallowed. “Kids had tried it for years. I was the only one who succeeded.” Telling this story was like standing before a tidal wave and trying to hold it back with her bare hands. “What I didn’t know was one of the other girls had followed me.” She’d never forget… “She triggered the alarm. The authorities came. She panicked and ran.” Oh man, the guilt… “It gave me the chance to escape. I took it. She was arrested and ratted me out.”

  “That�
�s it?”

  Téya lifted her gaze to his finally. “The new guy and I hooked up, and the girl…she was a lot like Nuala. Getting caught and arrested shattered her pristine record and reputation. She’d only done it for the new guy, trying to get his attention. She hated it because he liked me. To her, I had it all—broke into the facility. Got away. Got the guy. She committed suicide a few days later.”

  Trace winced. “How’d they make it go away? What was the deal?”

  “My stepfather was base commander,” Téya said. “He made a deal to keep my name out of it if I’d agree to return to the States and never mention it. My mom and stepfather were more than glad to send me back to my grandparents, but I only lasted a summer as an Amish teen. I went to live with my dad’s parents then.”

  Trace acknowledged the story with a nod. Or maybe he was nodding because he understood her parents didn’t want her around. But it felt more like a nod indicating he wasn’t convinced she told him everything. Which would be smart of him. Because she hadn’t.

  He pivoted to Nesim. “What do you want with her?”

  “We need her to go to the Impossible Fortress.”

  Stomach churning, Téya shook her head. “No way.”

  “You will if you want to help your colonel walk away clean from the hearing.”

  Trace cringed. Jaw muscle popping, he flared his nostrils.

  “What hearing?”

  “Never mind,” Trace said.

  “You have no idea what I’m being asked to sacrifice, and you’re going to withhold information from me?” A hint of a shriek infected her words. “And Zulu, obviously, if this is a congressional hearing.”

  “They’re investigating Misrata again, threatening to strip me of rank and career. It’s not going to happen.”

  Téya widened her eyes. “How can you know that?”

  “Because they don’t have the evidence needed, and if you help Nesim get this Badem back, they will give me information that will silence this forever.”

  “What on earth makes you think you can trust him?”

  “The same thing that has him here, trusting us—experience and reputation.”

  “What reputation?”

  “Majid Badem’s.”

  “Who?”

  Trace took her hand. Held it up. “The Turk.”

  Brandishing a photo, Nesim smiled at her.

  Téya’s worlds collided—Majid Badem was The Turk. “No…” Slowly, she shook her head. Then more fervently. “No way. I am not having anything do with him.”

  Like a flash, Trace stepped between her and Nesim. “Téya, think about it.”

  “No. He tried to kill me! Beat me to a pulp. Then tried to get others to kill me.”

  “Majid was testing you,” Nesim said.

  “All the more reason to say no.” Téya backed up. Wanted to sprint back to the sedan and race back to the bunker. The foolishness of that desire wasn’t lost on her, but she didn’t care. “He’s a killer!”

  “According to your own testimony,” Nesim said, “so are you.”

  “How did they not bring charges about the girl at the fortress?” Trace just had to ask. It didn’t surprise her that he hadn’t missed that.

  “That girl was my half sister.” Téya put a hand to her forehead, hating how this afternoon had turned against her. “This doesn’t make sense. You’re marked by him, but you want to find and kill him? And you want me to help you—because of something I did when I was seventeen, you think I’ll help you kill him?”

  He laughed. A long, belly-jiggling laugh, though the man had solid abs if his biceps were any clue. “Not kill him. Rescue him.”

  Téya stepped back. Memories of how the Turk had chased her in Paris. Beat her crazy. Threatened to kill her. Burned her hand. Now it was her turn to laugh. And she couldn’t help it, but she did. “You really think I’d do this, just because he burned my hand and dug into my past? Sorry. It’s not happening.”

  “We did not want you to go, only to train one of our assets,” Nesim said.

  “Train? For what?”

  “How to get into the Impossible Fortress.”

  “I can’t.”

  “You must!”

  “I can’t,” she ground out, relieved that this mission wouldn’t happen. “I did it at night. It was so dark on the mountain, I might as well have had my eyes closed.” She hugged herself. “Getting in was blind luck.”

  “For your sake, I hope not. And for your commander.”

  Holding her arm, Trace tugged her aside. “You do not have to do this, Téya.”

  He could tell what this was doing to her, couldn’t he? The terror it struck at the core of her being. “Isn’t it the least bit suspect that The Turk needs my help?”

  “It’s completely suspect.”

  “Why would they come to me?”

  “I can’t answer that.”

  “But you have ideas.”

  “Too many and too violent to sort through. Which is why I’m telling you, we can walk away.”

  “I can walk away from this,” she said, holding his intense green-eyed gaze, “but then you can’t walk away from the hearing.”

  “They don’t have proof because it doesn’t exist.”

  “But you and I know they can twist the truth into some perverted angle to make you look guilty.”

  “Guilty as sin,” he said with a nod. “But that’s not yours to worry about.”

  “Baloney! You’re my commander. If you get removed, if you get arrested, where does that leave Zulu?”

  Trace hesitated for a second. “Don’t borrow trouble. If anything happened to me, Boone would take over.”

  “I adore the big guy,” Téya said. “But he’s not you. And if I have a chance to make sure you walk away with your integrity intact, then I need to do that. You’ve protected us for the last five years. We need resolution, and we can’t get that with you behind bars.”

  Trace

  Lucketts, Virginia

  8 June – 2020 Hours

  “Rough day?”

  Trace glanced over his shoulder from where he leaned against the table in the briefing room. Slipping into the room, Annie looked as frazzled as he felt. The sight of her beautiful face and caring eyes shifted something in him. Something he’d locked away five years ago.

  And it needs to stay there, Weston. She’s not yours anymore.

  “How’s Sam?” Trace forced himself to ask the question. To get Sam on the table, figuratively, so there would be no mistaking what they were to each other—coworkers.

  “Weak and in pain. He’s resting.” Annie came around to the far corner where he waited. She stood a half-dozen inches shorter than him, but as far as he’d always been concerned, she was perfect. Perfect height. Perfect everything. “You okay, Trace?”

  She had to go all soft on him with that question, didn’t she?

  “Yeah. Fine.” He straightened and turned, facing the door.

  Her smile brightened those blue eyes he loved. “You’re a bad liar, Trace Weston.”

  “Only when it’s you,” he said, but immediately regretted it. That was stepping into territory he had no business being in.

  “What’s going on?”

  Trace sighed. Talking would be better than thinking about what he wanted—to kiss her. Kiss her and forget everything crashing around him. “A lot of stress. Trying to sort through the chaos and determine the best course of action.”

  “That sounds a lot like, ‘It’s classified and I can’t tell you.’ Close?”

  Trace shook his head and looked away. He couldn’t tell her about Téya and The Turk, and he didn’t want her worrying about the hearing. The weight of responsibility in protecting Zulu was almost too much for him. But the ache that hurt the worst was standing right in front of him. In his effort to protect her, he’d crushed her and any hope of a “them” ever happening again.

  “Hey,” Annie said, touching his face.

  Trace felt the remnants of his resistance crumbl
ing and stiffened. Caught her hand to keep the tempest at bay. “Annie…”

  Only a few inches away, she frowned. “I’ve never seen you like this.”

  She was here. Right here. He could wrap her in his arms and kiss her. But she didn’t belong to him anymore.

  But there was this crazy voice in his head that pointed out she was in here with him and not with Sam. Did that mean something? His hand slid onto her waist and he straightened. But still couldn’t bring himself to look at her. To peer into those eyes and see the rejection he anticipated. Then he finally did.

  And what he saw…it wasn’t rejection.

  Confusion. Uncertainty.

  She’d been the most precious and fragile step he’d ever taken. Did she know that? Did she know what she meant to him? Trace caressed her cheek, testing her reaction. When her eyes half slid closed and her lips parted, he slipped his hand around to the back of her neck, which was warm from her hair.

  Annie wet her lips.

  An invitation to kiss her? Trace eased in, slowly, afraid to scare her off. Anticipating the moment she’d pull away or shove him back. Each second without that rejection heightened the pull of the kiss he desperately wanted.

  She took in a breath, frozen in the same anticipation he felt.

  Trace captured her mouth with his. Her lips were soft beneath his, supple. Willing. Though he wanted to pull her closer, deepen the kiss, he knew this was treacherous ground. Any minute, she’d break off.

  But she didn’t. When her hands pressed against his chest, Trace surrendered. Tugged her closer, held her firmly against him. Her little moan of satisfaction pushed him to deepen the kiss. One she returned and leaned into. To have her back in his arms—

  Salt mingled with the sweetness.

  Salt?

  That word triggered awareness. Her shuddering. Her heaving chest. Trace drew back, startled to see a tear slip down her cheek. Heart racing and passion still roaring, he shifted his gaze to her eyes. “Hey…”

  Shaking her head, she pressed her gaze down. Rested her forehead against his chest as her fingers coiled into his shirt.

  Trace encircled her with his arms. Held her as she cried. What have I done? “Annie—”

  “No,” she said, straightening and stepped back. Out of his touch. “This is my fault.”