The Price of Valor

by Susan May Warren

  He just stared at her.

  “I think Tsarnaev bought the list in exchange for services rendered.”

  “What kind of services?”

  The smell of smoke had dissipated a little. “Maybe we should try to get out—”

  “What kind of services, Sig?”

  “The kind that involve political assassinations, okay?”

  “Like a senator?”

  “Or a Russian general.” Aw, maybe she’d told him too much. But it could be a test, right? “You heard about the attempted assassination of General Boris Stanislov, right?”

  “Yes. Four months ago I was involved in an operation to rescue a woman who was named in his assassination attempt.”

  Of course he was. She’d wondered how the woman—a CIA operative, according to the rumors—had walked away from the KGB.

  Unless she was working with the Russians. But if Ham was involved . . .

  “Do you think Tsarnaev had anything to do with the bombing attempt of White’s campaign event in Alaska?” he asked.

  “I don’t know anything about that,” she said. “But I did know that with the NOC list in Tsarnaev’s hands he could do anything with it. Hold on to it for leverage against the United States or sell it to the highest bidder—whatever served his purposes.” She paused. “And there were names on it that I didn’t want him to see.”

  Ham’s voice was quiet. “Like yours.”

  “And others. And I knew that if it got out into the world at large, people would die.”

  “So why not just destroy it?”

  “Every NOC list comes encrypted and can only be unlocked by the personal key of the handful of people in the world who have access to it. So if it was sold, it also came with the decryption key. Unfortunately, I couldn’t get my hands on a decryption key, but the right people could decrypt it and match it with the code and . . .”

  “Find the source. And discover the traitor in our government.”

  “Exactly,” she said.

  “If you had destroyed it, you and Aggie could have disappeared, and stayed safe.”

  “And Tsarnaev’s plan would have still been enacted, and the traitors in the US government never brought to justice.”

  Ham studied her. “Sig. Did you kill Pavel Tsarnaev?”

  She made a face. “Technically he was alive when I left him. But I did leave him sleeping in his cabin and blew up his boat.”

  He met her eyes and she met his.

  “So that’s a yes.”

  “I am not proud of—”

  “I always said you were crazy brave. You still are.”

  No crying. “No, Ham, I’m just . . . I’m just trying to keep ahead of my bad decisions. And just trying to make the next right one. I think you and Aggie are still in danger. I’m sure that whoever found me in Germany is still tracking me.” She paused. But she had to know. “Has she been in any danger since she came to you?”

  It was the way he looked away, flinched.

  “Oh no.” A fist squeezed her chest. “What happened?”

  “Two months ago, while we were at the Mall of America, a Russian—we think he was part of the Bratva—tried to grab her. We got her back, but he died before we were able to question him.”

  She pressed on her stomach, trying not to hurl. “I feared something like that would happen. I tried to cover her tracks. I left a note on her for the US Navy to call you. I knew you were out of the Navy, and I thought she’d be safer with you. How did the Russians find her?”

  “Maybe it was me,” Ham said quietly. “I came to Italy looking for you. Maybe whoever was searching for you saw me . . . followed me home.”

  “And snatched Aggie.”

  “Yes. It was that night, too, that I called you on your burner phone.”

  The phone she’d hid inside Aggie’s ratty unicorn. “Really?”

  “Yes. Maybe they caught that signal. I don’t know, but . . . it could be how they tracked you down too.”

  She drew in a breath. “Do you still have it?”

  He nodded. “I tried to call you about a week ago. You didn’t answer.”

  She wanted to lie and tell him that she hadn’t gotten the call. That she’d thrown the phone away before—

  Aw, she’d never been any good at lying to Ham.

  “I was running and I missed your call. Truth. But then, I didn’t want you to find me. So I dumped it.”

  A beat, then, “Why, Signe?”

  And she was just tired, and maybe a little frustrated, but, “Because of this! Because of this moment where I look at you and I realize that I’ve hurt you. And I hate it. I hate the fact that I did this to you, but I didn’t know what else to do, and I seem to never make the right choice. And I knew if I heard your voice I would . . .” No. She put a hand over her mouth.

  “You would what?” he said softly.

  “Nothing. It doesn’t matter—”

  “It does matter! It matters very much. I didn’t trek halfway across the road just to get this list from you. I came to bring you home, Sig. Home where you belong. With me and your daughter. Our family.”

  Family. But she couldn’t allow herself to land there. Instead, she mustered up the woman who’d lived surrounded by hate for the last ten years, the one without hope. “Are you serious? You seriously think that we can be a family after everything—” She took a breath. “No, I can’t . . .”

  He looked like he wanted to swear. Instead, he ran his hand across his head, took a breath. “Please explain this to me.”

  And there he was. Quintessential Ham—calm, tucking all his emotions back inside.

  Yes, well, his soft voice calmed her too. “Until I know that Aggie is safe, that this rogue CIA group or the Russians or whoever wants the list won’t come after her, I have to stay away.”

  “That makes no sense,” Ham said. “Why wouldn’t they just use Aggie as leverage to force you to come in?”

  “They can’t use her if they think I’m dead.”

  He recoiled. “Sig . . . what are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about vanishing. Faking my death—whatever it takes to make sure that Aggie is safe.” She met Ham’s eyes. “I’m not going home with you.”

  His eyes sparked, and she rushed ahead before he could argue. “But can I give you this information with your solemn promise you will give it to the right people?”

  His mouth tightened. “I’ll give it to Isaac White.”

  “Can you trust him?”

  He nodded. “But I’m not letting you go, Sig.”

  “If you want our daughter to live, you will.”

  He shook his head. “No. You’re not doing this again.” He held up his hands, then curled them into fists. “I love you, Sig. And I should have never let you walk out of my life. I’m not letting you go.”

  Oh Ham. “You have to!” Her voice came out just as hot. “Because I haven’t endured everything I’ve gone through for the last ten years to fail at this. To let Pavel Tsarnaev take more, take everything from me. I refuse to let him win.”

  Ham drew in a breath, and his voice tightened to a thread of horror. “Signe, just what did he take from you?” And something in his expression looked so wrecked, she had to look away.

  Besides, she couldn’t breathe with the rush of answers.

  No. She had to put the past behind her if she hoped to survive.

  Still, a terrible silence echoed through the elevator, so long and deafening she knew Ham could hear her heart pounding against her ribs.

  “Ham—”

  A roar filled the silence. It thundered through the darkness, flooding over her, through her, overtaking her cells.

  The lift began to shake. “Ham?”

  Water seeped into the bottom, saturating the floor.

  “Get up!” Ham scrambled to his feet, shining his light on the edges. “Oh no.”

  “What?” She too stood up.

  “Sometimes after volcanoes and earthquakes there are tidal waves.”<
br />
  “Are you talking a tsunami?”

  He handed her the phone. “We’ve got to get out of here or we’re going to drown.” He stood up and searched the top of the box, found a latch. He tried to open it, scattering pebbles and dirt into the compartment. “It’s stuck.” He turned to her. “We have to get up there. If I lift you, can you push the panel free?”

  She nodded. He held out his clasped hands.

  She stepped into them, her hands on his massive shoulders, and as if she weighed nothing, he picked her up. Setting her shoulder to the panel, she pushed on it. It moved and she wedged it open and pulled herself up.

  “What do you see?”

  He’d been right, the lift had protected them. Rubble had fallen around the outside of the box, but for the most part the shaft was open all the way to the top. Four rusty metal poles ran the length of the shaft, one on either side of the doors, and along the back. A wan light bled through the metal grates on the floor above. “I think we fell two floors down.”

  The building had started to shake. She leaned down and put her hand out. “Can you reach my hand?”

  “Get back,” he said. “And hang on to the cable in case the lift decides to break free.”

  “What?”

  But she did as she was told as Ham jumped, grabbing the edges of the opening. Then, like the super human that he was, he pulled himself up, barely wedging his shoulders through.

  He grabbed the cable, testing it. “We need to climb this.” He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off, revealing the fact that he still had his SEAL physique, then ripped off the arms of his shirt.

  He put his shirt back on. “Hold out your hands.”

  She was too shocked to do anything but obey. He wrapped the fabric around her hands. “Can you do this?”

  She met his gaze. “Yes. Of course.”

  Just for a moment, she got a smile. A glimpse of the old Ham, the one who competed with her in gym class. The Ham who had taught her how to ride a horse, the one who’d been her best friend and told her he’d never forget her.

  Clearly, he’d kept that promise.

  Of course he kept that promise.

  She looked away and grabbed the pole.

  “Climb as fast as you can, Signe. Because I’m afraid this building is going to go down.”

  She wrapped her hands around the cable and started to inch up. But she didn’t know what was more dangerous—the tsunami or the unforgettable pull Ham had on her heart.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SIGNE WAS SCARED. Ham got that.

  He’d just have to prove to her that he could protect her. Them. Because she was going home with him.

  Aggie needed her mother. And, regardless of the betrayal that ground through him, Signe was his wife.

  They’d figure that out after they made it to the top of the elevator shaft, after they escaped this disintegrating hotel, after she handed over the NOC list, and, frankly, after he got her home and got to the bottom of . . . well, “I haven’t endured everything I’ve gone through for the last ten years to fail at this. To let Pavel Tsarnaev take more, take everything from me.”

  Sheesh, now he had way too many dark scenarios in his head and it only added to the panic as he ascended the rope behind Signe.

  Who was struggling.

  “You okay?”

  “Golden. Call me Catwoman.” But she’d started to slip a little, even with the cloth around her hands.

  “Just a couple more feet, you’re almost there.”

  She had her legs wrapped around the cable, her hands inching her up, but in truth, the cable was oily and rough and even he was fighting, his hands starting to bleed from the fibers in the cable.

  The building was still shaking, battered by what he assumed was debris-filled water. The bricks of the elevator shaft broke free as they climbed, falling to shatter on the box below.

  The entire structure could go down.

  The lift was dark, with no more than a graying smudge at the top where a vent had dislodged. The air reeked of sulfur and ash.

  The two-story drop fell to darkness.

  “What if I pushed you—”

  “Keep your hands to yourself, there, Batman.” She moved another few feet. “I can almost reach the ledge.” She leaned out, trying to touch the edge of the next floor. Missed.

  She grabbed the line, and it shook. Metal fibers bit into his hands.

  “Signe—”

  “I got this! I just need a second.”

  They didn’t have a second. “Next to the ledge is the metal girder. Just transfer your weight there, dig your feet into the edge of the bricks. Then, climb up to the ledge holding on to the girder.”

  She leaned out, and her fingertips just grazed the metal.

  “I’m going to climb up underneath you and brace you. Give you something solid to push off.” He moved up underneath her and her feet met his shoulders.

  “You’re going to fall—”

  “We’ll both fall if we don’t get off this—now brace your feet on me and grab that ledge!” He was using his senior chief voice, but he didn’t care.

  “On three,” he said. “Grab the girder and pull yourself up.”

  She let out a noise—half frustration, half pain—and launched.

  The girder shuddered as she grabbed it, but she clung to it like a koala.

  His grip was slipping, but he had to get her off that metal before he joined her or it could detach from the wall and send them both southward.

  “Can you reach the door?”

  She made another sound of effort and scrambled up the pole. Atta girl.

  A weird sense of pride swept through him, an old, errant feeling that he’d thought was dormant.

  His girl.

  Yes, they had to get out of here and fix . . . everything.

  She put her foot on the ledge and grunted her way higher until she could stand on it. Then she braced herself on the metal pole with one hand and reached out for the metal grate covering the doors with the other.

  The grate was designed to zigzag back.

  Please let it not be wedged. Please let him not have made a lethal mistake.

  It shuddered with her efforts.

  “Keep pulling.” He tightened his legs because his hands were slipping.

  She got her foot into the space and widened it, maybe two feet. “It’s stuck.”

  Below them, he heard the water banging into the lift.

  “Okay, maybe I can reach it. Hang tight.”

  The skin on his hands might be peeling back, but he worked his legs, grit his teeth, and shimmied up the pole.

  The only easy day was yesterday. The SEAL motto hung in his head as he focused on the edge. He was nearly even with it now. But if he put his foot out, his hand would slip—

  “Grab my hand. I’ll pull you over.”

  “I’ll yank you right off—”

  “Grab my hand, Ham!”

  He blew out a breath, then entangled his hand with hers. It was a crazy wide step, but if he could get his other hand around the grate, he could wedge it open. Then he could kick the doors in.

  “Don’t miss, Batman.” She gave him a look, then smiled.

  Oh, his old instincts were igniting. Game on, honey.

  He put out his foot, ready to catch the ledge.

  On her mark, he let her force tug him over, and he sprang for the door.

  His hand closed around the metal bar, his foot landed on the lip—

  The lip gave way.

  She shouted as he fell, but he had one hand on the grate.

  The other hand in hers.

  Which saved her life because just as he suspected, his weight tore her from her perch and she fell into the chasm. Her scream echoed into the chamber—

  “Hold on!”

  She dangled from his grip. “Ham!”

  “I’m not going to drop you. Just hang on!”

  Please.

  He still had ahold of the door, and now scrabbled his feet into
the bricks, trying to find a foothold.

  “Swing me to the pipe!”

  His feet caught, a three-point hold. “Can you grab it?”

  She nodded, a fierceness in her eyes. He swung back, then forward with everything he had in him.

  Her hand closed on the girder and she clung to the metal pipe, letting him go.

  He grabbed the door and scrambled up to the opening. Wrenched open the gate. Kicked open the wooden doors.

  Then he crouched inside the door and reached out for her.

  She went into his arms as if she’d always belonged there, as if she knew he’d catch her.

  As if they were once again a team.

  He used one arm to pull her against himself, the other to hold on to the door. Then, he simply fell back to safety, holding her tight, breathing hard.

  She had her arms around his waist, also breathing hard.

  “You okay?” he said.

  She lifted herself, met his eyes, something unreadable in them.

  Then she blinked hard and pushed herself off him. “Let’s go.”

  She was right. No time to explore what-ifs and once-upon-a-times.

  They were back on the terrace, and he followed her across the roof. A terrible gash in the tile ran the length of the building, and the shaking had toppled planters of begonias and even a couple tall palm trees. Dirt and glass and plates and food debris, broken tile, plants and overturned furniture littered their path, and everything was covered in a film of ash.

  She made it to the edge of the building. “Oh no . . .”

  He joined her, and the sight took his breath.

  The sea had risen, maybe twenty feet, sweeping over the water breaks and taking with it everything in its path. Fishing boats, cars, wooden structures, and probably even people, although Ham couldn’t see anyone, all swirled in a cauldron of black water. The wave moved through the city, breaking windows, tearing down buildings. Already, the house two doors down had dislodged from its moorings.

  The water reached to nearly the second floor of the hotel, flooding in the windows.

  “If we’d stayed in the lift, we’d be under water by now,” Signe said.

  “Don’t think about it.” He took her hand, and miraculously, she gripped his back. “We need to get off this roof before this house goes down.”