by Mary Alford
“Mark, are you so sure that he’s really gone?” For the life of me, I wasn’t sure why I’d said those things aloud. Looking around, the reaction of the group was easy to read. They thought I was delusional.
Mark took his time answering. “I know how you felt about him, Lena, but you have to face the truth. He is gone.” He hesitated before adding, “And even if Roc hadn’t died, he wasn’t coming back. Why do you think he sold the house and cleared out everything he owned? He wasn’t planning to come back.”
I felt as if someone had slugged me hard in the gut. “What are you talking about? Roc wouldn’t sell the house without discussing it with me first.”
“Sorry, Lena, I didn’t want to tell you like this, not in front of everyone. But Roc had been talking about taking this assignment for a while. For months, in fact. He missed the intrigue and he knew The Agency would be safe without him. He wanted something more challenging.”
“Then why didn’t he tell me himself?” I challenged.
As I looked into Mark’s eyes, I saw the answer to that already. Against my will, I remembered all those times in the past when Roc had tried to talk to me about his feelings but I’d been too wrapped up in what I wanted from life, from our marriage, from him, even to listen. I’d been so blinded by my own demons that I hadn’t seen his. It was then that I realized just how much I must have hurt Roc.
Oh, Roc…I’m so sorry.
“Why don’t we just get on with the business at hand?” Mark said and couldn’t meet my eyes.
I didn’t hear another word said that night. I barely managed to keep it together until the meeting ended. Everyone in the group seemed to avoid me. I’d become an outcast among my own people.
That night, I did some serious praying and soul-searching. I was history with The Agency. I couldn’t do this anymore. I couldn’t even pretend. I believed God had a different plan for my life. I just had to trust him to guide me.
Before I lost my nerve, I sat down at my computer and type a note to Mark letting him know I was done. It was time to focus on my child. I had a chance for a normal life again and I had to take it. I’d find a job wherever I decided to call home. With God’s help, I was convinced I could put The Agency and all the things it stood for behind me until it was proven to me in no uncertain terms—you can never really leave The Agency.
Chapter Seven
Because I desperately needed to know what happened to Roc before his death, I’d just begun making very discreet inquiries when I received the call that propelled me back into the dark world I was trying to escape, and had me believing Roc might still be alive and possibly hurt somewhere, trying to reach out to me. But if so, who was the man in the photo?
The call came from an unknown disposable cell number. The background noise was so loud that the voice came through almost undistinguishable. I could only make out one word.
Anchor.
“Who is this?” When the caller spoke, the words were garbled. “Roc?” The static on the line made it impossible to understand more than a few broken words.
“Need you…meet…Minnesota Avenue…Anacostia…tonight.”
“I can’t understand you. Who needs me? Roc, is that you? Roc! Roc…” The line went dead before I could hear the answer. It would be pointless to try to trace the call. I glanced at my watch. It was almost seven in the evening. While the caller didn’t mention a specific time, I had a decision to make quickly.
All my years of training warned me the chances of this being a setup were extremely high. The East side of the Anacostia River was a high-crime area known for drug trafficking. I should follow procedure, call it in, and ask for backup. But I wasn’t going to do either. My colleagues at The Agency would no doubt think I’d lost my mind if I told them I suspected that the call had come from Roc. I would be on my own on this one. I hesitated only a moment longer before grabbing my weapon and leaving the apartment. I had to find out if Roc was still alive.
I parked the Expedition behind an abandoned apartment complex out of sight and sat with the lights off, trying to gain my bearings. I’d only been to this area a few times in the past.
With the night, the river became blanketed with fog, making it virtually impossible to see more than a few feet in any direction. I didn’t like the way this felt.
With another quick check of my watch, I saw that it was half past seven. I tucked my cell phone into my jacket pocket, secured my weapon behind my back, and got out of the vehicle.
I walked around the parameter of the building, my footsteps making an eerie sound in the fog-covered night. I didn’t dare call out for fear of drawing attention to myself from some of the less savory neighborhood residents.
After a thorough search around the outside of the building proved fruitless, I drew my weapon and stepped inside. The place was covered in dust.
I’d just finished my search of the first floor apartments when I sensed something wasn’t right. I glanced behind me to make sure no one had followed me inside. The place at first appeared empty, but I sensed I wasn’t alone, not if that little warning tingle at the base of my spine could be trusted.
A man dressed entirely in black stepped out of the shadows a little way in front of me. I faced my worst nightmare. This had all been a setup.
Please, God, help me…
The moment I looked into his eyes, I knew who he was FLA and his sole purpose for being here tonight was to kill me. He would not be alone. There would be others close by. The only question was, how many had he brought with him?
He took a step closer. Instinctively, I reached inside my jacket for my weapon. Surprisingly, I wasn’t afraid. In the past, there was always an element of fear involved in every encounter with one of the FLA members. After all, they were the most highly trained terrorist group operating in America. But then, I’d run across his type enough in the past to know how to survive this kind of situation.
I caught another movement to my left. There were two comrades with him. He said something to the others in a language that sounded vaguely like a broken form of Arabic…and then lunged at me.
At five feet three and just over a hundred pounds, my size has a tendency to give certain dangerous elements a false sense of security.
The glint in his eye told me he was looking forward to taking me out very quickly. When I ducked underneath his flailing arms, his body—already in full motion—went sprawling headfirst to the ground.
The fall stunned him, rendering him immobile for a second. I straddled him and struck the butt of the gun across his temple, knocking him out cold before he knew what hit him.
One of his partners advanced faster on me than I expected
“Freeze. CIA. Stop or I’ll shoot.”
I barely had time to raise my weapon and identify myself before my next victim lunged for me. The man literally flew through the short distance of space between us, his huge claw-like hands reaching for my neck just moments before he realized his mistake.
I fired once, hitting my target straight through the heart. But the momentum of a man his size already in forward motion sent my body flying backward through the air along with his dead weight.
The warm splatter of his blood struck my face and hair. The sheer weight of him, a good hundred pounds more than me, buckled my knees.
I knew without even checking his pulse he was dead. I’d just killed someone and I was now engaged in a fight for my own life, and no one, including my superior officer, knew I was out here.
Frantically, I tried to push the man’s dead weight off me and retrieve the weapon wedged between us. The third member of the team caught me before I could snatch up my gun.
He tossed aside his fallen comrade, then hauled me up and off my feet. Even after all these years in the trenches, the unbridled hatred in those eyes was hard to face.
With one hand around my neck, he slammed my body hard against the wall of the apartment, dislocating my right shoulder in an instant. The pain was excruciating. For a moment, I think
I lost consciousness before he shook me hard enough to bring me back. And then he smiled. He was ready to play with me for a little while. I would suffer the worst possible forms of torture he could come up with before it was payback time for killing his comrade.
I closed my eyes, refusing to allow him the satisfaction of seeing the pain that seared through my shoulder and down my arm. With my left hand, I searched the rough wall behind me as far as I could reach, trying to find something I might use as a weapon to get him off me and gain some of my advantage back. There was nothing.
I kicked his legs, his groin, anything I could reach. He yelled in pain when my foot made contact with his groin and then he shook me harder, sending my head crashing back against the wall. I screamed as a piercing pain ripped through the back of my skull. My cell phone slipped out of my pocket and crashed to the floor, shattering into a dozen pieces.
I fixed my gaze on his. Whatever happened, I wouldn’t beg for my life. I was ready to die. A peace that I could only explain as God sent overtook me.
“Go ahead. Give it your best shot. But you should know there are others on their way here right now. They’ll be here any minute and then you’re toast, just like your two friends over there.”
He looked uncertain. He took his eyes off me for a moment, looking around the dark corners of the room, giving me the advantage. My gun had landed somewhere near victim number two when this guy had slammed me against the wall. Not close enough to reach, even if I could get away. I didn’t see one single thing that I could possibly use as a makeshift weapon.
No one knows I’m here. That thought crept through my mind, unwelcome.
When my captor’s eyes came back to mine, he knew the truth. He’d figured out I was bluffing and that nothing stood in his way of doing whatever he wanted with me. He said something to me that sounded like part English, part Arabic—the language the other FLA member had used.
Somewhere close behind us, a sound took his attention off me. He turned slightly so that he could see behind him. I think he thought his buddy had risen from the dead or possibly that the unconscious one had finally awakened and was ready to join him in the fun. But whatever he saw clearly wasn’t what he was expecting.
He released me in a second, sending me dropping like a rock to the ground at his feet, his full attention riveted on the man in front of him. The same man I’d taken into custody once before. Doren Alderees. My stalker had become my savior. My attacker seemed to shrink before the man who had my full attention as well.
I lifted my uninjured hand to the back of my head. It felt damp, but my hands were covered with victim two’s blood. I couldn’t tell if I were actually bleeding profusely from my own wound or whether this was simply the dead man’s blood. I was hurt, though. The sharp pain in my shoulder told me as much.
Just from body language alone, I could tell that Doren was someone of authority in this man’s eyes. Quite possibly one of their leaders or commanders or whatever they chose to call themselves.
Even though my attacker was clearly put out to have his little game interrupted, he addressed Doren with more respect than I’d seen one terrorist use towards another. Especially someone within the FLA, as I believed the three guys were. For the most part, they respected no one, not even their own comrades.
It was hard to pick up the language they used because they had switched to something I barely recognized. It sounded like some ancient dialect that I’d heard only a couple of times in my lifetime. And it was clear that my attacker was having trouble both speaking and understanding the leader, who spoke fluently.
My attacker briefly challenged Doren’s authority. The moment Doren took a step closer, my attacker changed his tune. He was full of apologies.
I caught something along the lines of not wanting to do battle with Doren over me, but that they could both share in the fun before killing me. I crawled on my knees to where my weapon lay.
When it became clear to both my attacker and me that he wasn’t sharing in the fun, he let out another angry outburst before Doren pointed to me. His next words I understood very clearly. He told my attacker that if he had hurt me in any way, he would have both Doren and my brother—my brother—to deal with.
What was Doren’s relationship with my brother?
While I struggled to make sense of this, my attacker turned and walked away, leaving me alone with Doren.
I got to my feet. It took me a minute to keep from losing consciousness as the pain in my shoulder and my head continued to throb.
Doren reached out to steady me, his hands only slightly more gentle than my attacker’s had been. He lifted his hand and his fingers gently explored the extent of my injuries.
I winced when he touched my head and probed the wound for a moment. Blood dripped from his fingers. I took a side step away and he looked at me with questions in his eyes.
“You’re hurt. Here, let me take a look at it.” Doren took a step closer.
“Don’t touch me,” I said through clenched teeth, jerking away from his touch as pain shot through my shoulder and head.
His gaze went to the dead man and then back to me.
“You killed him, Lena. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?”
“What are you talking about?” Something wasn’t right here but I had no idea what. “He was going to kill me. I didn’t have a choice. Of course I killed him.” I tried to steady my voice but my confidence had been shaken tonight. I’d come within a breath of dying tonight and for what? I still didn’t know if Roc were dead or alive.
“Who are you? You’re not FLA, so who are you working for? CIA?” When he made no move to either confirm or deny this but stood watching me, I said, “Answer the question, Doren. Who are you?”
“You don’t need to know who I am, Lena McClain. You need to get out of here while you still can. I’ll take care of this.” He pointed to his two comrades. “Go home before someone finds out what you’ve done here tonight.”
Doren picked up my weapon and handed it back to me. I scrambled farther from him and leveled the gun at his chest. Doren shook his head sadly. I could almost read his thoughts.
“We’re back to this, Lena?”
“We never got beyond this. I don’t trust you one little bit.” I wasn’t afraid of him anymore. Doren wasn’t my enemy. “So answer the question or I’ll shoot. And you know that I will, don’t you, Doren?”
“Yes,” he said with a mixture of shock and admiration. “Yes, I know you’re very capable. The Agency and Roc have taught you well.” It was hard keeping my reaction hidden at his reference to Roc. How did he know Roc? Suddenly, I remembered Justin’s warning.
Don’t trust anyone—not even the people closest to you.
Was Justin referring to Roc or Doren?
“Whatever you’re trying to do, you can just forget it. The only reason you’re still standing is because I want answers.”
“And if I choose not to give them?”
“I don’t think you want to make that choice.”
Doren didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned close to the guy I had knocked out and slapped him until he regained consciousness.
The man looked around for a minute or two before realizing what had happened and then he was on his feet. He gazed from me to Doren. Doren said something to him in that same strange language he’d used before. Then he too turned and left without another word.
“I’m sorry about Roc, but it was unavoidable. He knew the risks going in.” My stunned thoughts raced with possibilities. Was Doren trying to tell me the same thing Justin alluded to? Was Roc the high-ranking FLA member murdered recently?
“Did you kill him?” I asked, and anger flared in those startling blue eyes.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Lena. You have no idea how much I wish I could take away your pain right now, but you need to let it go. You could have been killed tonight. Maybe you’d better remember that next time you go out on a one-woman crusade.”
“How
do you know Roc? I want to know how you know my husband.”
“And I won’t tell you. So where does that leave us?” he said without blinking an eye.
I took another step closer. “Stop playing with me, Doren,”
A noise from outside had us both looking around.
“Get out of here, Lena. You have no idea what you’ve done by coming here tonight.”
“Were you the one who called me?” I asked because I had to know.
He smirked. “You think I’m capable of such a thing? You have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then how did you know where to find me?”
“I think you know the answer to that.”
“You’ve been following me. Why?”
“I think you know the answer to that, too? I’m trying to protect you, Lena.”
“I don’t need protecting. Even if I did, you are the last person I’d turn to for help. I can take care of myself.”
“Can you? I wonder. You have no idea what you’re up against here.”
I shook my head. “If you really want to help me, then tell me what you’re talking about.”
“I can’t, I’m sorry. I know you were hoping, but the answer won’t come from me.”
“What do you know about Justin?” I asked.
“You’ll have to ask your brother those questions. And I think you already know what he is. The real question is, whose side does that put you on?”
“I’m not the enemy. I’m just trying to understand what’s happening to my life,” I told him.
His expression softened into a smile. “I know you aren’t the enemy, Lena.”
“Then help me understand what’s happening. Tell me why you’re following me.”
“I told you, I’m here to protect you. You’re being watched. Get out of here, Lena. I’ll handle this.” His hand swept to the dead man. “Get out of here while you still have the chance. The police are on their way. Go—and whatever you do, don’t go back to the apartment.”
“What do you mean? Who’s watching my apartment?”