by Ronie Kendig
“Fault?” His hopes detonated against the single word.
Cupping his face and rising on her tiptoes, she planted a kiss on his lips again.
“I—I don’t understand.”
Sorrow lined her pretty, tearstained face. “I don’t either, Trace. I’ve wanted you, missed you, for the last five years.”
The warhead filled with her meaning struck him center mass. “Sam.”
“Yes…no…” Annie gave a confused shrug. “I don’t…know.”
Trace snorted and pinched the bridge of his nose. At the rate he was going, he was primed to lose the hearing and his career. He’d now lost Annie. Zulu would probably be next.
“What you did to me—”
“Was to protect you.”
“What you did—” defiance blazed in her blue eyes “—devastated me. I—”
Two raps on the door pushed Trace’s gaze to the door then to the half-windowed walls. The bunker was lit but not bustling. He could only pray nobody saw them. He considered her again but saw the distance in her expression, in her posture. “Enter.” This conversation was over anyway. And so was their relationship.
Nuala gently opened the door, her face crimson.
So, she’d seen. Had anyone else? His gaze skidded around the main hub. Houston had his nose in a monitor, but his head hung lower than normal. Avoiding my gaze? “Hey, Noodle. What’s up?”
Annie always hated the way he could sound normal and unaffected after one of their liaisons got interrupted. She was already moving around the table and out the door as Nuala came farther in. “Um, Boone called.”
Trace glanced at his watch, his mental gears quickly shifting.
“Keeley’s on life support. He’s not coming back tonight. He asked if you—”
“I’ll stay.” In his periphery, he noted Annie head off the dais and toward the back of the bunker. Back to Sam.
Nuala nodded but didn’t leave.
“Anything else?” He wanted to be alone with his thoughts and the realization that he had lost Annie for good. He’d let himself believe he could win her back. Convince her about his justifications for his actions. If Sam hadn’t been in the picture, would he have succeeded? She sure hadn’t held back on that kiss.
Make out with me then run back to the Squid. Nice.
“I… I think Boone has been pretty distracted.”
Trace cleared his mind, automatically defensive of his buddy. “Shay is dying. It’s expected.”
“Yes…” Nuala wrung her fingers. Twisted her ankles.
The girl had killer instincts. It’s what made her a fantastic soldier and a top-notch sniper. “What?”
“I think he missed some things while worrying about Keeley.”
“Like?”
She chewed the inside of her lower lip. “Look. He’s a smart man. He doesn’t miss things. I’m not accusing him. It’s just a concern—well, more a feeling…maybe I’m imagining things—”
“Just say it. I trust you.”
Noodle bobbed her head. “Right. Okay, I’m just having misgivings about our guests.”
“The Squid?”
“No, the Lorings.”
He wouldn’t exactly call them guests. “They’re assets, Nuala.”
“They’re perfect assets.”
“Yes.”
“No,” she said, her blue eyes bright beneath her dark bangs. “I mean, maybe too perfect. Have you watched them? I’ve seen a lot of married couples, but they…” She shrugged, stuffing her hands in her jeans pockets. “I don’t know, sir. I just think something’s off.”
“Excuse us,” came a firm, masculine voice.
In the doorway stood Carl and Sharlene Loring.
Nuala’s shock was palpable.
“Noted.” Trace didn’t need suspicions cast on the one good thing that had happened to them—the Lorings. But he couldn’t shirk off Nuala’s instinct. She’d never been wrong. But General Solomon had given the intel about them. At the same time, the two people standing in the doorway did seem awfully convenient. Hadn’t they provided the straw that broke the back of the camel sitting on Trace’s life? “Thank you,” he said to Nuala, dismissing her. Giving her a chance to escape the awkward situation.
The Lorings came in farther. “We wanted to ask if it was possible for us to find a place to live. This place is safe, but the children are cut off from everything.”
I thought they’d want to live, Trace couldn’t help but think.
“Really,” Sharlene said, looking demure. “The children need fresh air. They need friends.”
“I thought they needed shelter and safety.” Priorities seemed to have shifted. “In Greece—did they have fresh air and friends in the slums?”
“I know you don’t have children, so it might be hard to understand, but if you can make it happen, we’d like to move to a safe house.” Carl Loring reached across and held his wife’s hand. “A real one.”
Trace hated that his suspicions were now aroused because he suddenly noted several things that could be nothing. Or could be everything. Maybe it was better to get them out of here.
“We know you’re under a lot of stress,” Sharlene put in. “What with the people here, Berg Ballenger hunt, and the hearing. Really, letting us go would be one less stressor for you.”
With a nod, Trace said, “True.” That’d be true if he suddenly believed Nuala’s theory. “Done. I’ll have Houston get to work on transferring you.”
Carl smiled and Sharlene gushed, but Trace blocked it out. Would anything else come tumbling down on him? He stalked out of the briefing room after them and spotted Téya. “A word?”
She came closer.
“Let’s not talk missions around the Lorings,” he said, his gaze tracking the family who returned to the back of the bunker.
“I haven’t.”
He snapped his gaze to hers. “The hearing.”
“Not a word,” Téya said, crisscrossing her chest with her finger. “Scout’s honor.”
If Téya hadn’t told them about the hearing, who had? Boone? No way. He knew better than to discuss anything with them. Especially about the hearing.
So the question remained: How did the Lorings know about the hearing?
Téya
9 June – 0710 Hours
Dulles International Airport
Waiting at a private airstrip abutting Dulles International Airport provided ample opportunity for doubts to breed on the fertile soil of fear. Rubbing her knuckles as they waited for the Leer jet, Téya reminded herself that she couldn’t trust The Turk. Which meant this was probably a trap. But she had to take one for the team, for Trace and for Zulu.
What if I die on this mission?
She’d asked that on every deployment, but this was different. This had her deliberately walking into a booby-trapped mission.
“This is insane,” Nuala hissed as she sidled up to her in front of the bank of windows overlooking the airstrip. “You realize this is probably a trap.”
Of course it was a trap. Why else would The Turk’s people ask her to break into a facility when they clearly had the skill, manpower, and know-how to become a notorious organization? If they could find out about her past, a record that Houston confirmed did not exist in her permanent file…then why her?
“You realize they’re probably going to try to kill you.”
There are easier ways to kill me.
Nuala’s frantic pacing rubbed the raw edges of Téya’s nerves. “No. No, they won’t kill you. There are easier ways to get rid of you—a Remington 700 among them.”
“Plane just landed,” Rusty Gray said as he came toward them.
“It’s nice to work with you again.” Téya smiled at the former Special Forces operator. “Surprised Boone convinced you.”
“They’re paying me well.” Rusty lifted a rucksack from a vinyl chair. “Ready?”
They were paying him. But not well. Rusty was here because Boone wouldn’t leave Keeley’s side, and mos
t likely, Rusty offered to come in Boone’s place. “You’re a good man, Rusty Gray.”
The guy had a Stephen Amell look happening that totally worked for him, especially with the brooding soldier attitude. Hoisting the ruck onto his shoulder, he started for the door. “Let’s go.”
She followed him across the tarmac and up into the belly of the Leer. He hesitated just inside the door, and Téya saw why. Two of the six seats were already occupied. Behind her, she felt Nuala crowding to get a view.
“Have a seat, Mr. Gray,” said the woman wearing a hijab.
Beside her sat a man in an untucked, pin-striped button-down shirt and skinny jeans. He grinned unabashedly at them. His dark brown eyes met hers. “Let’s get this party started, Miss Reiker.”
Did they have a choice? They’d already stepped inside, not only in the jet, but in the trap. They’d had it set, fully coiled, and now they’d sprung it.
Téya restrained the sigh that wanted to escape, grateful when Rusty moved past them and let Téya find a seat. Was it intentional on Rusty’s part that he took the aisle seat, leaving her and Nuala by the windows? Protected. As if seat position alone could guarantee that.
No, Téya was quite aware that she had been at the mercy of The Turk’s organization since the Roma slums. Maybe even before. They had her ticket, her entire life’s itinerary planned. She was merely the pawn.
“I do not like this,” Nuala whispered loudly.
Rusty said nothing. Neither did Téya. She wanted to sleep. Wanted to be unconscious so she didn’t spend the next umpteen hours stressing over which would be her last. When they’d decide they’d had enough fun and kill her.
For Trace. For Zulu. She’d do this for them.
What guarantee did she have that they would make good on their promise to write that Get Out of Jail Free card for Trace?
None. I just have to believe they will. He’d done so much for Zulu, for each team member, sacrificing years to protect them. Attempting this was the least she could do, especially in light of the fact that someone was trying to take him down again.
Téya buckled in, pressed her head against the rest, and closed her eyes. Somehow, she dozed off quickly until a steady drone of quiet conversation lured her out of sleep’s strong grip.
“… yes, but without a cold zero, you can’t be sure of the trajectory,” Nuala was saying.
Opposite her, the gregarious guy was angled toward Nuala, chatting. He shifted toward Téya and his eyes widened. “Ah, you’re awake.”
Straightening in her seat, she rubbed the back of her neck, eyeing the two of them. How long had she slept? “Where’s Rusty?”
“Went to the loo,” the man said. He then laughed. “And no, I’m not British. I think that’s just a better word than saying toilet.”
Téya crossed her legs and tucked her hands there, hating the chill that seeped through the artificially cooled and oxygenated cabin. Hating that she had no idea who this man was or why he was with them.
Nuala rolled her eyes, careful to make sure the man didn’t see her as she shifted toward the window.
“I’m afraid I’ve chatted her ears clean off,” the man said. He was way too happy. Way too chatty. “I’m sure she’s glad you woke up so she doesn’t have to talk to me anymore.”
Téya would not let him dictate their feelings or situations. “Why aren’t you going after your master?”
“It’s far more fun to have you do it,” he said. Then laughed again. “I’m not going to risk my life breaking into a facility like that.”
“Like what?”
The man gave her a knowing but superior look. “No doubt you did research on the Impossible Fortress before you boarded this jet.”
She held his gaze but did not affirm his supposition, even though he was right. Of course they researched it. Who wouldn’t do their homework on a mission like this?
“What your research didn’t tell you, I’m sure, is that the Impossible Fortress has been an underground base for a group known as Red Wing.”
Téya’s nerves tightened. Red Wing. Jessie had that on her data wall.
“Yes,” the man said with quiet confidence. “You’ve heard that name, haven’t you?” When she didn’t answer, he scooted forward in his seat, elbows on his knees. “I can see why he let you live. You have a will of iron and a spine of steel. Do not be afraid that you will be giving away secrets, Miss Reiker. I know that you have an information wall that bears the words Red Wing. I know it has come up before.”
“Telling me things like that does nothing for breeding confidence.”
He chuckled then accepted a snifter of amber liquid the flight attendant handed him. He tossed back a swallow and leaned into the leather seat. “I do not seek to breed confidence. It is understandable that you do not trust us.” He shrugged, looking over his shoulder at the woman, who worked on a laptop, her small lips and stern brow giving her a severe aura. Or maybe that was just the woman herself. He slumped back against the chair, slouching slightly, as he lifted the snifter. “We do not need your trust. Only your raw skill.”
“For what? You have everything you need. Your organization is well known—”
“No.” His lighthearted, annoying attitude diminished as he came forward again. Ferocity filled his brown eyes. “No, that is where you are wrong. We do not have everything we need.” Then a one-shouldered shrug as he tipped his snifter toward her. “Unless you are speaking of yourself in that context.” His arms went wide. “For this mission, the vital, integral aspect is singular. It’s you. There is no one on this planet with the experience you have.”
“I was seventeen. I snuck in, blindly following nothing but luck.”
“No.” He shook his head with a laugh. “You are wrong again. It was not luck, Miss Reiker, but instinct. And we need those instincts.”
“Have you tried already to get in?” Nuala asked. “Is that why you’re coming to Téya now? Because you tried and failed?”
A soft noise came from the woman who sat up one seating group. She was shaking her head gently, and while she never joined the conversation or looked over at them, Téya knew that the theory Nuala put forward, while sound, wasn’t what was happening here.
“Good, Miss King,” he said. “You are considering everything. That will serve you well.” His gaze returned to Téya, and though he’d given Nuala a nod of encouragement over her idea, his gaze now was filled with…derision.
Annoyance.
Rusty dropped hard into the chair beside Téya, the leather hissing loudly as he adjusted.
The noisy intrusion had been intentional on his part. “Trying to steal national secrets, Nesim?”
“Nesim?” Téya repeated. But the man in the garage was named Nesim.
The chatty operative gave her a nod and lifted his snifter to her. “At your service, Miss Reiker.”
“How many people are named Nesim?”
He grinned. “She’s not,” he said pointing to the stern-faced woman, then pushed out of his seat and returned to his compatriot.
“Why exactly are we going to this place?” Rusty asked, folding his arms over his chest.
“Because they want us to.” For whatever reason, she didn’t know. But they were going. She just prayed they’d come out of it alive.
Téya
Frankfurt, Germany
9 June – 2215 Hours
Tucked in a van two miles from the bottom of the cliff-like setting, Téya had donned a black tek-insulated jacket and jeans. In her hand, she held a hood that would conceal her identity, as the initial recon of the fortress showed an incredible increase in the number of security cameras.
“Houston, you up?” Rusty asked as he accessed remote feeds.
“Copy that,” Houston said, his voice tickling in the tiny wire planted just inside her ear canal. Tiny enough to work but not to be seen. “I’ll be with you the whole time, lucky duckling.”
Téya rolled her eyes. “Guessing Nesim was right,” Téya muttered, watching
as the small drone camera zoomed in and zipped up the cliff.
“What’s that?” Rusty asked as he manned the drone and recorded it on the small laptop he’d brought, compliments of Houston.
“He said the fortress was an underground base for some group.”
“Red Wing,” Nuala put in.
Téya nodded. Memories of this place were as dark and forbidding as the ominous image streaming through the live feed. Little vegetation aside from the small shoots that jutted out of the rocks. Almost no grass. Her mind skipped to the cemetery a mile north of the fortress. That’s where everyone hung out. Partied. Did other things teens shouldn’t be doing but thrived on because it drove parents insane and made the teens feel invincible.
At least a hundred feet, almost straight up. She’d never been daunted by heights and it wasn’t the height that bothered her. It was what lay at the top. The Turk. Was he really up there? She had more than an inkling of doubt.
He couldn’t want to capture her—too elaborate of a ruse. No, she had a distinct feeling he wanted her here for a reason. Not Annie. Not Nuala. Her. Téya Reiker.
And it still rattled her cage—how had he known she’d broken in here?
A light rap against the van’s hull came, and Téya knew she had no more time to think through it all. It was time.
The rear door opened and Rusty stiffened. Darkness swallowed the man who stood there, dressed in black from head to toe. Nesim II, she nicknamed him. The late hour made him appear larger and more ominous than he really was.
He wagged his fingers at her, motioning her from the van.
Rusty hopped out, crowding into Nesim’s space as he whispered something. Nesim patted Rusty’s chest and gave him a thumbs-up. “Ready?” he asked Téya as she stepped into the night. They jogged to the base of the incline. It was her responsibility to lead Nesim inside and help him get back out alive.
But things had changed. Like the electric fence that had replaced the aged, holey chain-link fence she’d crawled through as a teen.
Nesim had come prepared. He crouched at the fence and shifted a small box around in front of him. He connected something to the fence. After a small hiss of electricity, he started cutting up the fence, one piece at a time.