by Ronie Kendig
Sam smiled down at her, his gaze taking her in. As if he didn’t want to miss anything. “I came to save the day.”
“I asked him to come,” Trace corrected quietly, effectively reminding Annie that the coms were still live. That he could hear the conversation. “With Boone MIA, we needed the extra hand.”
“You mean,” Annie said to Trace, though she held Sam’s eyes, “you wanted someone watching over me since you knew you’d be up there and not at my side.”
Eyebrow quirked, Sam leaned in. “Evening, Weston,” his whispered words tickled down the side of Annie’s neck. When she shivered, Sam’s smile grew. He leaned in and kissed her.
Knowing they were being watched, having Trace in her head, for all intents and purposes, Annie blushed. She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “I’m glad you came.”
“Look alive, people,” Trace said, his voice all business. “Batsakis and Stoffel are here.”
Annie hooked her arm through Sam’s and aimed them toward Democracy Drive, where the limousines were delivering guests to the event. Titus Batsakis stepped from the armored SUV limo. A different kind of shiver traced Annie’s spine.
Sam gave her a look.
She squeezed his arm, warning him not to say anything.
“Annie, stay low for now,” Trace said.
She immediately turned and guided them toward a crowd of suits and uniforms but kept her eye on the two Greeks who walked tall. The interesting addition was Mercy Chandler. Attractive and young, the woman exuded confidence and wealth. Chin lifted, shoulders relaxed but spine straight, she knew who she was and what crowd she walked in. The one who’d come to her, offering to honor her and give her more money.
So she thought.
Annie couldn’t help but wonder if the woman knew what her husband was doing, how he was funding their lives, using the orphanages as covers for the weapons smuggling.
Bulbs flashed as the Greeks posed for photos before entering the roped-off area for the event. Batsakis, who towered over his brother-in-law, let his gaze surf the crowd.
That man was as slimy as they came. He stood arrogantly, strutting his stuff. Then his gaze hit something he didn’t like. His brows knitted. Nostrils flared.
“What’s he looking at?” Trace asked.
Annie turned subtly to identify the subject.
“Anyone?”
“No joy,” Nuala said softly, meaning she couldn’t tell what he was looking at.
Annie tried to line up his gaze with the crowd. “Lots of Brass and suits over there.”
“Houston’s working on it. Okay, Cantor and Solomon are in play,” Trace said. “Anyone seen Ballenger yet?”
“Negative,” Téya said.
“No.” Annie gave Sam a smile when he shot her a questioning look. Clearly Trace invited him, but he didn’t have a coms piece? His gaze slid to her ear, and she could tell he was questioning the very thing she had just then.
“Miss Palermo,” General Solomon extended a hand as he and General Cantor joined them. In dress blues, Solomon cut an impressive figure, whereas Cantor struck an imposing one.
Annie greeted them then introduced Sam. “This is Mr. Calamari.”
“Caliguari,” Sam corrected without missing a beat as he shook their hands.
Cantor shot a look up and down Sam. “You’re the SEAL.”
Sam started then nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Good work in Greece,” Cantor said.
“Thank you, sir. Took home a souvenir, but I’m glad to have been able to help.”
“Oh, you helped all right,” Cantor said with a grin. Then elbowed Solomon, who grimaced. “Wouldn’t you agree, Haym?”
Rubbing his side, General Solomon nodded and flashed a smile. “Of course.” But his smile vanished as quickly as it’d come.
“You okay, general?” Annie asked.
“Of course.” Then he frowned at her. “Lot at stake tonight.”
“Annie,” Trace said, his voice thick with warning, “move on. If you stay near him, it’ll draw attention.”
Happy to comply, Annie smiled at them. “I think it’ll be a great, memorable night, General Solomon.” She nodded as she took Sam’s arm again. “If you’ll excuse us…”
But even as she moved past him, she couldn’t help but feel something was off with the general tonight.
“Uptight,” Sam muttered.
“Yeah.” Which wasn’t like the general. “Must be really stressed about tonight.”
“He has as much to lose as the rest of us,” Trace said.
“True,” Annie replied.
“True what?” Sam scowled at her then at her ear. Resolution carved a hard line through his face. “I’ll be right back.” He stalked across the pavilion then into the door of the Hyatt Regency.
Trace
Reston Town Center, Reston, Virginia
July 4 – 1930 Hours
The command center thrummed with tension and activity. Aznar and Olmedo sat at folding tables with laptops that showed a quad-split screen of different camera angles. Trace stood by the one-way glass, hovering over the scene, wishing he was down there in the fray. Closer to the fight. Closer so he could protect Téya and Annie.
The tented area only hosted the food and entertainment. Everything else had been deliberately set up so they had a bird’s-eye view of every attendee. Annie stood alone, sipping a drink. Water. She’d never compromise her state of mind for alcohol. She was too stringent with the rules to bend them. It’s what he’d liked about her.
A cluster of uniformed officers drew his attention. He considered their placement. The analysts said Batsakis had been looking in their direction when he reacted. Trace scratched the side of his face, thinking.
“Boss-man?”
Trace shifted and glanced over his shoulder.
At his own workstation, Houston waved him over.
The door to the suite clicked and opened. In stormed Samuel Caliguari. An agent stopped him, but Trace lifted a hand. “He’s with me.”
Caliguari crossed the room. “You wanted me here.”
“I did.”
The Squid nodded. “Good. I came to get the mic you forgot to give me.”
The guy had some chutzpah.
“I mean, I know you meant to. You wouldn’t want me on the ground during a mission without being able to communicate possible threats. I know you want to protect Annie, and I need a piece”—he thumbed toward his ear—“to do that.”
“You know that, do you?” Admirable that the fish out of water presented this in the best possible light for everyone. He’d put Trace in a corner.
“I do. Because I know you’re an honorable type of guy. You wouldn’t let personal feelings get in the way of doing the right thing.”
Grinding his teeth, Trace lifted a coms box from the table and held it out.
Sam took it without a word.
“Uh, Boss-man… I think you’ll want to see this,” Houston said.
Trace turned, pulling his anger and attention from the SEAL. He lifted his chin in a “go-ahead” to Houston.
“It’s that trajectory analysis you wanted.”
“The what?”
“The trajectory of Batsakis’s gaze.”
Trace made his way back to Houston near the windows. As he reached for the table, he noted Caliguari with him. Trace scowled at him.
“What? I need to know threats on the ground, right?”
With a huff, Trace nodded to Houston.
“Well, I have been working with the feed from Batsakis…” Houston’s wiry hair seemed especially frizzed today, and Trace had to shift to see around the mop.
Caliguari adjusted, too, watching the video.
Houston’s fingers sailed over the keyboard. “So, I—”
“Weston! Weston, your girl’s in trouble!” Aznar shouted, and flipped a switch. The audio went live through all speakers.
“What do you want?” It was Annie’s voice. Her trembling voice.
�
��You did this little event, so I would imagine you know what I want, Miss Palermo.”
Trace stilled. “That’s Ballenger. He knows her name. Her real name.”
“He also knows this gig is a setup,” Caliguari added.
With a pat on Caliguari’s chest, Trace nodded. “Get down there now.”
Sam darted for the door.
“Anyone got a twenty on One?” Trace demanded. “Six, do you have Annie?”
“Copy that,” Nuala said. “She’s directly below your suite. Out of your sight.”
“The man with her—”
“No joy,” Nuala said. “He’s hidden. Perfectly. Hotel pillar covering from the south. Large planter from the north. Annie’s shielding him. Repeat, I have no joy.”
Trace cursed but heard Aznar ordering one of the SWAT teams to the roof of an adjacent building. Security camera angled in and caught Annie, standing rigid and wide-eyed. Not moving anything but her eyes and lips. Ballenger could kill her right there, right in front of him. Retaliation?
“Two,” Trace said.
“Moving in now,” Téya replied softly. “I only see a shadow. He’s smart. And good.”
“We need to be better!” Trace shouted.
“You understand,” Ballenger said, “that I couldn’t just stay in the shadows. I couldn’t let those responsible continue to profit year after year.”
“Who are you after?” Annie asked.
Yes, keep him talking. Good girl.
“Oh, the wisest man in the world.” Ballenger snickered. “Which, obviously is nobody on your team. It has been so easy to get around you.”
“Why would you want to target us?” Annie’s voice shook. “We were only—”
“No. No! You do not get to do that,” Ballenger’s voice growled through the coms. “Let them sit in their temple and palace, built on the blood of my daughter and wife.”
“Almost there,” came Sam’s breathy grunt through the coms.
“Be ready, Miss Palermo. The fireworks start soon.”
“Who are you targeting?” she asked. “There are a lot of innocent people here who will get hurt. Think this through, Berg.”
But he didn’t answer.
The camera captured Téya scurrying up to Annie. Trace bent forward, waiting for the confrontation.
“He’s gone,” Téya panted out the words. “Ballenger is gone.”
“Find him!” Trace shouted, his heart pounding.
“Boss-man.”
“Not now, Houston.”
“No, really. You need to see this now.”
“Colonel Weston?”
Trace pivoted toward the voice. A man stood in the corner of the room, being checked by security. He stepped forward and Trace frowned. “General Cantor.” Another man loomed behind the Army chief of staff. “Do I know you?”
Cantor motioned to the man. “Colonel Weston, this is my future son-in-law, Eric Goff.”
The young captain shifted but gave Trace a firm handshake.
“Sir, I’m sorry, but this is a bad time,” Trace said, irritated the man would bring his future son-in-law up here to show off. It didn’t seem within character for Cantor either, but Trace couldn’t focus on them. “If you’ll excu—”
“Actually, Colonel, this”—Cantor bobbed his head around the room—“is why I came up here.”
“Sir?”
“I’d like you to keep a close eye on Solomon.”
Trace blinked. The general? No, he must mean the daughter. “She’s fine, sir. I have—”
“General Solomon,” Cantor clarified.
Again, Trace blinked. “I… we—am I missing something, sir?”
Cantor exchanged a look with Goff then sighed. “We have reason to believe Haym may be in danger.”
“You think he’s a target?”
“I think he is danger.”
Trace’s mind was starting to feel like a pretzel. “Ballenger knows he’s the one who sent Zulu in?”
“Just keep your eyes on Solomon, Colonel.” Cantor gave a firm nod then turned and started for the door. Trace watched the two leave without another word and closed the door behind them.
That was bizarre, to say the least. Trace shook off the scowl and confusion. Insanity.
“Boss-man?”
“Right,” Trace said, turning. “Sorry. What did you want to show me?”
“I think Cantor might be right.”
Trace frowned. “How’s that?”
“The trajectory lines of Batsakis’s reaction…he was looking at the officers.”
“We know that—the five Aznar warned us about.”
“Yes, but when I used other videos and footage,” Houston said as he moved the mouse and clicked a few screens. “I figured out who he reacted to.”
Trace would kill the guy if he didn’t get to his point soon.
“Sir, it was General Solomon.” Houston’s eyes were wide. “What if Cantor is right—what if Batsakis is going to kill Solomon?”
Téya
Reston Town Center, Reston, Virginia
July 4 – 1945 Hours
“Why are you doing this”
Francesca Solomon glided around in her tight black evening gown. She gave a cool, unaffected air as she smiled at Téya. “Doing what?”
“Getting under our skin,” Téya said with an even smile. “Being a pain in the backside.”
“Maybe it’s what I do best,” the woman replied, unfazed by the confrontation.
“That’s for sure,” Téya said. “That and destroy lives.”
“Sorry, dear. You did that on your own.”
“Mm, perhaps, but did Trace?”
“Dial it down, ladies,” Trace’s voice cut into the coms. “Focus on the task at hand.”
“Yes, and let’s be grateful we weren’t forced to wear formal dress uniforms,” Francesca said. “We’d stick out like sore thumbs.”
“More like gaudy targets,” Téya said.
Francesca laughed. “At least we can die in the company of good-looking men.” She nodded to a well-muscled man in a suit. “I didn’t know they grew the charity types so brawny.”
Téya had to admit Solomon was right. She’d seen a handful of hunks wandering the event. One had flirted with her at the fountain.
“Now, there’s a sound I haven’t heard in a while,” General Solomon said as he and Cantor joined them, flanked by two others: one a colonel and a peer to the first two. The younger, however… Tall, handsome, a little on the lanky side. But not hard on the eyes.
“Ladies, this is Sergeant First Class Goff and his father, Colonel Goff.”
Téya and Francesca greeted them, Téya taking in the newcomers’ uniforms. The younger Goff had an air of determination she’d often seen in men like Trace and Boone. Colonel Goff bore the full bird, being a rank higher than Trace. But at the man’s age, she’d have expected him to have attained a higher rank. Maybe he hadn’t entered service young like his son, who had enough medals and recognition pins to serve as a Kevlar vest.
Téya tilted her head, eyeing his left shoulder. Over the Airborne patch, he wore the blue Ranger tab. Ah. That explained the no-mess attitude. She wanted to trade stories with him, but she’d tip her hand if she did.
“Keep up the casual banter,” Trace intoned in their ears. “But stay eyes and ears out.”
Right. Because in fifteen minutes the fireworks display would start. That would be the prime opportunity to shoot someone or blow something up and attract not a lot of attention. So, basically, she had fifteen minutes to live.
Music drifted into the night. Attendees grouped up and headed for the wooden dance floor covering the center of the pavilion. Cantor extended his hand to Francesca, who graciously accepted.
Téya hated dancing but couldn’t exactly say that when the younger Goff offered his hand. She smiled and accepted. He led her onto the dance floor.
“You’re not wearing your uniform,” he said.
Téya’s heart thudded hard.
>
“Don’t worry,” he said, easing in and holding her close. “I’m not the threat. I’m part of the protection detail. My team is here.”
“Rangers?” she asked, leaning back to eye his uniform again.
“5th Group.”
Arching an eyebrow, Téya appreciated the news. “Special Forces. With a Ranger tab.”
“What can I say?” He grinned. “I’m just that good.”
“Téya, he knows you’re the asset. That’s all,” Trace’s warning came through the coms quiet but strong. In other words, don’t give him more info than he needs.
Goff talked casually and laughed a lot, but she noticed his gaze never stopped roaming. Neither did hers. Any second she expected to feel heat and pain explode through her back.
“You here?”
Téya flinched. “What?”
“You zoned.”
“Sorry.”
“Guess you can take the girl out of the uniform, but not the uniform out of the girl.”
“Something like—”
A familiar face bobbed between two dancers in the crowd. Familiar. Very familiar. She followed with her gaze, her breath jacked up into her throat. She saw—Téya sucked in a hard breath.
“Hey.” Goff tightened his arm around her. “You okay?”
“He’s here,” she breathed, frantic.
“Téya?” Trace’s voice was clear, distinct. Terse. “Who’d you see?”
Her mouth went dry. She realized she wasn’t dancing anymore, but she didn’t care. She pushed through the crowd, plunging in the direction she’d seen him. It was like trying to swim up a raging river, the throng of partyers unyielding as she tried to push past them.
“Téya, what’s happening?” Trace asked. “What’d you see?”
Him. She saw him. Her mind raged, demanding she verify who she’d seen. Demanding she find him. Téya sprinted around a corner. Saw a door close. She raced after it.
“Téya! You’re out of line of sight.”
She sprinted for the door.
“Téya!”
She jerked open the door and stepped in. The door slammed shut behind her. She stopped short.
Felt a poke against her back.
“Thank you,” a man’s voice breathed down her neck. “Thank you for helping me avoid listening ears.”
Her coms was still in place. She could still hear Trace shouting for someone to find her. Go after her.
