True Honor

  He handed it to her.

  “Got a pocketknife?”

  Sam pulled one from his pocket. She used the knife to slice open the safety pocket. She removed the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of paper. The ink on the note was running.

  It was necessary.

  It wasn’t an apology or an excuse but an explanation. Whatever Sergey’s mission, she’d been part of the groundwork. The implication that killing her had been worth the price . . . What was coming?

  She looked up at Sam.

  Sergey had failed. It was time to figure out why he had tried in the first place.

  Three

  * * *

  SEPTEMBER 9

  Sunday, 10:05 p.m.

  Destin, Florida

  Sam rapidly packed his belongings in his hotel room. How could he have not realized there was something else going on tonight? He got tugged in by a spy and used for cover, had been sitting there during the arrival of her contact, and he hadn’t had a clue. That’s what you get for assuming nothing ever happens stateside. He could have at least ensured he got a glimpse of the man she was meeting. He stuffed extra socks in the corner of the bag. Never go anywhere without extra socks.

  He was getting mad now that he had the luxury of feeling the emotions. Someone had tried to kill Darcy, had reached out and killed two others tonight. He could have pulled a floating body from that pool rather than just a shaken and angry lady. It was hard to get rid of the image of Darcy dead, those blue eyes lifeless.

  He hoped he eventually got to meet the man Darcy called her partner. What had Gabriel been thinking letting her come to this meeting alone? She hadn’t been prepared for what happened tonight, and Sam wasn’t inclined to trust that same bureaucracy with her safety now.

  He packed while Bear worked the phone arranging secure transportation from the hotel and confirming details with Eglin Air Base for the flight to D.C. At least one thing had been arranged right; the Air Force guys could move her at a good clip. SEALs were in the hotel lobby keeping an eye out for Sergey, and a medic from his team stayed with Darcy. Sam had managed to pull together reasonable manpower in an hour. What he was going to tell the guys later he wasn’t sure, but like the buddies they were, they had acted and not asked questions he couldn’t answer.

  “How are you set for cash?” Bear asked.

  Sam checked his billfold. “I’m good.”

  “When I asked if you’d found company, this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind.”

  Sam picked up his bag and smiled at his boss. “She looked like a civilian.” It wasn’t the first time he’d found himself caught up in someone else’s problem, but this was by far the most interesting. He was giving up the rest of his leave to escort Darcy, but he figured it would make for a memorable vacation.

  “I’ll expect you back in seventy-two hours. If it’s longer than that, I’ll send out search parties. The Agency has a habit of keeping their assets. And if you need backup, you’ve got my number.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Stay safe, Chief.”

  “That’s the plan. I’ll see you, boss.”

  Sam wasn’t accustomed to a bodyguard role, but he understood what it meant to go up against a waiting enemy. He was one of two snipers on his squad, his specialty doing reconnaissance, working ahead of the others. He’d get Darcy safely to D.C. and see what developed from there.

  * * *

  The Air Force provided a small passenger jet for the flight. Darcy took advantage of the space to spread out her notes and get comfortable. Sam had somehow arranged for several full-size pillows to be available, and she wanted to hug him for that. They were making this trip bearable. The painkillers the base doctor had given her after stitching the cut were wearing off. They were somewhere over Georgia when Darcy realized they were flying through a light rain.

  She glanced over at Sam, stretched out in a seat across the aisle, his attention on a paperback he’d tugged from the side pocket of his luggage, a cup of coffee in the cup holder. A soldier. It had been subtle, but she’d seen the transformation in his demeanor as they stepped onto the military base where security was better. He was comfortable in military terrain, in the same way she was comfortable walking into the National Security Agency complex or the Central Intelligence Agency headquarters.

  He hadn’t mentioned what his role was on the SEAL team, just that he was a member. She did know that chief petty officer was an enlisted ranking instead of an officer track. Darcy had a feeling that position in the ranks was by choice. Sam would want to be in the middle of the action. She’d always been partial to the front lines too. Just not this close.

  SEALs were known as the quiet professionals. Good enough at what they did, they didn’t have to tell someone they were good. Their actions spoke for them. How was she going to say thanks when this was over? She instinctively understood part of Sam’s character. He volunteered for a job where he gave up many personal liberties—when and where he worked, even his own life—in order to preserve the liberties of others. His age told her he was career Navy, and that answered a lot of questions about his priorities. And the SEAL trident pin he wore—with its eagle representing air, Revolutionary War pistol for land, and Neptune’s trident for sea, all fit across the Navy’s anchor— Above everything else he’d be a guy you could depend on to do what he said. Honor would be a code he lived by.

  He looked up, sensing her observation. He set his book against his knee. She felt herself blush and wished she could tamp down that reaction.

  “You should do that more often,” he commented.

  “What?”

  “Look.”

  She refused to turn away even as she struggled to contain a smile. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

  He picked up his book again and cast one final glance in her direction. “My mom would like you.”

  Darcy laughed. She had missed this. She’d never had the freedom overseas to totally relax even in social occasions, as it was never quite certain whom she could really trust outside of a small circle of people from the Agency.

  She reached up and adjusted the light over her head. She bet she would enjoy meeting his mom. She turned her attention back to work.

  The pages of the legal pad resting against her knee were soft lavender instead of the normal canary yellow. The color provided good contrast for black ink, making it easier to read her notes later, and told her at a glance the material needed to be stored in the safe. The notes themselves were classified. She had completed a conversation transcript as best as she could recreate it and was working now on her observations.

  Sergey is retired; therefore this isn’t Russian sponsored, but using Russian assets? The Russian Mafia might be able to exert the kind of pressure to push Sergey into something like this.

  Sergey’s apology just before he pulled the knife is the strongest indication that it had been arranged by someone else and was not his decision.

  If Ramon Santigo’s family is behind this hit, how did they get to Sergey? And if it were Santigo’s family, was it a coincidence the attempt happened the same evening two agents were killed?

  Why did Sergey make a point of showing me the picture of his daughter and granddaughter? He does nothing without thinking it through beforehand. Were they threatened?

  Why was he late to the meeting?

  She paused and stared at the page as distress rolled over her. “He tried to save my life,” she whispered, stunned.

  Sam looked up from his book. “What?”

  “Sergey was late. He’s never late. He was trying to save my life.”

  Sam lowered the book. “He would have expected you to leave before the meeting.”

  “Yes. I put him in an untenable position by staying.” She winced as she realized something else. “Sergey circled his finger to warn me he thought others were watching. If I had read the situation better, I would’ve understood the risk better.”

  What was coming? She racked her memory for the si
gnificance of September 9, but nothing obvious came to mind. They needed to reconstruct Sergey’s movements over the last six months and figure out whom Sergey had seen and how he had entered the U.S. They had to get ahead of this intelligence curve. Something she knew or had done was critical to this.

  She tossed the notepad aside. “I hate days like this.” She had a feeling Sam handled being under threat of a bullet better than she did.

  “Why don’t you close your eyes and get some sleep?”

  “I should.” There were certain times in life where God’s blessing was very clear. Sam being there to help her tonight was one of them. She picked up one of the pillows that had fallen and settled it behind her. “I’m too old for this job. I should have stayed retired.”

  He studied her for a moment, then pitched a nickel toward his empty coffee cup. “You don’t retire in your business or in mine. You just start drawing a smaller paycheck. We make enemies. If you’re good in your job, you make a lot of them.”

  “A reverse incentive for being the best.” She grinned at him, realizing the nickels were hitting the center of the cup without his looking at what he was doing. “I wish someone had warned me sooner.”

  He leaned over and picked up the corner of his jacket on the side seat. He tugged a small medallion from the inside pocket and tossed it in her lap. “The best should be rewarded. You earned it tonight.”

  She picked up a medallion of a wolf head. “It’s pretty.”

  “They were giving them out at the wedding because Wolf is Tom’s call sign. So how long have you been in the spy business?”

  “I started in the field two years and two days before the Berlin Wall came down.”

  “I’d say you don’t look old enough to be a cold war player, but instead I’ll compliment you on aging very gracefully. You’ve seen some history.”

  “Some.” The memories were rich and deep, but it was a conversation for another day and time. “What about you, Sam? How do you like being a SEAL?”

  “I love the life. I entered the Navy right out of high school and applied to the SEALs as soon as I could. It sure beats being landlocked in a small town in South Dakota.”

  Her smile widened as he spoke.

  “What?”

  She held back her amusement. “Nothing.” North Dakota was as close to heaven as she’d found, but she wouldn’t hold it against him for loving the sea. “I’m going to catch that sleep. Wake me when we’re fifteen minutes out?”

  “Sure.”

  She clicked off the light and closed her eyes, holding the medallion in her fist. If she had seen some interesting history, she was willing to bet Sam had probably made some of that history in classified missions not to be revealed for half a century. Life had become complicated enough lately without diving headlong into the start of a new relationship, as attractive as that thought may be. It was better to close her eyes and sleep.

  The day wasn’t supposed to end like this. She should have flown to Washington and dropped off Sergey’s message and then headed back to North Dakota.

  It was going to hurt bringing this home and causing her sister more worry. Lord, being needed isn’t worth this, not when it’ll touch my family.

  Sam interrupted her thoughts. “What are you thinking about that has you frowning?”

  “Home.”

  “That’s normally a good thought.”

  “I’m regretting the coming explanations.”

  “Start with ‘I’m okay,’” he said. “They’ll eventually forgive the rest. Sleep, Darcy. You need the rest. And I’m not dozing off until you do.”

  She smiled. “Well when you put it that way . . .”

  * * *

  Darcy slept expecting trouble. Sam watched her hand twitch as the noise of the engines changed tempo. She had a blown mission, someone trying to kill her on U.S. soil, and she had to improvise her plans. Darcy was pretty good at thinking on her feet for a retired spy.

  He’d always prayed to meet an interesting woman. He didn’t want to spend forever alone, but finding someone who could handle his profession, love of travel, and deal with the danger inherent in his job was tough. Darcy St. James qualified. Did she live in the D.C. area or elsewhere now that she was retired? He’d have to find out. Was Darcy even her real name? He leaned over and touched her shoulder. She was dreaming; he could see it in the movement of her eyes. “We’re here.”

  She jerked as she woke. “Sorry, I burnt the eggs,” she murmured.

  He laughed softly. “Just a dream.”

  “More like a bad memory. I got distracted this morning.” She stifled a yawn as she sat up.

  “You’ll crash when this day finally ends.”

  “That’s an understatement.” Darcy tightened her seat belt and gathered together her things.

  The plane descended and settled onto a runway. It taxied to a far hangar. Sam picked up his bag and Darcy’s and led the way down the stairs. She gestured to the car Gabriel had arranged to have waiting in the secure lot. She got the keys from the lockbox and handed them to Sam.

  “I need to make one quick stop, and then we’ll head to headquarters. Sorry for the late night, but they’ll need to debrief you and Gabriel needs my notes.” She circled around the passenger side as she pulled out her phone. “Take a right at the light, cross the Potomac River, and head north on Wisconsin Avenue. We’ll miss the traffic, such as it is.”

  He started the car. “What’s the first quick stop?”

  “My place.”

  Sam shot her a glance, but her attention was already focused on her call to her partner to let him know they were in town. This would be an interesting visit.

  Four

  * * *

  SEPTEMBER 9

  Sunday, 11:50 p.m.

  Bethesda, Maryland

  Sam paid attention to the neighborhood, memorizing the directions on the off chance he’d have the opportunity to pay Darcy a social call someday. The apartment complex she directed him to was unusual. There was a guard and a raised gate at the entrance, and the buildings along streets named Birch, Oak, Willow, and Pine were set farther apart than he would have expected.

  “Take the second street, Willow, to the first building on the left. Pull in at the first garage and hold up the badge to the card key reader by the mailbox to raise the garage door.”

  “Interesting security.”

  “I’d prefer not to have a bomb in the trunk of my car on the drive to work. The Agency is a bit paranoid about things like that.”

  “The government owns this property?”

  “No, it’s privately owned, but most who live here do work for the government. Some work at the Agency, some are Foggy Bottom experts—that’s the State Department—and a few Pentagon short-tour officers. Basically people with heavy travel schedules, hence the security to protect often empty places.”

  The garage door rose, revealing two garbage cans against the east wall and shelves along the back wall that were bare except for four boxes neatly arranged and labeled. “Lived here long?” Sam asked.

  “Twelve years.”

  “This is way too neat.”

  Darcy laughed and got out her keys. “Come on up. This won’t take long.”

  Sam retrieved her bag from the trunk. Darcy paused and deactivated the alarm pad before unlocking the door between the garage and her apartment. Stairs immediately turned and went up. “The downstairs of the building is actually another apartment; mine is the entire second floor.” She turned on lights to reveal spider plants reaching down from the open banister above to almost touch the handrail. “They grow faster than I can keep them repotted. Watch out for the roller skates.”

  He nearly tripped on them on the second step before he caught her warning.

  Sam reached the top of the stairs. The living room was spacious with a sofa, two chairs, and bookshelves. An oval dining table and open counter led into a long kitchen along the back of the apartment. Darcy dumped her jacket on the sofa. “Make yourself at home
.” She headed down the hallway toward what must be the bedrooms and bath.

  Sam slowly set down the suitcase as he looked around. Light blue carpet, deep blue and white fabric for the chairs and sofa, framed modern art on the walls; on the entertainment center with a TV and nice stereo equipment were shelves holding a matching series of progressively larger pottery pieces.

  LEGOs making a half-built castle were on the floor in front of the recliner. A stuffed dog peeked out behind the vase of daisies on the side table and a plush bear guarded the phone. Walt Disney videotapes were stacked beside classic Westerns. A child’s finger-paint art was on the walls beside the expensive paintings. From the size of the hands, Sam would guess maybe a child about age five.

  A man’s hat was tossed on the dining room table and a pair of running shoes about size twelve were near the basket where newspapers, magazines, and mail were piled. The well-read magazines on the floor back toward the basket ran to cars and Popular Mechanics.

  Darcy was married . . . she had a daughter.

  Sam picked up Darcy’s wedding picture from the end table. She looked happy and young. Her smile was stop-a-guy’s-heart beautiful, focused entirely on the man beside her. The second framed photo on the table looked recent, maybe six months old. Her husband had their daughter wrapped up in his hunting jacket that reached almost to the child’s feet, and they were together holding up a stringer that held ten good-sized bass. Sam could appreciate the need for a photo to document that catch.

  She’d done nothing to warn him, and she couldn’t have missed his interest in her. She’d deceived him deliberately. He set the picture frame down slowly. He didn’t appreciate getting used.

  He looked around the room again, absorbing the full impression and then surprisingly found himself smiling and relaxing. This was what he would have expected for Darcy had he not known her real job. This place looked like her, and it felt comfortable. Right down to the spelling book resting on the last cushion of the sofa with a pencil stuck in it to hold the page. She was a woman who would live like this, with her life out in the open, rather than tuck it away in tidy corners.