And a few years ago, that thought might have comforted him, though now with the relationship with his son on the mend, he found himself worrying about the lad’s future.
Hopefully, the politicians will smarten up before it’s too late.
He grunted a laugh.
Not bloody likely.
He sat on the edge of his bed and yawned, the middle of the night pee-break a ritual he was now used to, it rarely preventing him from getting back to sleep. He slipped the CPAP mask over his face, hoping to squeeze another couple of hours of sleep in before he had to leave for the airport. He pushed it against his face then pressed the button to turn on the machine. He lay down and checked the seal for any leaks, and sighed, closing his eyes.
He had been diagnosed with sleep apnea and prescribed a machine he had first described as infernal, though once used to it, the difference in his energy level was like night and day. He now rarely required a nap, and fortunately, an echo of his heart had revealed no damage to the left ventricle so common with long-term undiagnosed sleep apnea. If he had known it could damage his heart and ultimately kill him, he would have done something about it years ago. But as far as he had known, it just meant you snored, and with him being Scotland Yard until a couple of years ago, he never had time to have it checked out regardless.
Interpol?
That was another story.
A few times catching himself asleep at his desk in the early afternoon had him talking to his doctor. He wished he had done it years ago, now feeling ten years younger.
His phone vibrated on his nightstand.
Bloody hell!
He hit the button on the CPAP machine, turning it off, then unclipped the mask, tossing it aside. He grabbed the phone and swiped his thumb. He checked his watch and his eyebrows popped.
It’s five in the morning!
“This better be good.”
“Ahh, hello, Hugh? This is Detective Justin Shakespeare, NYPD.”
15 |
CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia
Sonya Tong knocked on the door, straightening her outfit without noticing, her heart racing slightly.
“Enter!”
She smiled.
He does that because Captain Picard does it.
She sighed as she opened the door. She didn’t know what it was about her boss, Analyst Supervisor Chris Leroux, but she found herself obsessing over him—unhealthily—it having been well over a year since her thoughts seemed to be dominated by him.
She had never paid him any mind, though when he had been promoted, he had become unattainable, and therefore an object to covet.
Unfortunately, his girlfriend was gorgeous, and a CIA Agent. How could she, a mousy half-Hong Kong, half-Vietnamese analyst hope to have a guy like him? Yet if she reversed the roles, he was mousy himself. He was a geek, though cute, and in what she thought of as good shape, and until recently, had been an analyst like her.
And he had landed the sexy, exciting Sherrie White as his girlfriend.
So if he could do that, why couldn’t she?
She stepped inside, Leroux smiling at her, sending her heart hammering faster.
“What can I do for you?”
Oh, God, so many things!
She held up a tablet. “I might have something on Alia Monroe.”
“President Starling’s cousin?”
She handed him the tablet. “Echelon intercepted a conversation this morning between an NYPD detective and Agent Hugh Reading of Interpol.”
Leroux’s eyebrows popped. “Reading? Really? Huh. Small world.”
Tong agreed, Reading someone they had dealt with on numerous occasions since she had worked here, the man friends with an archaeology couple that had a knack for getting into trouble.
Leroux pushed the tablet back. “Highlights?”
“Apparently a reporter friend of Detective Shakespeare, an Aynslee Kai—”
“Oh, isn’t she the one that Randy says you look like?”
Her heart nearly stopped, her cheeks flushing. “Umm, do you think I look like her?”
Leroux nodded. “Absolutely. Lose the glasses and change the hair, you could be sisters.”
Her ears burned. In her books, Aynslee Kai was one of the most beautiful women on television, and if he thought she looked like her…
“So how is Miss Kai involved?”
She snapped out of the passionate embrace she was picturing. “Umm, well, I guess the brother of a missing girl, Mary Todd, approached her and gave her a file. State apparently won’t help because she went to Syria voluntarily.”
Leroux shook his head. “Idiot.”
Tong agreed, her eyes glued to his face while she had the chance, his eyes closed for a moment as he expressed his displeasure at the young woman’s life choices.
His eyes opened.
She stared at her pad.
“Agreed. State’s just planning to arrest her if she comes back. But her cover story looks like it’s BS. She said she was going there to look for two of her friends that had disappeared after leaving for Syria, but now the brother thinks she was always going to join them.”
Leroux smiled. “And one of those friends is Alia Monroe.”
Tong nodded. “Could be. We know she traveled to Paris without her folks knowing, but that’s it. With the Schengen Agreement, there are no internal borders, and Turkey’s border is so soft, a few hundred bucks can poke a hole right through it.” Tong glanced up from her pad. “It could be her. If it is, what do we do?”
Leroux steepled his fingers in front of him, elbows on the armrests of his chair, something she had seen Director Morrison do on countless occasions, Leroux imitating a great man. “We redirect our efforts to finding any trace of her in Syria or that region, and plug the leak.”
“Sir?”
“I don’t think ISIS has any idea who they’ve got, otherwise there’d be ransom demands by now, or worse. If Aynslee Kai breaks this story, Alia Monroe is as good as dead.”
16 |
1st Special Forces Operational Detachment - Delta HQ Fort Bragg, North Carolina A.k.a. “The Unit”
“I can lift that.”
Command Sergeant Major Burt “Big Dog” Dawson glanced up at Niner as Atlas growled out a tenth and final rep on an impossible amount of weight. He helped the massive man guide the barbell back onto the rack, Atlas sitting up and eyeballing the comparatively tiny Niner. “I don’t think so, little man. That’s about ten times your weight.”
Niner gave him a look. “I’m not a hedgehog, you mass of prime beef. That’s at most three times my weight.”
Spock stopped the treadmill he was sprinting on. “I’ll give you ten thousand dollars if you can lift it.”
Niner smacked his hands together. “Challenge accepted.”
Spock held out a hand. “Wait a minute. If you can’t lift it, what do I get?”
“Umm, a kiss?”
Jimmy groaned. “Confusion, dude, confusion.”
Spock waved a hand in front of him. “Forget it, not worth it.”
Niner pointed at the bench, staring at Atlas. “You cleaning that up?”
Atlas grabbed his towel and wiped it down. “Sorry, wouldn’t want you to get any testosterone on you.”
Niner bowed. “Thank you.” He grabbed his pecks as if they were boobs and shoved one up then the other, laughter filling the room at his estrogen display. He lay down, staring up at Dawson, ready to spot him.
“You sure about this?”
Niner nodded. “Absolutely.”
“Then you’re an idiot.”
Niner’s eyes narrowed. “You’re just discovering this now?” He gave Dawson a slight wink. Niner quickly pulled off two reps and was about to start a third when an astonished Atlas pointed at Dawson’s bulging biceps.
“Hey, that’s cheating!”
Dawson looked down at Niner. “Busted.”
Together they guided the several hundred pounds to the rack. Niner sat up, his hand out, staring at S
pock. “Ten grand, please.”
“Nuh uh, I said no bet. Besides, I think your spotter did most of the lifting.”
Dawson made a show of stretching his arms. “Yeah, did you actually do any lifting?”
Sergeant Trip “Mickey” McDonald poked his head in the room, his trademark ears red with excitement. “Red, the Colonel wants to see you. We’ve got a mission!”
Red looked at Dawson. “Duty calls.”
Dawson frowned. It should be him meeting with Colonel Clancy, but he had removed himself from the rotation, with Clancy’s blessing, while Maggie recovered from the massive stroke she had experienced a few weeks ago. “Sorry, buddy. I hate to leave you hangin’ like this.”
Red shook his head as he wiped down with a towel. “Bullshit. Family comes first, and Maggie’s family. You’d cover for any of us.”
Spock stepped forward. “That’s right, BD. So, how’s she doing?”
Dawson shrugged. “Slowly getting better physically, but mentally?” He sighed. “I don’t know.”
Niner put a foot on the bench, lunging forward slightly. “Hey, man, you know we’ve all got our fingers, legs, nuts and everything else crossed for her. She’s going to pull through this. It’ll just take time.”
Spock’s eyebrow rose and he pointed at a dangler from Niner’s shorts. “Speaking of nuts.”
Niner reached down and tucked it in. He glanced at Jimmy. “What, no comment from the peanut gallery about why he was staring at my junk.”
Jimmy shrugged. “Uh, why were you putting them on display?”
Spock recoiled slightly, waving his hands back and forth in front of him. “Hey, I was only looking because I was wondering why you had raisins in your shorts.”
The room roared at Niner’s expense, the Asian warrior grabbing his boys and giving them a squeeze. “I’ll have you know that these are at least water chestnuts. These are manageable.” He gestured toward Atlas’ package. “Not like those damned coconuts he’s sporting. How can you even walk properly with those things?”
“Yet another burden borne by the black man.”
Red whipped his towel at Atlas. “On that note, I’m outta here.”
He left the room, the laughter lost on Dawson as he watched his best friend of over a decade leave to get briefed on a mission he should be leading.
And he had a sickening feeling something was about to go terribly wrong.
17 |
Aynslee Kai Residence New York City, New York
CIA Agent Sherrie White sat comfortably, curled up in the corner of the bedroom on a papasan chair, scraping at the underside of her nails with the tip of a blade she normally kept concealed on her ankle when in-country, which was still most of the time, she new to the game. She glanced over at the sleeping beauty, the breathing heavy, though not a snore, her hair a matted mess, mostly concealing a significant damp spot on her pillow from drool, making Sherrie feel better about herself, Aynslee Kai the type of gorgeous that intimidated most women.
And men.
She checked her watch again.
Jesus, how late does she sleep in?
The woman was the late night news anchor, so her schedule was probably shifted accordingly, and flirting with the doorman had given her enough intel to know Miss Kai had arrived home late last night, an older man dropping her off, likely the NYPD detective that had made the unsecured phone call outside of the country, making it fair game for Echelon to intercept and record it.
A flurry of activity had resulted, she dispatched to kill the story, her boyfriend’s team no doubt scouring every bit of intel they could to locate Alia Monroe, now that they had a possible destination for the millennial.
Sherrie was a millennial, though her youth was one of heartache and struggle, her parents dying when she was a teenager. She had fought for everything she had, had earned her way to where she was today, and learned to work the system, rather than blame it, this incredible country she had been fortunate enough to be born into all she had needed to succeed.
And now, here she was, a CIA Agent with an exciting career, amazing boyfriend, and a life her parents would be proud of. She got to do incredible things, was privy to unbelievable secrets, and got to meet famous people.
Like news anchors.
The iPhone on the nightstand began its chime and the beautiful Aynslee Kai stirred, rolling over and grabbing the phone before tapping the screen to silence the annoyance.
Sherrie cleared her throat.
Aynslee bolted upright, her eyes wide. She was about to scream, or yell, or protest—what, Sherrie wasn’t sure, but it didn’t matter.
None would be productive.
She raised a finger. “Miss Kai, I’m not here to hurt you.” She noticed Aynslee staring at the knife. “Oh, sorry.” She slipped it back into its sheath and rolled out of the ridiculously large and round chair. She flashed her fake Homeland Security ID. “I’m Agent White, Homeland. I’m here to discuss Alia Monroe.”
18 |
The Unit Fort Bragg, North Carolina
Red walked into Colonel Thomas Clancy’s office, freshly showered and clad in civilian attire, uniforms not the norm for Delta operators. He nodded at Maggie’s replacement, it still odd not seeing Dawson’s fiancée behind the desk as she had been for years. His thoughts drifted to the poor woman, and his best friend, and what they must be going through. A month ago, they were talking bachelor party, and now the wedding hadn’t been mentioned in weeks, their nuptials seemingly forgotten in the insanity that was their new reality.
“Good morning, Gina.”
She smiled at him. “Good morning, Sergeant.” She pressed a button on her phone as she lifted the receiver. “Master Sergeant Belme is here, sir.” She returned the phone to its cradle. “He’ll see you now, Sergeant.”
“Thanks.” He stepped through the door to the inner office, about to close it when Clancy waved him off.
“Leave it open. There’s something wrong with the heating in here and Santa’s chestnuts are roasting.”
Red chuckled as he took a seat, finally noticing the heat. “Jesus, Colonel, who did you piss off in Maintenance?”
Clancy grunted. “I don’t think Jesus or Maintenance has anything to do with this. I think somebody a little farther south had something to do with it. Giving me a taste of my future if I don’t start getting along with my sister-in-law.”
“Hell, sir, if they sent everyone down there who didn’t get along with their in-laws, I think Heaven would be a pretty empty place.”
Clancy’s head bobbed. “True, true, so maybe there’s hope.” He pushed a file across his desk and Red opened it, skipping the cover page warning him of certain death or worse should he ignore the secret nature of what he was about to read.
His eyebrows popped. “Alia Monroe? The President’s cousin?”
“Yup. Looks like they might have finally found her.”
Red grunted. “Didn’t know we were looking.”
“It’s been kept fairly quiet, treated like a runaway. The press got bored with it pretty quick when it was dismissed as a family problem. Reality is, the family has no idea where she is and for good reason. It looks like she joined ISIS.”
Red’s eyes widened as he continued through the file. “No shit! Idiot.” He closed the thin dossier. “I take it we’re supposed to go save her from herself?”
“That’s the idea. We don’t know where she is, or if she’s even alive, but the President has specifically requested your team—”
“You mean BD’s team.”
“—your team. Six men. Get in theater and hopefully by the time you get there, we’ll know where to send you. Time is of the essence here. Right now we don’t think ISIS knows who they have.”
Red pursed his lips. “If they find out, that naïve little idiot is dead.”
19 |
WACX Broadcasting New York City, New York
“Here we are, Miss Kai.”
Aynslee opened her eyes, the pounding headache stil
l throbbing in her head from the shock of seeing a government agent sitting in her bedroom, playing with a knife. She grabbed her purse and leather briefcase then opened the door. “Thanks, Richie. Have a good one.”
“You too, Miss Kai.”
She stepped onto the curb and shut the door, the car pulling away and merging into traffic as she headed for the steps of the office tower housing her network. She had already tried to reach Shakespeare, but he wasn’t answering, which was unusual for him.
Maybe he’s getting a visit, too.
She frowned.
Maybe they’re blocking my calls to him.
The very idea pissed her off, though the woman who had spoken to her earlier had been persuasive.
And absolutely correct.
Breaking the story could result in Alia Monroe’s death. She had agreed to bury it, though only in exchange for an exclusive interview with Homeland when the girl was safe, and an assurance Mary Todd wouldn’t be forgotten in the crossfire. This had been agreed to, too readily, she thought, leaving her to wonder if the woman had the power to agree to such conditions.
Yet it didn’t matter. She wasn’t about to risk Alia Monroe’s life to scoop the other networks. For now, only she, Shakespeare, and his friend knew. And Bobby Todd. She frowned as she saw Bobby surge from his perch on a nearby bench.
“Miss Kai! I’m sorry to intrude, but, umm, have you decided to cover the story?”
She glanced about, wondering if she was being watched. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
Bobby appeared at once confused and angry. “But, but why? She needs help!”
“Lower your voice,” she hissed, “or this conversation is over.” The look of chagrin suggested she might be able to control the situation, though only if she threw him a bone. “Listen, I made some calls, okay? I can’t cover the story, but the information you provided was enough to get the right people involved.”
He stared at her for a moment, the confusion in his eyes evident. “Wh-what do you mean? The government?”
Forgotten Page 5
