Belme Residence West Luzon Drive, Fort Bragg, North Carolina
Shirley Belme moved aside a frozen solid package of ground beef, searching for the hamburger patties she knew were somewhere in there, the chest freezer the stupidest design for storing groceries invented.
If this ever dies, I want an upright.
Sure, it was less energy efficient, but the convenience factor had to outweigh that, right?
“Look, Mommy!”
She glanced over her shoulder at Bryson as he held up the model Humvee he had been working on for the past two weeks. Her husband had been helping him glue the model together, but Bryson had become impatient, Red off on another mission to save the world.
She sighed.
She hated his job, yet she knew he loved it. She was proud of him, of that there was no doubt—he was a hero. He saved lives for a living, asking nothing in return. He received no recognition except a shit paycheck.
Though that was the life he had signed up for, and so had she by agreeing to marry him. Life was sometimes a struggle, but they made due. Base housing helped, the fact they could rarely vacation due to his unpredictable schedule, helped too. For some couples that might have been a problem, though not for them. They were each other’s best friend, and with him away so often, on such dangerous missions, their reunions were always intensely satisfying.
In every way.
She shivered.
Then frowned.
Their last night together hadn’t been magic, then again, most nights weren’t. They had been married for over ten years, and though there was still a spark, it wasn’t always fireworks. She had been tired and cranky, and he was exhausted. Pecks good night, lights out, backs facing each other followed by sleep.
Nothing out of the ordinary, though whenever she knew he was leaving on an op, she tried to do something a little special for him, just so he knew why it was so rewarding to come home.
But they hadn’t known, the op last minute.
Next time.
Another shiver.
“Ooh, baby, are you gonna get some when you get home.”
“What, Mommy?”
Her eyes shot wide.
Did I say that out loud?
“Nothing.”
Car doors slammed out front and she glanced down the hallway, catching sight of someone getting out of a black car.
In dress uniform.
She stood up, the freezer lid slamming shut, the surprise sound causing her to flinch as the world shut down around her.
They can’t be here for you. They can’t be. You’d know.
The doorbell rang and her mouth filled with bile. Bryson bolted for the door. She reached out silently for him but was too late. He pulled the door open.
“Uncle Dog!”
“Hi Bryson, is your mom home?”
“Mommy!”
But she couldn’t move. Her legs were frozen in place, her ears filled with the pounding of her heart.
“Why don’t you show me your room.”
It was Wings’ wife, Robyn. They had thought of everything. Dawson stepped into view, she not recalling the last time she had seen him in his dress uniform. He looked so handsome.
If it weren’t for the grim face.
A face shared with Colonel Clancy.
Then the gentle, caring face of the base chaplain.
This was it.
This was the day she had always dreaded.
This was the day she knew could come, though after ten years, had pushed the possibility so far into the back of her mind, she had convinced herself the man she loved, the father of her child, was invincible.
Dawson was in front of her now. She hadn’t even seen him move. His hands were on her, gently guiding her into the living room and onto the couch. He sat beside her. She realized she still hadn’t said anything.
She stared up at Clancy. “Sir, I-I’m sorry. Can I get you anything? A cup of tea?”
He smiled gently, kneeling in front of her. “I’m sorry, Shirley, but there’s been an incident.”
She sucked in a breath. It wasn’t real until it was said.
Just don’t say it!
“Coffee? I can put a pot on now, it’s no trouble.”
Clancy sighed. “I have been asked to inform you that your husband has been reported dead, the exact circumstances of which are classified. On the behalf of the Secretary of Defense, I extend to you and your family my deepest sympathy in your great loss.”
She cried out at the by the book statement, choking it off as best she could, not wanting to upset Bryson, not yet.
Not ever.
“How?”
“I can’t tell you that, not officially, but rest assured, his actions saved countless lives, and he felt no pain.”
Her shoulders slumped, the knowledge he hadn’t suffered, some small comfort. “Wh-when can I see him?”
Clancy frowned. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible. We…” He paused.
She looked up at him, her lip quivering. “What is it?”
“We weren’t able to recover his body.”
Tears poured down her cheeks and her shoulders shook as she finally gave in. Dawson placed an arm over her shoulders and squeezed her gently, her head dropping onto his chest as she lost all control.
He was gone.
Completely gone.
There’d never be a proper funeral.
Never be a proper burial.
There’d be no grave to visit, no place she could go to remember the man that had been her life for so much of hers. She pulled in a deep breath and stared up at Clancy, her eyes narrowed. “H-how can there be no body? Where is it?”
His face darkened, and what he told her next had her racing for the bathroom.
49 |
Operations Center 2, CIA Headquarters Langley, Virginia
“Do we have any idea where Miss Monroe is now?”
Chris Leroux nodded his head slightly at Director Morrison’s question. “We traced her vehicle to al-Raqqah where she was transferred into one of their known buildings.”
“Could she still be there?”
“Possibly, though there’s no way of knowing for sure. It seems to be some sort of transfer point. A lot of people in and out.”
“How secure is it?”
Leroux shook his head, knowing what his boss was thinking. “Too secure, sir. There’s no way a team is getting in there. It would take a full-on invasion.”
“Well, that’s not happening, no matter how connected she is.” Morrison sighed then rose from his chair. “Okay, keep monitoring the chatter and keep eyes on that building, maybe we’ll get lucky.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And the body of the Delta operator?”
Leroux frowned, recalling the horrifying images. “We tracked it into the town, then it was taken to al-Raqqah as well.”
“Any video yet?”
“No. They’re probably trying to figure out the best way they can use this opportunity. It’s not every day they kill a Delta operator.”
“True, but they don’t know he’s Delta.”
Leroux shook his head. “Sorry, sir, but they do.”
Morrison tossed his head back, cursing. “Right, I forgot about the mole. Are they getting anything out of her?”
“Not yet. She’s been transferred to FBI custody. She asked for a lawyer then started reciting the Koran. Too bad we couldn’t just send her to Gitmo.”
Morrison frowned. “No longer an option, I’m afraid. Where’s her family from originally?”
“Syria.”
Morrison folded his arms. “Well, we could send her back there. Assad’s people could get something out of her.”
Leroux’s eyes shot wide open. “Would we do that?”
Morrison grunted. “It wouldn’t be the first time, but not with an American citizen, no matter how much she hates her country.”
A burst of air escaped Randy Child’s mouth. “Stupid constitution.”
&nb
sp; Leroux smiled, glancing at him for a moment. “She’s been caught committing treason. Her life is over.”
Child motioned at the display. “We’ve got activity.”
Leroux stared at the building where Alia Monroe had been transferred, to see a truck pulling up in front of it, a dozen occupants piling out the moment the vehicle came to a halt. Child’s fingers worked the keyboard before Leroux could make his request, a normal high-resolution image appearing showing the new arrivals were young women, some mere children. He sighed. “See if we can map any of their faces. Maybe there’s somebody there we know.”
50 |
ISIS Held Territory Al-Raqqah, Syria
Mary Todd stared up at the bright sun, enjoying the warmth on her face if only for a brief moment. She was shoved through the door of a new building, much like the old, the only good thing to happen so far today, the aborted auction. She was still safe, so was June, and so was young Helan, the girl who had told them what was going on before.
Others hadn’t been so lucky.
At least half their number had been sold before the explosion, and she prayed to Allah for their souls.
For they were already dead.
Though only in spirit.
They had been driving for some time, and the stories told by the others who had already been abused for months if not years, were translated by Helan for their benefit, and they had been chilling.
An elbow slammed accidentally against her stomach and a warmth flowed down her leg, shame burning her face as she desperately held her bladder. Some of the others hadn’t been able to do so, the hard metal floor of the truck awash in urine and worse by the time they had reached here, yet she still held on, desperate to maintain some bit of humanity, of civil behavior, rather than lose all hope like some of the others.
She wasn’t a slave yet.
She wasn’t being pounded by some filthy bastard corrupt enough to have enough money, and no morals, to buy his own personal sex toy.
Whoever had thrown that grenade had saved their lives.
For now.
She had little doubt she would eventually be sold, perhaps even moments from now.
A hand on her back shoved her through another doorway and into a dimly lit corridor. Somebody shouted, though that was nothing unusual. It seemed the soldiers of the Caliphate shouted everything, even when just talking to each other.
So much anger!
They were herded forward, deeper into the building. She kept her head down, though let her eyes roam, checking each room that had an open door as she passed. Many appeared to be offices, piled high with papers, others stuffed with filing cabinets.
It seemed so normal, it was confusing.
She had come to accept the fact these men were barbarians. Nowhere in the Koran did it say you could treat Muslims this way. The infidels among them, yes, that was permitted, but she was their sister. As a woman, she had few rights, though nothing said she could be abused like this. Yet she was, along with countless others.
These men weren’t Muslim.
Not true Muslims.
She had come to join the Caliphate, to unite the world under the flag of Islam so the world could be at peace. But if what she had seen was what the Worldwide Caliphate would be, a world of sex slaves and torture, run by angry young men, she wanted no part of it.
I just want to go home!
She passed a room, a man on a bed screaming in agony as someone bent over him. The next room had its door closed, though she could hear crying and begging on the other side, followed by thumping sounds and more crying. Someone was being beaten.
And that was when she focused on the sounds, rather than the sights.
Cries and wails filled her ears as up and down the hall, countless people were beaten by the men she had come to join in the fight for Allah. She trembled, wondering if this was why they had been brought here, to be tortured for some ungodly reason.
For God had no place here, despite the delusional piety of the men surrounding her.
God had abandoned this place long ago, Satan having taken His place.
Her life was over.
All their lives were over.
They reached the end of the corridor and she was shoved into yet another prison. She found a place against the wall and dropped to the floor, hugging her knees. She flashed a smile at June and Helan as they joined her, the three of them huddled together as the door slammed shut, leaving her nothing but the whimpers of her companions, and the tortured screams of those even less fortunate than her.
51 |
Cape Fear Valley Rehabilitation Center Fayetteville, North Carolina
“You have to tell her.”
Dawson nodded as he watched Maggie through the small wedge of glass in the door to her room at the rehabilitation center. She had her back turned to the window, and he assumed she was asleep, though he couldn’t be sure, her behavior increasingly antisocial over the past few days. He looked at Spock’s wife, Joanne. “I’m afraid to wake her. She’s been so depressed lately, sleeping might be the best thing for her.” He sighed. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but this news isn’t going to help.”
Joanne agreed. “I know, she was doing so well. When I came here a few days ago, she was so upbeat. I left her some bridal magazines and the binder she’s been keeping to plan the wedding. She seemed so happy.” She shook her head. “But the next day when I popped by, she seemed different—not her normal self.”
Dawson frowned. “We’ve got to cheer her up somehow.” Doubt set in. “Maybe I shouldn’t tell her.”
Joanne emphatically shook her head. “If she finds out you kept this from her, she’ll kill you.”
He grunted. “Yeah, you’re right.” He inhaled loudly. “Wish me luck.”
Joanne smiled, patting his arm. “Luck.”
He gently knocked on the door and pushed it open. “Hon?” There was no reply as he closed the door behind him. He stepped around the bed and sat on the edge. “Hon, we need to talk.” Her eyes were closed, though he could tell from her breathing she was awake. It hurt, the woman he loved ignoring him, treating him so horribly, yet she had to know, and playing her game would merely make things worse.
“Red’s dead.”
Her eyes shot open and her jaw dropped as she pushed up on one arm. “What?”
A reaction!
“He was killed on a mission earlier today.”
Tears flooded her eyes, and it hurt that he was happy to see them, the woman he loved still in there, somewhere. “Wh-what happened?”
“It was a classified op, so I can’t tell you much, but he was killed by an RPG explosion as they were evacing.” He frowned. “And they weren’t able to recover the body.”
She gasped. “Oh my god! Have they told Shirley yet?”
He nodded. “The Colonel and I went over a couple of hours ago. Robyn and the chaplain are with her now. Her parents are on their way.”
Maggie wrapped her arms around him and sobbed. He hugged her, hard, this the first emotional contact they had had in over a week, and as she mourned, he found it cathartic, she doing the crying he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, today, for some reason, he refusing to break the stereotype of the tough, emotionless alpha-male.
His chest tightened.
Let it go! There’s no shame in crying!
His eyes burned, his shoulders heaved, and as he held Maggie, he pictured his friend, he pictured Bryson, he pictured the last time they had all been together. It was a barbecue in Red’s backyard over a month ago, before Maggie’s stroke. It had been a great time, Maggie in good spirits, Red and Shirley accepting her into the fold as if she were already family. Steaks, potato salad, and beer were enjoyed, vanilla ice cream with hot raspberry sauce the grand finale.
It was perfect patio weather, perfect food, perfect company.
And now, today, Red was dead, his family shattered, and Maggie lay crippled, both physically and emotionally.
Why, God, did you do this to us?
Was it some sort of karmic revenge for the job? He had killed a lot of people over the years. Hundreds, for sure. It was the job, and he had no regrets about doing it. They were all bad people, and they deserved to die.
Yet maybe he wasn’t supposed to be the jury and executioner. Maybe that was supposed to be left for a higher power. That might be true, though if it were, and people like him all laid down their arms, then there would be nothing to stop those hell-bent on killing the innocent. If his fate was to burn in Hell for eternity because he had tried to keep the world of the living safe, then so be it. He could accept that.
But he refused to believe the God he had been raised to believe in saw things that way. There was good and evil in this world, and he was fighting on the side of good. If he wasn’t, then the world was far more twisted than he could possibly have imagined, and he’d want nothing to do with any God that would have it that way.
No, he was doing the right thing, his conscience was clear, and there was no way what had happened to Red and Maggie was due to a vengeful deity. It was life, and life sucked sometimes.
Too many times, it seemed.
Maggie pushed away from him and stared into his eyes. “It could have been you.” She clung to him again, the glacial distance between them slowly melting away. She gasped and pushed away once again. “Oh my God, you were supposed to go on that mission and you didn’t because of me!”
Uh oh. She’s about to go there.
“It’s my fault he’s dead!”
She dropped back on the pillows, rolling away from him as she curled into a ball, her sobs louder now. He lay down beside her, spooning her and wrapping an arm around her. “It’s not your fault. No one thinks that. Like you said, if I had gone, I could be the one dead. It was the mission that killed him, the enemy that killed him. You had nothing to do with this.”
She wiggled slightly, getting closer to him, and he smiled, having expected her to push him away once again. “Don’t ever leave me.”
He closed his eyes and kissed the back of her head. “I’m not going anywhere.” He opened his eyes, looking at the door where he saw Joanne still standing. She smiled and gave him a wave before leaving.
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