Code Word

by Traci Hunter Abramson

  © 2012 Traci Hunter Abramson.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. This work is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

  Cover image: Girl in Tunnel © Milos Jokic, courtesty istockphoto.com

  Cover design copyright © 2012 by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.

  American Fork, Utah

  Copyright © 2012 by Traci Hunter Abramson

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. This work is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect the position of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.

  First Printing: August 2012

  978-1-62108-257-6

  For Diana

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Prologue

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  About the Author

  Other books By Traci Hunter Abramson:

  Acknowledgments

  Thanks to the many readers who have encouraged me to write this book. I have thoroughly enjoyed writing about the Saint Squad, and your feedback and input has been invaluable.

  Thank you to all of the wonderful people at Covenant who continue to support and encourage me to do what I love. A special thanks to Rebecca Cummings for helping me become the writer I am today and to Samantha Van Walraven for constantly helping me turn the seed of an idea into a complete novel.

  To my family, thank you for supporting my writing and the crazy hours I often keep when I’m in the middle of my fictional world.

  Thank you to the CIA Publication Review Board for your help in meeting some demanding deadlines throughout this editing process. Your efforts are greatly appreciated.

  Finally, I want to recognize the members of our armed forces who sacrifice so much to protect our freedom.

  Prologue

  Carina Channing navigated her way through the outskirts of Denver and listened to her two younger sisters chat about their summer plans. She had returned home a few hours earlier, and her mom had suggested they celebrate by going out to their family’s favorite pizza place. It was a bit odd that her mom hadn’t come with them, but Carina assumed her mom wanted to give her time alone with her sisters.

  She was looking forward to the three months they would spend together before she had to leave for graduate school. Her semesters at NYU had been incredible, but she was ready for a break before she went back to Manhattan, this time to attend the Fashion Institute of Technology.

  The Rocky Mountains rose to the west as the cool air whipped through the open windows of her mom’s Mercedes. She had missed this during her time away at school: the open landscape of the west, the rugged beauty of Colorado. In her heart, this was home, even though she had spent her turbulent childhood in Chicago.

  She beat the memories back before they could form, reminding herself that she wasn’t a Perelli anymore. None of them were. They were the Channing family now. A nice, normal American family who happened to only have one parent living in their home.

  “You’re going to let us help you decorate your new apartment, right?” sixteen-year-old Gianna asked from the passenger seat as she tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.

  “Absolutely.” Carina grinned. She still couldn’t believe her mother was buying her an apartment in New York and would finalize the deal in less than a month. She would no longer have to deal with messy roommates or the awkward parties that often came with them. Living the Mormon lifestyle had been a challenge in the city, but she knew it was one she would have to learn to deal with if she wanted to work in the fashion industry.

  “I can’t wait to see it,” fourteen-year-old Bianca said from the backseat.

  “Me too.” Carina’s eyes lit up. “Did you see the pictures the Realtor sent Mom? The place is incredible.”

  Gianna grinned. “I think Mom just wanted to make sure there was enough room for all of us for when we come to visit.”

  “Personally, I think we should spend some time in LA this summer,” Bianca said.

  “Let me guess, there’s a swim meet you want to go to.”

  “It’s not just any swim meet,” Bianca countered. “It would be my first chance to swim in a national competition. And it’s right next to the beach. You guys would like that.”

  Carina listened to Bianca rave about the vacation she had planned for them and her pleas that they help her convince their mom.

  She turned the corner toward her mom’s house, at first unaware of the two cars parked in her driveway. She was half a block away when she noticed them, the identical black SUVs, the kind the bad guys always drove back in Chicago, the kind she wanted to believe were only in the movies. But this wasn’t the movies. This was real life, and the bad guys she knew were anything but fictional.

  Her heartbeat quickened, her eyes searching the front of the house for any sign of the visitors. She knew the two cars parked in her driveway shouldn’t have been cause for alarm. Since her mother had moved them to Colorado over eight years before, they had lived quietly in this upscale Denver suburb. Not once had they seen or heard from their father since they had run away from Chicago and the family.

  She had nearly convinced herself that everything was okay when she saw the front door of their house open and a burly man in a dark suit take a guard-like stance on the porch.

  Carina forced herself to look away from her house, to focus once more on the road.

  “Carina, where are you going?” Gianna asked, motioning behind her. “You just passed our house.”

  “Call the house. See if you can get Mom on the phone.”

  Gianna’s eyebrows drew together, but she pulled her cell phone from her pocket and hit speed dial for their house phone. “She isn’t answering.”

  “Try her cell.”

  Gianna dialed once more but shook her head when again their mother didn’t answer. “Nothing.”

  Carina took a deep breath, praying that her mother was okay, that she and her sisters would remain safe. She turned the corner and pulled over to the side of the road. “Listen to me. Something doesn’t look right at the house. I want you to dr
ive over to the Jorgensens. If I don’t call or text you in the next five minutes, call the cops.”

  Gianna’s face paled, and she shook her head. “If something’s wrong, we should stay together.”

  “I’m just going to check on Mom,” Carina said, fighting to keep her voice calm. “Your job right now is to keep Bianca safe.”

  Even as Bianca protested that she wasn’t a kid anymore, Gianna swallowed hard and nodded.

  Carina climbed out of the car, leaving the keys in the ignition for her sister. She cut through the neighbor’s backyard and headed toward her own in the hopes that she could get inside through the side garage door without being seen.

  Quietly, she slipped into the garage to find it empty. Light streamed in through the door she’d left open behind her. Cautiously, quietly, she moved across the concrete floor toward the entrance leading into the house. She reached for the doorknob, but her hand jerked back when she heard a gunshot vibrate through the quiet neighborhood, followed by a second and a third.

  She gasped, her stomach clutching with fear. She wanted to pretend that it was a car backfiring or someone’s TV blasting, but she knew better. She knew exactly what gunshots sounded like.

  In that moment, she froze, afraid to move forward, too terrified to run away. She hadn’t stopped to think that her father’s men would never leave the garage unprotected.

  Men shouted inside. Rapid footsteps sounded.

  Carina’s heart pounded in her chest, and panic seized her. She thought of her sisters, of the instructions she had given them. Reality flashed through her mind, the knowledge that opening the door, walking into her house, could end her life. Her hands shaking, she pulled her cell phone free of her pocket. If she called for help, the people inside might hear her, but she had to do something.

  With a prayer in her heart, she texted Gianna three simple words: Call the cops.

  1

  Two years later. May 2, 2011

  Adrenaline and anticipation. The scent of sweat and greasepaint. Helicopter rotors thrumming overhead. Lieutenant Jay Wellman absorbed every detail as he studied the dark shadows of the other eleven men in the back of the Blackhawk helicopter.

  The seven men sitting nearest the doors were relative strangers to Jay, all of them members of another SEAL team. This was their mission, their lead. The Saint Squad, which Jay belonged to, was part of SEAL Team Eight, but together they comprised an all-important, top-secret unit.

  This was one of at least a dozen special ops missions planned for tonight, each one just as important as the next. But theirs, if successful, might not only make the news but could also make history.

  The other SEALs who would accompany them tonight were aboard the Blackhawks currently flying in formation beside them. Jay didn’t have to look out the window to know they were passing through the lower ranges of the Himalayas. Like the others on board, he had studied the mission plan until he knew it by heart. For two months they had trained for this, always preparing for this moment.

  The helicopters transporting them were the stealth variety, specially designed to avoid detection by the local military. Even though Pakistan was currently an ally, its government hadn’t been alerted that the SEALs were coming. Which meant Pakistan’s military didn’t know they were coming either.

  Officially, the SEALs weren’t in Pakistan tonight, and unless their mission yielded the desired results, no one would ever know of their presence.

  In the darkness, Jay studied the other four members of his squad. Though he had only been with this unit for less than a year, Jay could now identify his teammates under any circumstances. Across from him, Tristan Crowther rolled his shoulders as though trying to get more comfortable. His relaxed posture nearly managed to disguise the energy pulsing through him. Beside Tristan, Quinn Lambert was ready for action. Six feet tall, impatient, and built like a boxer, Quinn was always ready for a fight.

  Their commanding officer, Lt. Commander Brent Miller, sat between Quinn and one of the other squad commanders. The two senior officers had their heads together over the map Brent held, a flashlight cutting through the darkness to illuminate their object of study.

  The final member of the Saint Squad sat beside him. Seth Johnson’s dark skin made him almost invisible in the night, but Jay knew that when there was trouble, Seth would be there to watch his back.

  Over the past ten months since Jay had joined the Saint Squad, these four men had become a second family to him. On the surface, he knew he shouldn’t feel like he belonged, but—somehow—he did. The other members were all married, all Latter-day Saints. The Saint Squad’s nickname had come from the fact that the whole squad was Mormon. He had become the exception when the squad’s former commanding officer moved up to take over the command of SEAL Team Eight.

  Jay still couldn’t say he really understood their religion, but he had gotten used to their idiosyncrasies. Prayers before missions were now commonplace for him, as was the expectation that going out for a drink meant a round of soda.

  They had been deployed to Afghanistan for three months before returning to their home base in the States to train for this mission. As soon as they completed their objective, they would head back to Virginia Beach, where they would go back to life as usual—or at least what passed for usual for Navy SEALs.

  “Two minutes until target.” The copilot’s voice came through Jay’s headset.

  Grips tightened on the automatic weapons they all held, and Jay felt his stomach pitch with apprehension for several seconds before his adrenaline pushed it aside. This was routine, he reminded himself. He could no longer count how many times he had jumped out of a helicopter or worked his way through the darkness in search of the enemy. He had been trained for nights like tonight. They all had.

  He visualized his target, the one-acre property in Abbottabad surrounded by eighteen-foot walls. The helicopter was so close to the ground as they approached that he could feel the vibration of the houses shaking beneath them.

  The one-minute countdown started, and the smell of anticipation kicked up another notch. Jay heard someone let out an obscenity as a spark of light illuminated the sky.

  “Incoming!” someone shouted as the helicopter jerked hard to the right.

  A rocket-propelled grenade flashed past them, and the helicopter spun around as the pilot fought for control. Instinctively, Jay tightened his harness. The other Blackhawks fired on their target to clear their landing zone, but not before another grenade burst into the air.

  The impact and the subsequent explosion rocked the helicopter again.

  “Hang on!” The pilot’s voice was clipped.

  Jay gripped the edge of his seat, and he felt the Blackhawk start to vibrate awkwardly.

  The world seemed to stop in that instant. Reality crashed over him, the certainty that he was very likely about to die. He thought he’d been prepared for the possibility that he might give his life serving his country. But not like this. Not while strapped into a helicopter, the safety still engaged on his weapon.

  The seconds ticked by in slow motion, like a replay on a football game being shown frame by frame. Obscenities erupted from the other squad on board, contrasting sharply with the silence from his own squad.

  With his night vision goggles already in place, Jay could see his teammates clearly. Fear, concern, alarm. Those expressions were written on everyone’s faces, but beneath those most basic emotions, the rest of his squad seemed calm, accepting of the chaos surrounding them.

  Didn’t they understand that they were rapidly hurtling toward the ground? Didn’t they realize their wives could become widows in the next ten seconds—wives who were waiting at home for them, who would miss them when they were gone?

  Jay didn’t have that, had never really had that.

  Before he could finish the thought, the Blackhawk impacted hard on the ground, and his body jerked forward. A shower of sparks at the rear of the helicopter accompanied the crunch of metal.

  The next voice
over the communication gear was the commander’s, who was sitting beside Brent. “Helo One has landed. We are a go.”

  Instantly, everyone sprang into action. Two by two, the SEALs exited the helicopter while the rest of the assault squad slid down ropes from the other helicopters hovering overhead. The initial burst of gunfire, the sound of the guards on the roof shooting at the SEALs overhead, was expected.

  More gunfire sounded as Jay’s feet touched the ground. Immediately, he dropped to the dirt, a tremor working its way through his body. His brain shut down for a dangerous second, his reality adjusting from almost dying to now trying to stay alive.

  He caught a glimpse of Seth out of the corner of his eye. That was enough to remind him why he was here. He was part of a team, and his team needed him.

  Quickly, he checked his teammates’ positions and then returned fire. After squeezing off a couple of quick bursts, the shooter retreated into the house. Jay didn’t speak Arabic, but it didn’t take much to figure out the gist of the man’s frantic shouts of warning.

  The mission commander gave the signal for the planned assault to begin, and the SEALs entered the main structure in waves. Children cried out, and a woman’s scream pierced the air. Rapid footsteps sounded in several directions as they moved steadily forward. Then the rat-a-tat-tat of automatic weapons punctuated the night.

  Tristan led the way into a stairwell, with Seth bringing up the rear, as they made their way up one level and then another. They cleared the first several rooms, finding only some rumpled bedding and stray clothes. Cautiously moving forward, Jay heard more gunfire from the level below, followed by someone whimpering in a room close by.