The electronic voice droned in Dan’s ear. “Anguri, Afghanistan, Twenty March 2012, shaped charge, ammonium nitrate, graphite trigger, three hundred to five hundred pounds, buried center road, mass casualties, probable source — India. Sangar, Afghanistan, One April 2012, vehicle borne, abandoned car, one thousand pounds, unexploded mortar, dirty, defused, no casualties, probable source — former USSR. Zarghun Shahr, Afghanistan…”
The whooshp-whooshp-whooshp of his son’s heartbeat replayed itself in his mind. Unable to stop the budding smile, Dan halted the data stream and allowed the memory to wash over him. Trish had let Bella listen to the baby before bed, and Dan had sneaked another listen. He thought he’d hidden his disappointment at not feeling Baby Conway move so well… and the only person he’d fooled was himself. Trish had known. Somehow she’d known and she’d fixed it to the best of her ability. She’d made up for the deficit. Just when he hadn't thought it was possible to love her more.
With a sigh, he started the data stream again, slowing the play down as he manually entered the corresponding points and dates on his computer. It had taken weeks to whittle the scores of bombings down to a mere handful, to find the connections between them and discount any other possible correlations. It was critical that all intel be analyzed accurately. Lives depended on it.
He hit F10 to pause the program while he made a note, then hit it again to resume the program. With is free hand, he pushed the headset tighter against his head — as if that would somehow change what he was hearing.
It didn't. The stream of data remained consistent. Bombing after bombing.
Only problem was, that data didn’t coincide with the pattern he knew was there. Somewhere. A pattern he as yet only felt with his gut instinct. And instinct wasn’t enough to take to Command.
He paused the program again and rubbed his right temple, giving his ears a rest. His brain, though… that was harder to turn off.
Patterns. Patterns amid seeming randomness. Patterns that could save lives… or cause deaths. That was his job, and it was ninety-nine percent instinct. But that instinct then had to be backed up with reason and fact.
Human beings were creatures of habit. It might be subtle, some small thing in the midst chaos that a person had a need for in order to function… but it was always present somewhere. For all its apparent randomness, nature was also habitual. Spring, summer, autumn, winter — and each season different depending on the locale. Floodplains overflowed during the rainy season and sported cracked earth during the dry season. The tundra bloomed profusely for fifty or sixty days out of three hundred sixty-five. Even the way the climate was changing merely seemed random to the unscientific eye.
Nature only feigned a random existence. And so did the group he was currently tracking. Feigned it with carefully generated deadliness set up to look like indiscriminate acts. A shoe bomb here, explosives in someone’s underwear there. An IED planted in an abandoned construction truck… Targets apparently selected based on their handy availability. But why a certain flight? Why that bridge? Why a particular truck along a stretch of seldom used road?
Coincidences. Opportunities afforded and taken.
Dan believed in instinct. But he didn't believe in coincidence. Not when it came to war and terrorism. A person who went to the trouble of securing explosives and fashioning a bomb generally didn’t hang out with his homies awaiting a target of opportunity.
No, such a person was invested. He went hunting. And hunters had patterns. Even if that pattern was carefully constructed randomness.
Dan punched F10 and listened. Then he rewound and listened again.
And there it was… the non-pattern that was really a pattern. He’d nailed it.
“Gotcha,” he murmured, dropping his headset to his neck and sagging against the back in the ergonomically correct chair. A sense of victory stole over him that made the ache in his neck and temples worth it.
“Got what?” asked Nick from the next computer station.
“Not what. Who.” Dan couldn’t prevent a little smugness from creeping into his voice. “Asim Al’alim.”
“Defender of the All-Knowing? He’s too random to actually locate.” Nick chuckled. Then he grew silent. “Crap! You really think you’ve found something about The Defender.”
Dan set his headphones back on his head, covering only one ear this time, and tapped F1. “Doubter.”
“Display on,” said the electronic voice. “Screen one, map of Afghanistan.”
Dan called up his first analysis. His memory allowed him to picture the terrain he knew so well from his days of intelligence gathering. Before his sight had been stolen by an IED. With a quick shake of his head, he steered away from those memories and marshaled his thoughts toward the electronic markers he’d placed on the map.
Nick scooted his chair closer and leaned over Dan’s shoulder toward the computer screen. “What are the orange markers?”
“All the explosions ruled in as aggressive bombings throughout Afghanistan over the past year.”
Nick whistled softly. “That’s a lot.”
Dan tapped the right arrow key. “The green dots represent the bombings that have been ruled as target-specific.” He hit the arrow key again. “The purple are deemed possibly random.”
Nick grunted. “So we’re whittling down. Where are you going with this?”
Dan arrowed over once more.
“Analysis three,” intoned the computer. Maybe if I give her a name she won’t sound so impersonal. He grinned at his own joke. Talk about random thoughts…
Nick stiffened. “Why did half the purple markers just turn white?”
“Responsibility for the white bombings was claimed by one of three well-known terrorist cells.” He pushed the F8 key to animate the display.
“And the whites that are now flashing?” Nick gave Dan a light punch to the shoulder. “Quit making me work for it, man. You’re using up my brain cells.”
“Did you just assault a superior officer?” But Dan chuckled. He had been making his friend work for the epiphany. “The flashing markers represent bombings that couldn’t have been carried out by the particular cells claiming responsibility.”
Nick stiffened and scooted a bit closer. “Based on?”
“Various reasons. Mostly they’re smaller groups and have verifiable targets they hit in other parts of the country at the same time.” Dan shrugged. “Not enough manpower to cover the distance.”
“What started you on this train?”
Powerless to stop his smile from widening into a grin of triumph, Dan hit the F1 key. “This.”
“Alternate one,” announced the computer.
“At the same time authorities received a phone call claiming to be Malik Ben Hakeem, declaring responsibility of this bomb for El Rabi…” Dan cocked his head to the side and shrugged as he tied up the ends for Nick. “…the AP wire places Ben Hakeem in Germany — being arrested for suspected terrorist activity.”
Nick flopped back in his seat and expelled a long breath. “The wire’s right? No mistaken ID? No premature reporting?”
“Not this time. I verified with the arrest record.” Dan hit the right arrow. “And if you change the flashing white to red… you have a pattern of randomness that isn’t so random.” He pressed F8.
“Animating,” intoned the electronic voice.
“And he’s still making me work for it,” muttered Nick. “Okay, blue for cold and purple for heating up?”
Dan remained silent but he nodded his head. He knew the pattern Nick was seeing. A five-spoked wheel of flashing dots beginning at the edges of the country and converging toward a common goal in a definite time-related progression. “Blue are the oldest, purple the newest.”
“Which makes Kabul the target,” said Nick, his voice grim. “And soon, if these dates mean anything.”
“If I’ve got it right, we can expect one more grouping of ‘random’ bombings.” Dan arrowed right. “In these potential areas.”
Nick let out a long, slow whistle. “How do we cover all that territory?”
Dan shook his head. “That’s where MARSOC comes into play.”
“Not sure Marine Special Ops Command has that kind of authority. This might have to go up.”
Dan sighed and slipped off his headgear. “Yeah… I was afraid of that. But if I’m going to do that, I want to verify a couple of sources first.”
****
Trish gave the spaghetti sauce bubbling on the stove a final stir just as the back door opened and Jack guided Dan inside.
“Hi, sweetie!” She lowered the heat and stepped away from the stove.
Dan sniffed, frowned, sniffed again. “What’s cooking?”
“Spaghetti.”
He breathed in deeper. “Huh. New recipe?”
Trish giggled. “New to us anyway. Jay started a pot before he left for the day.” And it had been complete bliss to inhale the sweet smell of sautéing onions and the acrid aroma of tomatoes being cooked into sauce, all the while knowing she had to do nothing but eat it. Well, serve it and eat it. No chopping the ingredients, no standing over the hot range. She stretched and slipped her bare feet into the flip-flops she’d left parked in front of the sink. “Wasn’t that nice of him?”
Dan released Jack from his harness and walked to the table. “Hmm? Oh, yeah, I guess.” He sniffed the air again as he unzipped the computer case. “Smells a little spicy. I hope Bella can eat it.”
“She’s been doing better with trying new things thanks to you. She probably won’t even notice it.” Trish rubbed at the small of her back as she waddled toward the blue ceramic bowl sitting next to the sink. Her hand fell just short of the achy spot and she gave up with a grunt.
“What are you doing?” Concern lent an edge to Dan’s voice.
“I’m just going to pop some bread into the oven.” She glanced over her shoulder. “The guests really like fresh homemade bread… even when I cheat and use store-bought frozen dough.”
Dan’s brow knit together and he looked like he was going to say something but instead he pressed his lips into a firm line and went back to setting up his computer.
Trish lifted the towel from the bowl where the bread was rising and smiled at the nice plump mound. Should she punch it once more? A glance at the wall clock told her she didn’t really have time. So she scored the dough into four sections, then she tossed some cornmeal across two greased bread trays, giggling because it painted an odd picture in her mind of throwing out chicken feed.
Behind her, Dan unlocked his briefcase with a sharp snap. She sighed. Great. He’d probably spend another evening under his headset working on the latest of the work he routinely brought home.
The computer beeped as it booted. “So don’t you think it’s a little strange? Harris wanting to work here?” Dan’s tone surprised Trish almost as much as the words. Level and careful.
“Hmm…” She broke off the first quarter of dough and stretched it into a roughly shaped, long loaf. “I don’t know. I mean, he didn’t exactly knock on the door looking for work. Ashley asked him for help.” She laid the loaf on the bed of cornmeal and reached for the next hunk of dough. “Personally, I think he’s at such loose ends waiting for Lisa to come home, he jumped at the chance to do something.”
“That’s his fiancée, right? The army nurse?”
Again with the careful tone. What was with that? “Yeah, she’s stationed at Landstuhl in Germany.” She shrugged. “I wondered why Jay didn’t go to Germany to shoot photos now that he has a book deal, but Ashley thinks they’re saving for their wedding.”
“When are they planning to get married?”
“I don’t know, but I get the feeling it’ll be soon.”
“So how did it go today? Working with him?” Dan tapped a couple of keys on the laptop.
Trish considered the hour-long nap she’d managed and the book she’d been struggling to read for the last month, now finished and back on the shelf, and smiled. “It was marvelous,” she breathed. “He did a good job and I didn’t have to do more than show him where to find things.”
“Hrmph. Guess that’s good anyway.” Dan settled the headset over his ears and began tapping computer keys.
After Trish laid the last loaf on the pan, she bent to the right and pulled open the oven door. A muscle in her back gave a warning twinge and then went into full spasm and she released the handle with a cry. The door crashed downward, bouncing once before it came to rest in the open position. Heat rolled out of the gaping oven.
“Trish?” Dan pushed his chair back and stood.
“I’m okay, I’m okay.” She drew a deep breath and let it out, willing the muscle in her back to release its grip. “Sit down. I just keep forgetting parts of me don’t bend the way they used to.” She grabbed the trays and shoved them into the oven with a clatter. Then, keeping her back as straight as possible, she stooped and grasped the oven door by the handle, giving it a mighty shove upward. The bang echoed in the too-quiet kitchen.
Dan continued to tap on the computer. Had he not heard it or was he ignoring her?
Trish pushed her body upward but her knees remained bent. As she started to tilt to the side, she stretched her right arm outward and balanced herself with her fingertips on the floor. “Oh, for pity’s sake,” she muttered, doubling her effort to push up. “How on earth do elephants manage to stand up after they lie down?” She groped with her left hand until she found purchase on the handle of the top drawer, then using a combination of pulling and pushing, she heaved herself to a standing position. The drawer had come open a bit with her effort and she rammed it in with a clatter of the cooking utensils inside.
“Save the pieces. What are you doing over there?” Abandoning the computer, Dan stood and walked toward her, his movements a little cautious. “You’re not on the floor here, are you?”
“No, I’m up now.”
“Now?” His voice sharpened. “You mean you were on the floor?”
“Not exactly.” Trish sighed and moved into Dan’s arms then leaned them both against the kitchen counter. “That is, I didn’t fall or anything. I just bent over to close the oven and got stuck.”
The lines eased from around Dan’s eyes and he chuckled. He found her forehead with his. Then he slid his hands up her arms to her shoulders. “Okay now?”
Trish sighed. “I’m always okay when you hold me like this.” And she was. She felt safe and loved in the protection of his embrace. She brushed her forehead back and forth where they touched and then changed the angle of contact and pressed her mouth against his. Instantly, he took over and deepened the kiss in a way that made her regret Bella was about to arrive home.
She’d never get enough of him. Never. Overwhelmed with the tenderness of the moment, Trish pushed back in his arms but didn't step from the embrace. “I love you.”
A smile played with the corners of his lips and he mapped her cheeks with his fingertips. “And I love you very much, Mrs. Conway.”
“Aww, men always know the right thing to say when they want something,” drawled Ashley from the doorway. She stepped across the threshold, a goofy smile on her face. “Heads up, Bella’s right behind me. And she’s not a bit tired from camp or helping me at the gallery.”
Bella burst through the door, a bundle of livewire energy. “Mama, look what — I made today.” She dropped her backpack to the floor and waved her arm in the air, showing off a multicolored braided cord with beads knotted at uneven intervals. “This is — a wish bracelet. I have to wear it — until it falls off and then my — wish will — come true.”
Dan laughed softly as he fingered the bracelet around Bella’s wrist. “And what did you wish for, Princess Isabella?”
Did he realize his grin was so wide it looked like he was about to split his face?
“Da-addy! You know if — I tell then the wish won’t — come true.”
“And wishes are very important, aren’t they, Bella?” Trish ran her fingers over the colored threads with seven equally colorful beads tied at the uneven knots. It would be awhile before the bracelet wore off on its own, so whatever Bella had wished for, they had some time to figure it out. “I like all your pretty colors.”
“I got — one of every color except — light blue because Tommy Perry — wanted all of them.” Bella stared at the pot of bubbling spaghetti and sniffed. “That doesn’t — smell right. I don’t — think it will taste — very good.”
Trish sighed. Apparently, like father like daughter. She’d have to add some honey to soften the spices. She rubbed the top of her belly. Baby Conway would probably thank her too, by not giving her so much heartburn. But if Bella saw her adding honey, she’d never eat any of it, since for some unfathomable reason she refused to even try the sticky sweetness.
“Take your backpack up to your room, sweetie.”
“But, Mama. I want — to go on the — beach.” Bella’s normally happy face screwed into a petulant frown. “You said — I could when — I came home.”
Trish stared up at the ceiling and counted to ten. She had told their daughter she could go on the beach. She just hadn’t expected to feel so lazy. How could she explain that to an eight-year-old?
As had happened a lot lately, Ashley stepped up. “You know, Mommy went to the doctor yesterday, right, Bella?”
Bella nodded but the frown remained in place.
Trish shot her friend a smile of thanks and took over the explanation. “Well, he told me not to do a lot of stuff, like walking on the beach or doing some of the chores around this place.” She sighed as Bella continued to regard her with an even stare, apparently waiting for the punch line. “So, Mr. Harris will be helping around here but I’m afraid we won’t be able to take long walks together.”
“Maybe Mr. Harris — will walk with me.”
Dan stiffened but just as quickly relaxed. “Jack and I were just going to walk on the beach. Want to come along?” he asked, his voice easy. Mostly.
Before Trish could analyze any of it, Bella was jumping up and down with the excitement of doing one of her favorite things — beachcombing with her dad.
“Yes! Let’s — go!” The anxiety fell from Bella’s face and with a happy laugh, she scampered for the back door.
Trish locked her hands on her hips. “Bella, put your backpack up first.”
“Mama!” she protested with that particular whine that was guaranteed to slip under Trish’s skin.
“Let’s put the backpack in my briefcase cubby until we get back,” suggested Dan, gesturing toward the counter space.
Gritting her teeth, Trish considered it a partial victory when Bella agreed and slung her heavy pack onto the counter before she raced out the door.
“Come on, Jack,” said Dan, holding out his hand until the dog moved into place next to him and then grabbing the harness and stepping to the door.
After the screen door slammed shut, Ashley gestured to the table. “You need to sit down.”
With a heavy sigh, Trish nodded. “Yeah, I guess I do. I’m starting to get that icky pressure sensation down below from the baby’s head.” She waddled toward the old wooden kitchen table and slid onto her seat.
“You weren’t very happy when Dan didn’t support you getting Bella to put her backpack away.” Ashley pulled a chair over and motioned for Trish to raise her feet.
Trish lifted her legs and heaved a deep sigh as she settled them into the seat cushion. “Obvious, huh?”
Ashley shook her head. “I don’t think either one of them noticed it, but you didn’t look all that pleased.”
“It was the obvious solution, so I really don’t know why it bothered me.” Trish rubbed her belly. “I know Dan’ll make sure she puts it away. He always does. I’m just so impatient these days.”