by Tawny Weber
He turned toward her, and stroked her cheek. “You’re thinking again, aren’t you?”
She nodded. “Trying not to. Trying to just think about you and enjoy the moment.”
“It’s hard to compartmentalize. Hell, the Navy spent years trying to teach me, and I’m pretty good at it. But being here, with you. Now. Feeling this way—relaxed, crazy about you—it’s harder to block the rest out. Plus, we have a lot going on.”
“Vole,” she said. “He works for your friend. For Alec. That’s going to be bad for the campaign.”
“Yeah.” His mouth twisted in a wry grin. “Could seriously mess up the job offer—he’s offered me the CEO position, if he wins the election.”
Trina bolted upright. “Seriously? CEO? Isn’t that like…a big deal?”
“Yeah. I’m scared as hell, but I have to take it. I mean, aside from the crap ton of money and health insurance, it’s in a field I know. And it’s not just what I know, it’s what I’m good at. What I’m best at. I can train military personnel; teach them readiness that could save their lives. Plus…while I’ll have to travel for work a fair amount, the headquarters are in DC—only a few blocks from the White House. And…you’re here.”
“If Alec loses, will there still be a job?”
“Yeah, but something smaller. Which would be fine. Frankly, I wouldn’t mind starting on a lower floor.”
“Curt is vetting you.” She paused. “Somalia shouldn’t be a problem.” Damn, she didn’t say that right. “You should know, I didn’t tell him anything. I would never—I just meant…he knows something happened and you were involved, but he didn’t seem to be concerned.”
“Even if he were, I’ll still pass the vetting. There’s no record of anything, and the Pentagon will back me to the end of time. The only time they wouldn’t protect me would be if the cover-up fell apart, word got out, and they needed to use me as a scapegoat. But with Gopher dead and Mouse in custody, that isn’t going to happen.” He brushed her hair off her forehead, his thumb gently grazing the bandaged cut on her brow. “With no record or eyewitness account of what happened in Somalia, I’m in the clear. Dominick can’t hold something that never happened against me.”
She snuggled back against him.
Keith cleared his throat. “I’m going to tell you what happened in Somalia, but we’ll never be able to speak of it again.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I know. And I appreciate that. But you already know the worst part—the secret. What you don’t know is why, and I want you to know the reason I did it.” He pulled back. “But the floor isn’t the most comfortable… Mind if we move to the bed?”
She rose and then reached out a hand. He took it and stood, then led her to the bedroom.
Under the covers of the bed, he lay on his back, and she curled against his side with her head on his chest. His heart beat a steady cadence. When the silence continued, she stroked the wiry hairs on his chest. “You don’t need to tell me. It’s okay.”
“No. I’m just trying to figure out where to start.” He paused. “Somalia was slowly emerging from civil war, but was still a mess of interwarlord, interclan violence. As you know, my SEAL team was there because of a rising al Qaeda leader. It was a reconnaissance mission to determine if the leader could be taken out without triggering further clan warfare. We were based at a camp set up by the UN to protect refugees, displaced by years of civil war. An East African major general named Kassa was the UN force commander. He was in charge of the camp under the UN charter. That was the UN’s first mistake. Kassa and his troops were from a neighboring country. Too close, too many unresolved ethnic conflicts.”
He closed his eyes, and she waited, saying nothing.
He was reliving something behind those lowered lids, and it was obvious the memory pained him even now.
He cleared his throat. “A few days after we arrived, a warlord, who was supposed to be a UN ally, started rounding up people. Families. Women. Children. The elderly. The boys who hadn’t been conscripted into fighting a brutal clan war. They claimed it was relocation, but the refugees were being led to their deaths. They were committing genocide within spitting distance of a UN force. It was Srebrenica all over again.”
Trina might be a Cold War expert, but she’d studied the Balkan conflicts. “Srebrenica—you mean when the eight thousand men and boys who were under the protection of Dutch troops were killed.”
“Yeah. The Dutch force commander denies he knew they were being led to their deaths, but there are conflicting accounts. The UN couldn’t act then—and the same thing was happening again in Somalia. People were dying, and everyone knew it. But we couldn’t do anything. It would go against our charter to intervene. Treaties would crumble.
“I conferred with a few of the SEALs—only a few, because we couldn’t involve the whole team. This wasn’t—couldn’t be—a US military op. If we took action to intervene in a genocide being conducted by allies, we had to make it look like vigilante violence. Preferably like the local warlord was behind it.
“Three of us took a Humvee and scouted the area. Tracking the trucks that had taken off with the refugees. We located the death camp and searched the area on foot. We found the leaders and got the shock of our lives. There was Major General Kassa with the warlord. He wasn’t just looking the other way because of an international charter. He was actively involved, committing genocide under the auspices of the UN. The enemy wasn’t the local warlord. The enemy was us.”
Trina couldn’t imagine the horror of discovering the UN peacekeeping camp’s force commander was directing a wartime atrocity. All she could do was stroke Keith’s chest and listen. His arm tightened around her and she was grateful he trusted her enough to share this story. Not because she wanted or needed to know what happened, but because he needed to talk about it and be comforted. Held.
His voice was low, quiet. “If I could have, I’d have shot Kassa right then. But we weren’t ready. It was too risky. We needed a plan.” He rubbed his face. “A day went by before we were ready. Another busload of people was carted off. That, more than anything, haunts me. It was selfish of me to hesitate. To wait to take action so I could cover my own ass.”
“You weren’t covering your ass. You were covering the UN’s ass. If it were revealed a UN force commander was part of a genocide—essentially meaning the UN was committing genocide—the organization might never have recovered. And given the chaos that would have ensued in Somalia, you might not have stopped the warlord. It could have gotten worse.”
He nodded. “There’s knowing that, and there’s believing that. I have a hard time with the second one. I just know we waited a day and people died.” He took a shuddering breath. “We had to take out the major general while he was inside the camp, but still make it look like an outside job. That required a long shot from outside the fence—as the team sniper, that made the kill my job. We agreed I’d take the shot without Owen as my spotter. It was an alibi of sorts—to have my spotter in the camp instead of with me.
“I used an old Soviet Dragunov rifle that we confiscated from Somali combatants. I was careful with the shells—they’d been handled by the soldiers and likely had sweat that would indicate East African DNA, which would be our ‘proof’ the shooter had been Somali, not someone of Anglo-Saxon heritage like me. It was weak, but it was the best way we could come up with to cover my ass in the ensuing investigation.”
Trina sensed from his tone that was another guilt trigger for him, and caught his hand in hers and gently squeezed his fingers.
“The plan was pretty simple. After I shot the major general, my job was to disappear back into the local village. Owen and Josh would head off in pursuit of the shooter and knowing my position on a low hill east of the camp, find the rifle and casing. I got out fine, but one of the warlord’s thugs must have gotten a glimpse of me, because he got to where I’d left the rifle first. Josh said he blindsided Owen with the butt of the Dragunov. Josh shot him. We ha
d our sniper, no need for DNA, but at the cost of Owen.”
Trina could see it all in her mind. Owen Bishop, in his prime, recklessly charging the hill, expecting to find nothing but an abandoned gun, and being met with the butt of a rifle to the head.
“When I got back into the camp, Owen was bloody and blue. Medics were performing CPR. We thought he was going to die. The bleeding under his skull was so bad. They had to drill holes to relieve the pressure. He was airlifted to Germany, then later to Bethesda.
“When he was finally conscious, it became clear he didn’t remember. It seemed kinder not to tell him—since it was a secret he might reveal. I never dreamed he’d remember the worst part, that I’d killed Kassa, without remembering why. He’s had chronic pain. Depression. PTSD. You name it. The guy was severely injured, and he didn’t even know why. What if… what if we’d told him? Maybe we could have prevented his problem with addiction.”
He carried so much guilt. It was clear he blamed himself for Owen’s injury, but also for Owen’s difficulty in recovering. Trina’s heart ached for the weight Keith carried. “You couldn’t have told him while he was still recovering. You’ve been right all along. This secret is too big. It’s not just big… It’s colossal. Under the UN charter, American troops led by an American general took the East Africans’ place in Somalia. If anyone guessed an American SEAL had shot the East African UN force commander, the fallout would have been enormous. And a man recovering from a brain injury is unreliable. I don’t think you could have done anything different.”
“I know that. In my head. But it’s still my fault. They went after the rifle so no one would suspect me—”
“And them, because they were just as involved, and to protect the UN. You weren’t the only one at risk. How many lives did you save? How many did Owen save? Everyone on your team is a hero for the action you all took that day.”
“There were five thousand people in the camp. At least two hundred were killed before we intervened.”
She stroked his arms, his chest, his stomach. Her touch wasn’t much, but it was the only comfort she could offer. “Thanks for telling me.”
“I wanted you to know. I did kill the general. And except for what happened to Owen, it’s the best thing I’ve ever done.”
Chapter 18
A finger of light caressed Trina’s hair and cheek. To Keith, it appeared as if the sun had broken into the room, determined to find the most beautiful object to shine upon. He leaned down and kissed the light, kissed her smooth cheek, and gave silent thanks for this moment, for having her not only in his bed but also in his life.
Her eyes fluttered open. She smiled and arched her back in a stretch, then grimaced. “Ugh. The accident caught up with me.” She gingerly lifted her arms and straightened her legs, her frown deepening. “I think every part of me is sore.”
“We’ve got an hour before we need to be at the Justice Department. Enough time for me to give you a massage.”
Her sleepy eyes opened wider. “Seriously? I could really get into this whole relationship thing if it includes massages first thing in the morning.”
He chuckled and nudged her onto her belly, then straddled her butt and dug into her shoulders with his palms and thumbs. She groaned.
They were both naked, and his cock thickened at the sexy noises she made as he worked at the knots below her shoulder blades. His erection rested along the cleft of her butt, and she wiggled, but he was determined to ignore the invitation and give her a selfless massage.
But she kept wiggling. Kept moaning, and he was finding it hard to stay focused on just pleasuring her with massage. One hand slipped lower without his permission, and he scooted back a bit so those wayward fingers could explore her wet opening. She was slick and ready and thrust her butt up, begging. Demanding.
“Get inside me, Keith. Please.”
Well, since she said please…
He grabbed a condom from the nightstand, sheathed himself, then spread her thighs and filled her, her round ass pressed against his pelvis as his cock stroked her inside. He resumed the back massage, rubbing her shoulders in time with each thrust.
If he’d thought the noises she’d made while he massaged were sexy, it was nothing compared to the guttural groan she let out as his fingers worked a pressure point and his cock pressed her G-spot. She went from groans to a low, deep moan, followed by a shriek that she couldn’t contain as her vagina clenched around him and her body rocked with orgasm.
Her tightening around his cock triggered a pulse of pleasure that made him groan. Forgetting the massage, he dropped down and pressed his cheek between her shoulder blades. She clenched again, the sensation so amazing, so frigging hot. He drove into her tight heat. Bliss. He let out a hoarse cry with his release, powerful in spite of the fact that he’d come more than once in the hours before they went to sleep.
“Holy hell, Trina. How do you do this to me?” He kissed her shoulders, breathing her warm scent.
She laughed, and he rose up and slid out of her so she could turn over. He disposed of the condom, then they settled together in the middle of the bed, entwined.
Keith had struggled these last months, defeated by his visit with his father when he’d first left the Navy. His family was lost to him, but he had Josh, Owen, and other members of his team. And now with Trina, he had a chance to create the only family that really mattered.
Keith held Trina’s hand as they entered the Justice Department yet again, and for what Trina hoped would be the final interview. She was ready to put this nightmare behind her and take a few days off so she could explore a future with the warrior who had started off as a work assignment but now was all play.
Inside the government building, they were escorted to Curt and an FBI agent, who stood by a window that overlooked an interrogation room. Vole sat alone at a table in the stark room. They’d just finished exchanging greetings when the Secretary of Homeland Security and deputy attorney general joined them.
“We’ve made some very disturbing discoveries overnight,” Curt began. “It appears Vole and Ruby were in deep with a man we believe is a Chinese spy.” He met Trina’s gaze. “This morning, we went over the security camera recording from the coffee shop when you met with Ruby—AKA Gopher—and noticed that his gaze wasn’t randomly darting around the room as he created the scene. He kept looking at this man.” Curt held up a grainy black-and-white photo, which had to be a still shot pulled from the surveillance camera. “Does he look familiar to you, Trina?”
“No. I didn’t notice him.” She’d been so mortified by Ruby’s outburst she’d purposely avoided meeting the gazes of the other patrons in the shop.
“You haven’t seen him elsewhere? In your apartment building or on the Metro?”
She shrugged. “Definitely not in my building. I know all the residents. But I could easily have sat next to him on the Metro and wouldn’t notice.”
“Who is he?” the Secretary of Homeland Security asked.
“From what we’ve been able to piece together from Ruby’s computer, we think his alias is Matthew Ling. As far as we can tell, the real Ling is a software developer who was born in San Francisco and currently resides in Arizona. This man has probably been in the US for six months or so. It doesn’t appear Ruby knew the guy was a spy, but the explosion probably tipped him off that his source wasn’t the American activist he presented himself to be.”
Keith nodded to the window. “What does Vole have to say about Ling?”
“We haven’t asked him yet. It’s time to find out what he knows.” Curt nodded to the secretary. “Wait until he lawyers up, then come in and drop the hammer.” Curt and an FBI agent entered the interrogation room, leaving the secretary, the deputy attorney general, Keith, and Trina outside to watch through the window.
Vole’s eyes widened as he tucked himself into a ball. Then he seemed to remember himself and straightened. Defiant. “You can’t kill me like you did Gopher. If you don’t let me go, my story about the U
S Navy’s assassination of a UN force commander in Somalia will run on the website. Major General Kassa was killed so a US general could take his place, securing UN power firmly with the United States. The assassination was covered up by the Pentagon and made to look like a local warlord did the killing, but it was a SEAL team op. The US military’s actions need to be exposed. The people have a right to know when tax dollars are used to assassinate foreign military leaders. They have a right to know when there has been a coup within the UN.”
“Don’t waste my time with stupid threats. Our computer forensics team has already broken through your security. It doesn’t matter that the site is hosted outside the US. All we needed was your and Ruby’s access codes to get the site pulled. I employ the best in the business, and once we had your computers, cracking your codes was a snap. RATinformant is down. For good.”
The light in Derrick’s eyes shifted. He looked strangely gleeful for someone backed into a corner and facing a host of federal charges, including espionage and murder.
“If you’re feeling smug because of your hydra program, rest assured, my hacker found and destroyed that before taking the site off-line. RATinformant can no longer replicate and upload. It’s gone. For good.”
The hope in Derrick’s eyes faded.
“Why did you go after Dr. Sorensen?” Curt asked.
“She knew what happened in Somalia. We got the junkie out of rehab. He still wouldn’t tell us, but we knew he’d tell her. He was burning to tell someone. She had clearance and authorization. She was the opportunity he’d been waiting for to spill his guts and release his guilt over murdering a major general.”
Keith’s gaze dropped, and she knew it must hurt to hear Owen’s condition spoken of in such callous terms. This morning, Keith had talked to Owen’s aunt, who was distraught to learn she’d been manipulated into calling the rehab center. Knowing Owen’s treatment had been ruined so Trina could interview him was an especially bitter pill. She’d played right into their hands.
