15

 

 

“I won! I won! I won!” Butch jumped up and danced a jig around the great room of the Big House. He threw his head back and howled like a wolf.

The entire Shadow Box team laughed at his antics that wrapped up the late-night Uno game.

He settled at his place around the massive coffee table. “Anyone up for another?”

“I’m beat,” Diana said. Now dressed in sweats and a sweatshirt rather than an elegant evening gown, she yawned. “Hey, Vic, do I get to keep that dress even though the Feds paid for it?”

“So far as I’m concerned, yeah.” Victor grinned. “How many heads did you turn?”

“None.” She giggled.

“Doubtful.” Skylar winked and drawled, “Hot stuff.”

She laughed. “I’ll see you guys in the a.m.”

“Gang, sleep in tomorrow,” Victor urged. “We’ll do our usual debrief in the morning at ten. Then we’ll have a long weekend.”

The game broke up, and the rest of the team cleared the coffee table of all bottles, cans, and cups.

Victor wandered into the cold night air. Spring had yet to make its way to Flagstaff, and though much of the snow on the ground had melted, patches of it remained in piles near the walkways. A breeze blew from mountain peaks still under mounds of snow and added its own version of refrigeration. Wishing he’d not been on such a high from the mission that he’d left his parka in the Men’s Building, he shivered.

Once he had a fire going in the studio’s fireplace, he sat down on the couch with Rachel’s journal from 1998 in front of him. For a moment, he wondered if he should leave it be and catch some z’s, but adrenaline still coursed through his system despite the fact that the clock ticked toward two in the morning. He couldn’t procrastinate in reading them, not when he had no more excuses, like training up his team, to delay him.

He was about to open the notebook when Butch tapped on the doorframe.

Victor waved him inside. “Hey, man, what’s up?”

“I was headed to bed and wanted to come by and say congrats and good job.” Butch sprawled onto one of the chairs.

“Thanks.”

“Everyone did well. Suleiman and Sana. Fi too. And Skylar and Shelly played it cool, as did Diana.” Butch yawned and covered his mouth. “Sorry. It’s getting late. Anyway, if there’s only one criticism of you, it would be that you almost played the control freak.”

“I know. I came close on that.”

“But you let everyone think independently and solve the problems that popped up. That’s crucial. So good job.”

Victor smiled at his friend’s praise. “Thanks, man. You don’t know how much I needed to hear that.”

“No problem.” His deputy climbed to his feet.

“You did great too. I couldn’t have planned that on my own.”

“Hey, I was trained by the best. Grab some sleep.” Butch winked, then rose and pushed through the door into the night.

The smile remained on Victor’s face as he returned to the couch and took a sip of the Dos Equis he’d brought with him. It faded as he contemplated the notebook.

With a deep breath, he opened it to February. Rachel detailed every aspect of her relationship with Makmoud. Sometimes, Victor looked away. Other times, he found himself captivated. Makmoud had proposed to Rachel. They were planning their lives together, far from the way Rachel had presented him as a nameless, faceless ex-boyfriend. Pain seared Victor’s heart.

“Rach, why did you lie to me like that?” he whispered.

Once more, he yearned to be able to share everything that raged through him with someone who would simply listen to him.

Victor put his head in his hands. The room spun, from lack of sleep, the letdown from the mission, or the discovery he’d made, he didn’t know. He stretched out and contemplated the exposed wooden trusses of the ceiling. “I don’t understand. Why?”

A spark popped.

His question remained unanswered.

 

 

Gary thrashed in his sleep. He shook his head and murmured, “No, no. Someone. Save me.”

Like Charon ferrying the dead, his dreams took him back to the day that changed his life forever. Gunfire crackled around him, and the sharp smell of cordite penetrated his nose. His pulse thudded in his ears as panic frayed the edges of his calm. He ducked behind the charred remains of a car. “Pull back! Pull back!”

His ordnance man laid down covering fire.

Gary grabbed the lifeless body of his comms guy and dragged him toward the Humvee.

Pain seared his leg.

I’m shot. That registered in his mind. Adrenaline kept him going as he emptied the remaining clip of his rifle and took down two tangos.

They kept advancing.

Gary’s good leg gave out.

Forget Gizmo. As injured as he was, he couldn’t drag the dead.

Kelso collapsed.

Gary drew his pistol. A volley from him took down the shooter.

Another bullet pierced his shoulder.

Blood loss weakened him. He fumbled the pistol as he rammed home a new clip.

His vision began fading.

With the gun clutched in his useless hand, he used his good leg and arm to push himself toward the Hummer. His strength drained away.

Gary propped himself against the wheel and shifted the pistol.

Someone approached. The bright sun burned his image to a silhouette.

Gary’s gun hand trembled. He tried to tighten his finger, but even that failed.

The man batted it from him.

Darkness descended.

Gary awakened with a shout. He shook from head to toe. His breath whistled in and out as his mind pulled him to the present. He put his hand down on the sheets. Damp, thanks to the sweat his nightmare had left behind. Fingers gripping the fabric, he lay back. The buzzing had returned, ebbing and flowing with his ragged breaths. It nearly drove him mad.

You’re safe, not caught in some destitute village with people shooting you. You’re safe.

His hand shot up and rubbed the puckered scar from his shoulder wound, then the one on his right quad. He glanced at the clock.

Almost four in the morning.

Seven on the East Coast.

Deborah would see the sun one last time, would kiss her children goodbye as she sent them away to school.

At least her older ones.

The littlest did preschool in the mornings but came home at one. She’d die alongside her mother.

Unless Gary did something.

He rose and opened his laptop. He knew what Makmoud had charged him to do. Hold off Shadow Box until evening.

He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let Deborah die.

Gary opened her file. Her blue eyes from the FBI Contractor ID photo stared back at him.

Save me, they implored.

He skimmed the information. Parents dead. Husband dead. Four children, all under sixteen. Anna, the oldest, was his Morgan’s age. DJ, the only son, David’s. Deborah’s siblings? Liza Murphy, a half-sister who was ten years younger.

Gary knew what Vic would do. He’d make sure all family was safe, not just the immediate family.

“You will be safe from detection.” Makmoud’s words echoed in his mind.

Gary hesitated.

The headache flared.

He groaned and rubbed his temples. Maybe he could save Deborah and her family, but he had to give Makmoud something.

Gary moved the cursor and highlighted Liza’s name. He replaced it with the word “None.” Now, in his little world, Deborah and her children were alone. He saved the altered document and opened a new file. It took him only a few minutes to bang out a synopsis of all that TL had told him, including the pass phrase that would let Deborah know she’d been compromised. He also included the estimated time of attack.

He prepared an e-mail message to Victor and attached both the altered file and the synopsis. After sending it, he popped some aspirin to take care of the headache.

With a last, deep breath, Gary picked up his cell phone and dialed.