“It’s good to see them,” Daniel said, his voice low so only Cal could hear.
Cal nodded. He felt ashamed for keeping Daniel from the others. Ever since his outburst at Travis's funeral, Daniel had been staying close and watching over Cal from a distance.
“Hey, I’m sorry that you had to come down here and…”
Daniel’s smile and the subtle shake of his head cut off the rest of Cal’s apology. Cal knew that Daniel understood what he’d gone through and what he was still going through. The stubborn Marine wasn’t foolish enough to think that this was the end of it. His pain might subside, but it would never completely go away. He just had to learn to live with it, to channel the pain in productive ways that would help make a difference in the world. After all, that’s what Travis would want.
“It’s too bad you don’t drink,” Cal said, gesturing to the folding table that held handles of Jack Daniels and Famous Grouse, a toast to the old days at SSI. In addition, there was water and an ice bucket.
“I'm sure you guys can polish that off.”
Cal grinned, savoring the warmth in his chest and the lightness that seemed to increase with every passing minute. The burdensome weight was lifting; he could feel it.
Marjorie Haines, the current CEO of SSI, was the next to arrive. She was accompanied by the burly form of Todd Dunn, SSI’s head of security. Going back a couple of years, she and Travis had been an item. Lost in a sea of his own despair, Cal had forgotten to reach out to Marge. He could see that she was trying to keep it together, and he wondered how she had coped with Travis's tragic death.
He made his way to her, nodding a greeting to Dunn, a man of few words.
“Thanks for coming,” Cal said.
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Marge answered. Her tough facade that had helped to give her the nickname,“The Hammer,” slipped and Cal saw the anguish in her eyes.
“Marge, I’m so sorry.”
She nodded. One tear dropped from her eye, quickly followed by more. Cal pulled her into a tight embrace and she sobbed quietly. If the others noticed, they didn’t let on. With the music and sounds of laughter in the background, Cal held his old friend as the pain flowed from her.
Marge looked up, her wet eyes clearing.
“I’m sorry, too.”
Cal smiled warmly and said. “Come on. We've both shed our tears. Now it’s time to drink.”
Marge returned the smile and dabbed at her eyes with a tissue Todd Dunn produced from his coat pocket.
“Let me guess, Travis’s idea?” she said, pointing to the rows of dark liquid.
“You think I would throw a party like this?” Cal asked with amusement.
Marge slapped his arm playfully and went to visit with the others. Cal watched as Trent gave her his trademark bear hug and the others extended handshakes. She was one of them, even if they were no longer part of the same organization.
“How’s she been?” Cal asked Dunn, who let his boss make the rounds.
“Stays busy mostly.”
“And you?”
At one time, Dunn had been Travis's bodyguard, confidante, and loyal friend - similar to the relationship between Cal and Daniel.
“I miss him,” Dunn said. Cal knew it was probably the only emotional overture he’d get from the former Army Ranger. If you looked up the word stoic in the dictionary there was a ninety percent chance you would see Todd Dunn’s image there.
“Why don’t you grab a drink? Snake Eyes has the watch,” Cal said, pointing to ever-vigilant Daniel.
Dunn nodded, moving into the firelight, shaking hands with his former companions, once more part of the crew.
A few minutes later, two large figures emerged from the darkness. Cal tensed for a moment but Daniel waved a hand in acknowledgment. One of the men waved back and, after a quick scan of the area, disappeared back into the shadows from whence they had come. Cal was about to ask Daniel what was going on when President Brandon Zimmer, dressed in casual khaki shorts and a polo shirt, stepped into the firelight.
This time the voices around the fire fell silent as Brandon made a beeline for Cal. The Zac Brown band still strummed in the background, their smooth melody warding off the stillness.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” Cal said when Brandon neared.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Brandon replied and Cal knew he meant it.
The two men stood there for an awkward moment, Cal remembering the scene he had made after the funeral in front of the president and his team. That had been the last time he’d seen the president..
“I’m sorry about, well you know, the thing at Trav’s funeral,” Cal offered.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Another pause. Neither knew quite what to say. They were like brothers whose bond had been split by an accident, a tragic loss. This time the silence was broken when Trent stomped up and wrapped a muscled arm first around Brandon and then around Cal.
“If you two ladies are done making up, I think there’s a little booze we need to drink,” Trent said, evoking a chuckle from both men. “You think I’m kidding, but Doc Higgins is giving me a run for my money.”
“Hold on, Top,” Brandon said, “I stopped and picked up a friend along the way.”
Cal’s face scrunched in confusion and then he turned as the president motioned back the way he’d arrived. There, standing in the flickering light with her hair braided to one side the way he liked it and wearing a simple striped sundress was Diane Mayer. They made eye contact and Cal felt his heart pounding in his throat, making it impossible to speak. Again came the pang of regret. He hadn’t called her after the funeral. The others had probably kept her apprised of his location but she’d never pressed.
At one point, months ago, this beautiful woman had been the force that had grounded the Marine. Her intellect intrigued him, her humor enthralled him, and her voice covered him like a salve.
Instead of allowing Diane to help him deal with his grief, Cal had repaid her love by running away, just as he had shunned his team. He’d hidden from the world, from his sorrow, and from her. He didn’t know what to say. What do you say to a person after you leave them for months with no explanation, no word?
He didn’t know and yet he went to her, pulled once again by the inexplicable force that attracts two soul-entwined beings.
“Hi,” he said, looking into her eyes and then glancing at the sand at his feet.
“Hi,” she answered. He felt the hesitation. He’d hurt her; he'd left her. He, not anyone else.
Cal pushed the guilt away and focused on Travis’s words. Sometimes shit happens.
“I’m sorry,” he said, wishing there was some way to imbue the words with magical powers that would relay the depth of his plea.
“I know,” she said, in a tone much nicer than he thought he deserved. He almost wished she would slap him, throw sand in his face, or do something to repay him for his sins. But she didn’t. Instead she asked, “Can you get me a drink?”
He looked up at her, and while he didn’t see a look that said she would accept him back with open arms, he did see that she was trying. That was all he deserved and more than he’d ever hoped for. All the words that he’d tried to get straight in his head earlier in the day now muddled together like alphabet soup. The only thing he could say was, “Famous Grouse or Jack?”
She smiled shyly and said, “Jack please, and you better make it a double.”
Chapter 10
Haifa, Israel
August 28th, 4:47am Israel Daylight Time (IDT)
Seven Hours Ahead of EST
Maya Eilenberg prayed for the first rays of sunlight to come. She’d been on the run for almost twenty-four hours. Maya had seen the covert operatives following her but she had probably missed others. She couldn’t be sure but they were there. It had all started with a call from her adopted aunt, Hannah Krygier, with an imminent warning.
“You must find a place to hide, Maya. Quickly.”
Coming from
Krygier, the message could not have been clearer. Aunt Hannah, as Maya called her, was the epitome of calm. Maya often wished that she possessed such poise.
Two hours after talking to her Aunt Hannah, she’d received a similar call, this time from a robotic-sounding voice that informed her that Colonel Osman was dead. It was imperative she come in for questioning.
When she hung up the phone her face must have paled, because the cab driver asked if she was okay. Maya nodded curtly, regained a measure of composure and ordered the driver to pull over at the next stoplight. He did and, after paying the man, Maya hit the pavement, weaving her way in and out of the rush hour pedestrian traffic.
Her training kicked into high gear. From behind darkly tinted sunglasses, she began her hyper-vigilant scan of threats. It was impossible to confirm her suspicions, but she thought she had seen the same two men repeatedly. It could have been a coincidence when she saw one man buying food from a vendor and another perusing a newspaper stand. When she saw the same two men a second time, she knew it was no longer coincidental. They blended in perfectly. One was slender and dressed in casual business attire while the other wore a dusty construction uniform, carrying a yellow hardhat under his arm.
She could run. She knew how to disappear. If someone in her line of work didn't have an escape plan, they were either extremely careless or suicidal. Luckily, Col. Osman had taught her the skills needed to be an effective agent. He’d been a good boss, although a bit flirtatious at times. But while other men only saw a pretty face, Osman had seen her potential. After testing her intelligence, the army veteran had insisted Maya receive additional training as an operator, which included the use of weapons, hand-to-hand combat, and evasive maneuvers.
Not only had she excelled in her duties, but she’d been surprised to find that advanced weapons training and spy-craft fit perfectly with her unassuming demeanor. In Osman’s words, she was a natural.
That didn’t mean she held any illusions about taking on a man twice her size in hand-to-hand combat, but there were other ways to get the job done. Currently, she needed to utilize her evasive training to get the men off her trail.
Maya made up her mind and crossed the busy street, waving apologies to honking vehicles. She then approached the slender man who was sitting on a bench seemingly concerned only with his meal. If he was following her, he was very good. He didn’t look up at her when she, now playing the role of a lost pedestrian, approached him.
“Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to the train station?” she asked the man while continually glancing at her watch to give him the idea she was running late for an appointment.
He looked up from his food and pointed down the street.
“Head towards the port. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you,” she said, already heading in the direction he’d indicated. As she crossed the next intersection, she glanced back casually and noted the man was now intently speaking on his phone. He hadn’t gotten up from his seat but when Maya’s gaze swiveled wide she saw the other man across the street with a cell phone pressed to his ear.
However, two minutes later she scanned the area again. Both men had disappeared. A minute later, she looked again, but there were no signs of the men. Instead of calming her nerves, the absence of the men heightened her malaise. In the direction she was going, the crowds were thinning. She had yet to locate an unoccupied taxi.
That's when it occurred to her they'd been using the surveillance cameras in order to determine her location and keep tabs on her movements. The cameras were present everywhere. In a time when bombings were common throughout Israel, authorities had made it a top priority to install surveillance along major thoroughfares and throughout all major transportation hubs. Maya bit her lip instead of cursing; she imagined Osman laughing at her stupidity.
Even as she chided herself for the rookie move, a cab crept by, the backseat empty. She banged on the trunk to get his attention. The cab stopped, and she approached the driver’s side window.
“Get in,” the man said, after giving her a once over.
She ignored the ogling as she slid into the backseat. When asked where she wanted to go, she told him the airport. From there she’d caught another cab back into the city. Then she headed into the hills and their residential neighborhoods. Five cabs and a long walk later, she’d arrived at her current location. She discovered a dingy flat with a crooked sign on the lawn announcing a vacancy. It was after midnight but, despite the time, she called the number on the sign.
The owner, while less than amused by the late-night call, happily met her ten minutes later, but only after she offered to pay cash for a month’s rent. It turned out that the fat slob lived downstairs and even offered her a drink in his flat. If she hadn’t been moving all day, she might have taken him up on the offer, if only to keep up appearances. But her body and mind were exhausted, and she’d promised the landlord that she’d buy him a bottle of wine the next day. Maya had no intention of being in the apartment for that long, but he didn’t have to know that.
She’d secured the apartment door as well as she could and crumpled onto the bed. Even though she was bone tired, sleep would not come. She’d been lying in the same position staring up at the mottled ceiling as her brain spun, her senses still on high alert.
Finally, she made up her mind. She’d dumped her cell phone shortly after the robotic message but there were still pay phones scattered throughout the city. What she really wanted to do was run. With the resources she had scattered in various safety deposit boxes around town, Maya was sure she could live for at least two years.
But where would that leave her? On a beach selling trinkets until she was old and wrinkled? No, she could never do that. She wasn’t even in her thirties yet. There was still too much she wanted to do. Her job with Osman was supposed to be her meal ticket, and until twenty-four hours before, it had been. Their operation wasn’t just the most interesting thing she’d ever worked on, it was also highly fulfilling to her deep patriotism.
Maya believed in her country and wanted to do everything in her power to protect its future. But how could she do that if she was on the run? More importantly, who was the leak in their operation and who had killed Osman?
Like so many operators around the world, Maya Eilenberg’s mind kept wandering back to the same scenario, one she did not really want to contemplate, let alone believe. But there it was plain and simple and an obvious choice, really. Could her government be behind it all? Could her own people have killed Osman and sent her running?
No, she would not believe it until she talked to her aunt. Aunt Hannah would know. She would help.
Her mind made up, Maya got out of bed and pocketed her meager belongings. Maybe she could find a pay phone nearby. If so, she could be under her aunt’s protection within the hour.
With renewed energy, Maya hurried out of the flat and down the steps. The cool morning air washed over her as she scurried down the sidewalk, the faint smell of salt tickling her senses. She was so refreshed with elation and hope that her trade-craft failed her.
So, as she rushed past the corner and its line of plastic trashcans waiting for dutiful public servants, Maya never noticed the shadow in her midst until one gloved hand clamped over her mouth and another hand wrapped around her neck.
Chapter 11
Haifa, Israel
August 28th, 5:03am IDT
Maya’s body tensed and her barred teeth clamped down on the gloved hand. She heard the man curse and just as she went to break the hold, the man said, “Dammit, Maya, let go.”
For some reason she listened to the order and bent to a crouch. As if on cue she heard a crack and shards of brick fell from where her head had just been.
“Run,” the man urged, as if Maya needed the encouragement. He forcefully nudged her in the correct direction.
She didn’t know the identity of the man who’d grabbed her but she wasn’t exactly in a place to argue. Maya bolted, her legs churning as she he
ard more shots from behind. Silenced weapon. Small caliber. Probably a twenty-two.
Her mind reverted back to her training, endless hours spent familiarizing herself with a variety of weapons, and countless more hours spent firing them at various distances. While she’d never been shot at in real life, her instructors had fired plenty of rounds over their heads to get them used to the feel and the sounds as they attempted to find cover.
That’s what she had to do now - find cover. You would think it an easy thing to do in a city where cars and buildings were everywhere, but the angles were all wrong. Whoever was following her and the mystery man wasn’t alone. She could feel them closing in like a pack of wolves. One attacker was probably right behind them while the other sounded like he was coming from the other side of the street. Angles. Amateurs never thought enough about angles.
Just then, she heard a squeal of tires and in her mind the current situation went from bad to worse. With no alleys to duck into and the street turns limited, she and her guardian angel could easily be overtaken.
“Get closer to the street,” she heard the man say.
Maya was incredulous. “What? The car…”
“Just do it,” the man ordered, overtaking her sprint with long sure strides. That was when she recognized him. There had been something in his voice but she hadn't been sure. It was in the way he ran; Maya had run behind him for too many miles to count. Although she was currently being chased and shot at, her outlook improved.
The Zimmer Doctrine (Corps Justice Book 11) Page 5
