He shot a big thumbs-up, his ebony-skinned face splitting into a broad, white grin. “Ready to roll ’em, boss,” he said in his resonating bass. Cass repressed a smile. Sam uttered those same words without fail each time—she’d miss them, and him, when she moved on.
Since she’d arrived to cover the country’s turbulent transition into a democracy, Cass had made some firm and fast friends among the staff at the local Kigali news station where CBN rented space for her, and where she’d set up her editing equipment.
Sam was one of them. He contracted out to Cass, working as her driver, translator and camera guy. Another was Gillian Tsabatu, a feisty young reporter with blood ties to the Kigali royal family. In addition to challenging viewers with her liberal—and often risqué—reporting, Gillian had become Cass’s guide into the complex cultures, religions and tribal fabric of this once volatile country. And she’d become a dear friend in the process.
“And are you ready, Mrs. Swift?”
“Please, call me Susan,” the Deputy Chief of Mission said, straightening her skirt. She sat ramrod-straight, her brown hair cropped bluntly at her jaw, exuding a businesslike efficiency and elegance at the same time. A true diplomat, thought Cass as she seated herself in the wicker chair opposite Swift. Her gaze fell unintentionally to Swift’s hands, to the simple gold band on her ring finger.
Cass cleared her throat, glanced away quickly. No matter how she tried, this time of year was rough. Talking to this woman about how she juggled both family and job was going to be of no help, either.
She should have found a way to weasel out of this assignment, but with the ambassador away and the political situation in the country deathly calm, Cass had needed to fill airtime. And Swift was a woman on the fast track, pegged for high office, possibly even Secretary of State down the road. Cass’s editors liked the idea of a profile on this very ambitious chargé d’affaires who was also a mother of three—clearly a wife whose husband gave her all the room and support she needed to pursue her career around the world, Cass thought.
Unlike what Jack had given her.
Cass cursed silently. This is what happened when the hard news went soft—she was forced to resort to this stuff.
“I’ll do a proper introduction in the final edit, but for now we’ll jump straight into the questions, if that’s okay?”
“Go right ahead.”
One of the monkeys perched on the wall nearby watched them with interest as it tore open a wild blood orange, its teeth yellow as it sucked at the fruit. Cass leaned forward slightly. “Madame Swift, it’s been just over a year now since Kigali voted for its first president, effectively putting an end to decades of oppressive monarchy-military rule. What has this transition meant to both the people of Kigali and to the United States? And where to from here?”
“Those elections, thanks in part to the forward thinking of King Harold Savungi, have opened doors to this, our first diplomatic mission to Kigali. And Kigali is a country of strategic importance in this region. It has also paved the way for military-to-military contact. For example, earlier this year a Special Forces Operational Detachment from the third Special Forces Group Airborne was tasked to develop a training plan to assist in the development of a new Kigali army. And now that—” Swift was suddenly interrupted by an aide carrying a phone, signaling to her it was urgent.
A frown creased Swift’s brow. She turned to Cass. “Can you excuse me a—”
But the aide didn’t wait. He came over to Swift’s chair, bent over her, lowering his voice, but not enough to escape Cass’s hearing. “It’s one of the marines,” he whispered urgently. “He says the embassy building in Molatu is under attack—the entire capital under siege.”
“What?” whispered Swift.
“At 3:00 p.m. about five hundred men wearing red bandannas or armbands entered the city on technical vehicles, quickly engaging in urban combat with Kigali troops. The parliamentary buildings have been breached, the president and his family are missing and now the U.S. embassy building itself is under attack by revolutionary forces—”
“What forces?” The shock on Swift’s face was blatant. “We had no warning of this?”
More phones started to ring, additional staff rushing into the lapa. Cass motioned quietly to Samuel to keep rolling video as Swift surged up from her chair. She snatched the receiver from her aide. “This is DCM Swift. I’m putting you on speaker.” She pressed a button.
Tension crackled in the sweltering heat as the distant sound of staccato gunfire reached them via speakerphone. The marine yelled over the noise. “The American embassy is under attack! We’ve taken casualties—the contracted guards outside the gates are all down. Only two of us inside. Crowds are out of control, throwing rocks, smashing windows…a truck is presently ramming the embassy gates. We—” The sound of glass shattering came over the speaker. Someone swore. The line went dead.
Faces, pale, looked at each other.
“Get me the White House!” Swift said.
A sharp thrill ripped through Cass. “Samuel, quick,” she whispered. “Hand me our sat phone.” Cass moved rapidly across the lapa and down the stairs onto the lawn, dialing the CBN newsroom, heart racing. This is the kind of story she lived for.
This would help her endure Christmas, get past her wedding anniversary without having to think of Jack. Or Jacob.
“I’ve got breaking news here, Paul,” she told the CBN staffer manning the news desk. “U.S. embassy is under attack—looks like a coup attempt by as yet unidentified forces. Most of the U.S. staff are safe at the residential compound, but they’ve lost contact with the two marines guarding the embassy.”
“Where are you?” said Paul.
“I was interviewing Susan Swift when word broke. She’s presently on the line with the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Can you get me live sat hookup—I’m going to need to stay on this all night as it develops.”
“Hang on a sec, Cass.”
She waited for a moment, then shot a thumbs-up to Samuel. “We go live in twenty!”
Monday, December 23, 0038 Zulu
Cass stood on the dark lawn illuminated by her portable fluorescent light stand. Although it was just after midnight, the equatorial night felt thicker, hotter. She could now smell smoke, hear gunfire in the distance.
“The violence that erupted in the capital yesterday has spread rapidly to residential and rural areas during the night,” she said into her mic, eyes focused on the camera. “Reports of arson, looting and the random rape and slaughter of innocent civilians were coming in from Molatu before the phone system went down—” Her lighting suddenly dimmed. All the lights in Swift’s home died for a moment. Cass hesitated.
A generator kicked in and the lights went on again. She continued. “Cell towers and power grids are also being sabotaged in what appears to be a coordinated attempt by as yet unidentified rebel forces to cut off communication across the entire country. Armed vehicles carrying RPG artillery are now reported to be heading towards the U.S. embassy’s residential compound located about twenty miles outside of Molatu. Kigali troops loyal to King Harold Savungi are reported to be in a defensive position at a blockade along the highway, but are taking severe casualties. U.S. Deputy Chief of Mission Susan Swift has now ordered the evacuation of all non-combatant embassy personnel and their families. Swift has personally vowed to stay on as long as she can, but it appears the diplomatic situation is becoming untenable. Earlier this evening, the U.S. Department of Defense mobilized the first available resource in this region, a Special Forces Operational Detachment Alpha, consisting of twelve men who were in Kigali to develop a training plan for the new army. They will start spearheading the evacuation.”
As she spoke, Cass heard the first helicopter thudding in the thick air. “Meanwhile, the U.S.S. Shackleton, a naval helicopter ship with twelve hundred marines on board, has been deployed to the area. The ship is expected to arrive within the next twenty-four hours. It will wait off the coast to help with the evacua
tion of Americans.” Cass spoke louder as a Black Hawk descended over the compound. Trees began to whip in the downdraft, leaves and debris flying out over the lawn. Monkeys screamed, scattering down from the iroko trees.
Cass motioned to Sam to get footage of the chopper setting down. Swift stood up on the patio, illuminated by the security spotlights around her home, her hair whipping around her face.
The helo door swung open. Cass signaled quickly for Sam to move in closer for a better shot. A special forces soldier hopped down onto the grass—tall, powerful.
And Cass froze dead in her tracks.
Her entire world stopped spinning as the rotors slowed and the ground felt as though it was falling out from under her.
Jack.
Cass’s mouth went bone-dry. A chill breeze blew over her, the sense of snowflakes swirling, icy on her skin…the tiny Colorado church…her special ops soldier coming down the aisle…
The memories came crashing violently, her world narrowing as she recalled the reason they married. Their child.
And the reason they fell apart.
The reason she had not seen, nor spoken to, nor touched Jack in four long years.
He glanced up at Swift, ordered men left and right. Then he turned, and his gaze collided with hers.
Chapter 2
Monday, December 23, 0100 Zulu
Jack’s heart missed a beat. Cass. Illuminated by a halo of fluorescent light under a giant flame tree—looking like a translucent angel in a garden of equatorial darkness, and on today, of all days.
Their anniversary.
Relief surged through him. She was here, in the compound, safe, where he could still get her out. And for a moment Jack remained rooted to the spot as he was pounded by an irrational urge to go straight up to her, grab hold of her.
Her mouth opened in shock, her hand holding the mike lowering at her side. And the lost years, the shared memories, seemed to yaw between them, quivering, visceral. Jack’s world narrowed—the distant sound of gunfire, the acrid scent of burning villages, fading to just her.
Reflexively his thumb sought the smoothness of the wedding band he still wore, could not give up, and his chest ached with a need he could not define.
He had not seen her in person for four years—although he’d watched her on television. That’s how he’d known she was in Kigali.
It’s why he was here.
Cass was a like a drug to his system, always had been.
He’d put in for this tour, wanting to be near. So he could protect her, as he hadn’t been able to protect his son.
He wanted a second chance.
Because Jack had not given up. Hope was something he still had, even if his wife had none.
An explosion rocked the sky, making the blackness of night glimmer with dull orange light. It snapped him together. Jack swiveled instantly on his heels and made for the DCM Swift, waiting for him atop the slate stairs.
“Madame Swift.” He held out his hand as he approached. “Warrant Officer Jack Bannister—”
She took his hand, her skin dry, her grip forceful. “Please, come this way. I’ve compiled a list of all compound personnel that need to be evacuated. Thankfully most foreign service staff and their families were here at the residence when the rebels attacked.”
“Any staff still at the embassy in Molatu?”
“Two marines were inside the building. We lost all contact with them—I fear the worst.” Her voice was crisp, her staccato delivery belying the worry he could see in her eyes as she handed him the list. “We’ve had reports of armed convoys heading this way—the sooner we can evacuate non-combatant staff and their families, the better.”
Jack nodded, scanning the list as she spoke. From the look of this list, his team had two hundred and sixteen people to evacuate from this compound within the next few hours.
It was going to be tight. In an emergency, their helos could take twenty passengers. They only had two birds; flights were one hour each way. Mortar fire pounded outside in the hills. Jack glanced up as he felt the vibration, and dust trickled down from the ceiling. Too close for comfort.
He’d seen the devastation from the air. Molatu was burning, pockets of fire spreading to rural villages. Kigali had descended into complete chaos in mere hours.
Swift inhaled deeply. “In most cases we are aware trouble is brewing, or an army is unhappy, or there’s a volcano ready to blow, but…we just did not see this coming. No sign. No murmurs. Nothing. We have no idea who is behind this.”
He heard the fear, the self-reproach in her voice.
“No one saw it coming, ma’am. We’ve been working closely with the Kigali military and we had no warning, either. Don’t worry, we’ll have everyone out of here and across the border within the next twelve hours. My men are securing the compound perimeter as we speak. We’ll commence evacuation protocol with the first Black Hawk. Another is already on its way. We’re also working with the Ivory Coast military and expect to use some of their aircraft, which will speed things up. The goal is to get all non-combatant personnel to a safe staging area just inside the Ivoirian border, from where they will be processed and flown out to the U.S.S. Shackleton as soon as it arrives.”
Swift nodded, jaw tight. “Thank you, Officer.”
Jack stepped outside, instinctively searching for Cass. Her name would not be on the chargé d’affaires’ list. He’d have to find some other way to get her onto that last chopper. He also knew in his gut Cass would resist him.
Monday, December 23, 0122 Zulu
Cass was reporting live via satellite while she still could. She focused on the camera, her audience, delivering her message in her trademark crisp style—but her insides were jelly.
Her anxiety had little to do with the situation on the ground.
It had everything to do with the raw shock of seeing Jack, the way he’d brought the past crashing down around her. Even from a distance she’d felt the electricity in his gaze, the intensity of his wholly consuming focus. Maybe that was what rattled her most—her own reaction to him. She tried to concentrate on her words.
“A twelve-man strong Special Forces Operational Detachment Alpha has just arrived in the U.S. compound to begin the first stage of the evacuation…” But as Cass spoke, she saw Sam reaching for the sat phone in his flak jacket. He kept it on vibrate. It was the newsroom phone and it meant breaking news. Or trouble.
She kept reporting while Sam glanced at the display. He tensed suddenly and took the call. He looked up at Cass, his face tight, and made an abrupt cut sign at his neck. Cass’s pulse quickened—she’d never seen Sam do this, just quit in the middle of a live segment.
Quickly, she wrapped the broadcast. “This is Cass Rousseau for CBN.” She lowered the mic. “That was a live broadcast,” she said angrily. “This better be good, Sam.”
The whites of his eyes showed fear and his ever-present smile was absent. Sam was huge in stature and with the grim look on his face, he looked a little frightening.
“It’s Gillian,” he said.
A chill pooled slowly in her gut at the sound of his tone. “What…about Gillian?”
“Boss—” he swallowed, eyes glistening suddenly “—this is serious. We need your help, you must come with me. Now. Or Gillian will die.”
From up on the patio, Jack saw Cass touch her cameraman’s arm. Their heads were close as they conversed, their movements urgent.
A sense of foreboding curled through him as he watched Cass and her cameraman rapidly packing up their equipment. They headed across the lawn towards the driveway.
Tension rippled through him.
Cass was going to leave the security of the compound?
He glanced over his shoulder at Swift. He could see her through the window, conversing with the Joint Chiefs of Staff via military sat phone.
His orders were to keep her safe, above all else.
You care more about duty to your country than you do about your own family. The words Cass had hu
rled at him the last time they’d fought stabbed through his brain.
And he swore, once again torn between duty and the woman he loved as he watched his ex disappearing into the hot, black equatorial night.
Chapter 3
Monday, December 23, 0204 Zulu
“What do you mean Gillian’s life is in jeopardy?” Cass said, rushing after Sam.
Sam didn’t answer. He tossed his video equipment into the back of the Jeep, his movements fast and astoundingly fluid for his size and bulk. And out of character, because Sam never treated the equipment like that. Urgency bit into Cass, along with the whispering excitement she got whenever she sensed something really big going down.
Sam yanked open the driver’s-side door, but Cass clamped her hand on his arm. “Speak to me, Sam, or I’m not coming with you.”
It was a bluff. He knew it, too—Cass never shied away from potentially breaking news. But for the first time he was angry with her for the very lust that had driven them both to cover one breaking piece after another for the past thirteen months.
“You’re just thinking of the story now,” he snapped. “I can’t give you any details, not yet. You must first help me get Gillian out of the country.”
“Why?”
“It must remain a secret.”
“Come on, Sam, this is me, Cass. This is you, my camera guy. Nothing’s changed—of course we’re after the story. We’re a team, right?”
“This is about Gillian, boss!”
“Okay, okay, walk me through it. But you have got to tell me what’s going on, or I won’t know how help you.”
He lifted his head to the sky for a moment, gathering himself, and that’s when Cass’s suspicion was confirmed—Sam Sekibo was in love with Gillian Tsabatu. When he lowered his head, gave her his eyes, they gleamed with emotion. “Boss, if I tell you, you must swear on your life that you will not use this story. Nor can you tell a single soul what I am about to reveal to you—not until Gillian is safely out of the country.”
Covert Christmas Page 14
