True Honor

  “Anytime.”

  Darcy noted the red stripe on the folder and the code word Duplicity in blue on the tab. Sam had been reading about Ramon Santigo. She looked at her partner but didn’t ask why he had shared the information. She understood why he was worried about that rising bounty. She personally didn’t think they would raise it much above the million pounds. The Santigos weren’t that generous.

  If given a choice she wouldn’t have shown Sam that information, for it would now factor into decisions he made. She didn’t need more people in her life worried about her safety. “I’ll call when I wake up this afternoon,” she promised Gabe.

  “I’ll be near a phone.”

  They were escorted downstairs and Darcy waited as Sam signed out. They walked across the parking lot.

  “Gabriel said the Brits are staying at Marla’s place. Let’s call first. Since they’re with the SAS, it’s probably best not to drive up to the house and knock in the middle of the night.”

  Sam held the car door for her. “Don’t worry about it. Chances are they’re old friends.”

  “Really?”

  “Special Operations is a very small world.”

  She didn’t ask; she knew the British and American Special Forces cross-trained to the point they could deploy to common missions around the world if necessary.

  Darcy gave Sam directions. She had fifteen years of history with Gabriel, and she trusted him with her life. He’d given her a safe place to decompress. The options of a hotel or a return to North Dakota both had numerous problems until this was sorted out.

  Darcy pointed out the house. The porch light was on. “They’re expecting us.” Sam pulled into the driveway. A tall man stepped outside moments later, a coat folded over his arm. He wore a black turtleneck and black jeans. Sam stepped from the car.

  “Gabriel mentioned you were the escort. Jolly good to see you again, Cougar.”

  “Hey, Brandon.”

  Darcy watched the two men greet each other; it was indeed a small world. “Darcy, my friend Brandon Scott. He’s a good tactics man.”

  She offered her hand. “High praise.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Darcy.” Brandon settled the coat across her shoulders as luggage was gathered. “We made up the east guest room for you. And Gabriel mentioned I’m to ask what kind of bagels he’s to bring over later.”

  “Oh, I’m getting spoiled already. Blueberry.”

  Darcy relaxed as she stepped inside the familiar home. She was glad Marla and Gabe hadn’t yet had time to sell this house. It was spacious and comfortable and had a great view as it adjoined a stretch of forest preserve.

  Sam came in behind her, carrying her suitcase and his bag. “Why don’t you get settled while I fix us something to eat? You’ll sleep better if you eat before you turn in.”

  She nodded and turned toward the bedroom. Darcy took her time unpacking the bag she had picked up at her place. She put her diary on the end table and opened her Bible to read a verse she had underlined. “For God did not give us a spirit of timidity but a spirit of power and love and self-control.”

  Time had always been one of the most overtaxed commodities in her life. She didn’t always have time to look something up or have the luxury of taking documents with her. It had always been what she had memorized that kept her safe and alive. Applied to Scripture, it was a habit that transformed her life.

  This verse from 2 Timothy was a powerful one. The phrase “a spirit of power and love and self-control”—what a wonderful definition of balance. Take out any one of the three items and the other two led to extremes, but taken together they made greatness. The words reminded Darcy of her sister. Jesus, thanks for blessing me with great family.

  She left the rest of her suitcase packed.

  Sam was in the kitchen building a monster of a sub sandwich. She slid onto a stool and held her hand up, her thumb and index finger an inch apart. “I’d like about this much of that feast.”

  “From the hot mustard end or plain?” Sam indicated options with the sharp knife he held.

  “Hot.”

  He sliced her a generous definition of an inch and slid the plate over. “Brandon mentioned there’s soup in the refrigerator. I can heat a bowl if you’d like something hot.”

  “This is fine. You build a nice meal.” She broke off a piece of the crust. “Can you stay at least a day?” she asked, hoping she wouldn’t have to say good-bye as soon as she awoke.

  “I’ll be here,” Sam promised. “Bear gave me seventy-two hours before he’ll send out search parties.” She raised one eyebrow. “My boss,” he explained.

  She nodded and took a big bite of the sandwich. She found out quickly that she was hungry. Sam cut her another wedge without asking.

  “I owe you a favor.”

  He considered her over his sandwich. “Probably a couple.”

  She laughed and leaned forward to rest her elbows on the counter. “Are you going to collect?”

  “Eventually. Where do you actually live when you’re not hiding out, Darcy St. James retired?”

  She speared a black olive that fell from her sandwich with a toothpick. “North Dakota.”

  She saw him wince when he remembered his prior comment about being landlocked. “It’s peaceful,” she pointed out helpfully. “And it snows a lot. I like snow.”

  “I remember the snow.”

  “Your parents own a farm in South Dakota, right?”

  “More like land with a little bit of everything on it.”

  “It’s beautiful country.”

  “My mother taught me never to disagree with a lady when she’s right.”

  “Then why don’t you want to go back?”

  “I’ve got two brothers who love the land. It’s enough.” He leaned over and wiped a spot of mustard from her chin. “You’re falling asleep sitting here. Why don’t we continue this later today.”

  She picked up a napkin as she slid off the stool. “Where are you going to crash?”

  “In this sprawling place? Don’t worry about it. I’ll find somewhere comfortable. Forget the alarm clock and sleep. I’ll wake you if there’s news.”

  “Thanks. Pleasant dreams, Sam.”

  “It’s been an interesting day. Night, Darcy.”

  Five

  * * *

  SEPTEMBER 10

  Monday, 5:30 p.m.

  McLean, Virginia

  Darcy paced Marla’s home office as she read faxes, commenting as she read to her partner on the speakerphone. “It doesn’t make sense, Gabe. Why kill a man who specialized in investigating money transfers?” Twenty hours after the Sunday night attack provided enough confirmed information to outline the scope of what had happened. She was grateful to have a few hours of sleep before she saw this data. It was worse than expected. She bit into her second blueberry bagel as she flipped pages to keep reading.

  Kevin Wallace had been killed by a grenade attack as he drove from his home in Stockholm to the U.S. embassy. He worked an overseas desk for the Agency and had good relations with Sweden’s bankers, but he’d been out of running agents in Russia for over a decade.

  Benjamin Rice had been shot in the head by a sniper round when his car stopped at a streetlight in Munich. Ben’s expertise was in transportation and immigration issues as the European Union moved toward open borders. He too was a cold war veteran with experience across Europe.

  They were both well-planned hits, not random crimes that sometimes took out an agent. They had happened within thirty minutes of each other. “What is the connection to me? They’re friends through our common interests in Europe, but I don’t remember you or me working directly with them on a case.”

  “Neither do I.”

  She stopped by the blown-up map of Europe on the east wall of the office and looked at the locations. She didn’t understand this.

  “I see two options,” Gabriel said. “First: the obvious threat to you. Maybe Ramon Santigo’s family is moving operations into Europe—I c
an see expert investigators in money transfers and transportation both being threats to their smuggling operations. Sergey came to the U.S. to hit you in retirement. You weren’t a minor addition to this list of targets.”

  “And the second option?”

  “This is the opening salvo in something we don’t yet understand, something large enough that killing agents is considered worth the fallout. All three of you were seasoned investigators. You have a history working in the eastern bloc countries, and you’re familiar with the former intelligence officers of the KGB and the scientists who worked in their military labs. All of you had language skills.”

  “We’re good utility players.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Are there any signs of a coming coup in one of the eastern bloc countries?”

  “That’s what I was wondering. I’ve got people out on the streets getting a feel for the undercurrents of gossip and rumor.” They had both learned the practical value of street intelligence during the months before the Berlin Wall came down when Washington hadn’t believed what those in the countries were reporting back.

  “Anything else on Sergey?” Darcy asked.

  “Not much. Security tapes at the hotel, a lead on his car.”

  “I forgot to ask earlier. Who do you have heading the search in Florida?”

  “Neil Fortam.”

  “He’s good.”

  “You’re better. Come back to work full-time.”

  She leaned against the desk and straightened the paper clips. “I’m not as good as I used to be. Retirement dulls the skills.”

  “Hey, dahlin’, you’re alive. Our friends were on active duty and they aren’t.”

  “I’ll think about it. I do want Sergey found.” She crossed over to the safe to store the faxes. “Have you had any sleep?”

  “I crashed for a few hours on the couch. We’ve been getting another wave of threat warnings similar to what happened in July and were already pretty busy when this went ugly.”

  “Terrorist traffic?”

  “Yes. We’re working now to figure out if the two are linked. How were the bagels?”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Can I do anything else for you? Want videos sent over or takeout?”

  “I’m comfortable, Gabe. The guys are popping popcorn and watching a soccer game. They’re good company. I’m planning to finish a book and watch some late-night comedy shows and then crash again.”

  “Call if you need anything; otherwise let’s talk again in twelve hours.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Talk to you soon.” She hung up the phone, then paused.

  Jesus, I know good men and women die in this profession, but it never gets easier to accept, to investigate. If You want me back at the office, I’ll go.

  She had always accepted the fact that her life would be spent in service, to country, to God. She poured her life into tracking down Ramon Santigo for murdering two agents. If she was going back into that kind of grueling sweat equity and emotional commitment to tackle another investigation, she would need strength she didn’t have right now. Lord, just help me know if this is a battle for others or one You want me in the fight.

  She walked back through the house. Darcy found Sam along with Gabriel’s four British guests settled around a large TV. Brandon had introduced her to the group over dinner. The four SAS officers were over for a seminar and to test out new gear NATO was buying for both U.S. and British Special Forces.

  She didn’t know much about parachute jumping, but these guys did. Sam talked with Brandon about jumping from twenty-five thousand feet as if it were just another day at the office. She did know that it was cold at twenty-five thousand feet. Cold and you didn’t breathe without oxygen masks. Sam called it fun. She’d hate to ask what he would call a challenge.

  “Sam, can I have a minute?” She nodded toward outside.

  He set aside the popcorn bowl and wiped his hands on his jeans. “Sure, Dar.”

  The man’s muscles stretched out his faded jeans and were distracting her to no end.

  She walked outside and took a seat on the steps, setting down her Bible and notebook. She’d find a place for devotions later. She needed the chance to pull back and think about the last couple days, get perspective before she returned to North Dakota. Sunset in a couple hours would be pretty from here.

  Sam had been hanging out with the guys and giving her space; she should be pleased with that. She had work to do and didn’t need the distraction. But she’d love to have him acting on that original interest in her and being exactly that distraction. She’d tossed him a few curves though. That cover blind married-with-a-daughter story had thrown him enough she couldn’t blame him for deciding that getting involved with a spy was something to think twice about. She’d like to talk more about that ring he wore and the emblem of the cross, find out where he went to church, learn more about him while she had the chance. She wanted to ask but was afraid it would come across as pushy.

  Sam took a seat beside her. “How was your call?”

  “So-so.”

  “Maybe tomorrow will be better news.”

  “Maybe.” She studied him and decided it was best to start with the topic of work. There was no good way to do it but to just dive in and ask. “Would you tell me what it’s like to be a sniper?”

  He hesitated before answering. “What would you like to know?”

  “Is it easy? Can someone relatively inexperienced be given the task?”

  He shrugged. “Anyone can pick up a gun. It depends on how much you want to ensure success. A sniper who can take a mission and deliver every time . . . You’re talking years of training.”

  “My friends who died last night—one in Sweden, one in Germany—both were well-thought-out hits.”

  He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry.”

  It was all he said for a moment, and she appreciated the silence.

  “There will be a trail to find,” Sam said, his voice matter-of-fact and practical. “It takes planning to watch a person and learn his habits, find a safe place to act, get the right weapon in. Escaping the area takes a lot of planning.”

  “We’re after a team, not an individual.”

  “Maybe they have two people at each location if there was enough time to plan. Security is key for snipers; they work alone or just with a buddy most of the time.”

  Sergey had planned his attempt and his escape route. He set the place and time for their meeting. He could have come after her in North Dakota; although it would’ve been harder to fade into that community. Amy would have noticed. Florida had been a good choice.

  “Will you stay another night?” She heard the slight plea in her voice and tamped it down. She’d disrupted this man’s life enough. It would be better if her security concerns and what might be a growing relationship between them did not become so entwined that she let one pressure the other.

  “I figured I’d head out tomorrow morning.” He reached over and stopped her fingers from turning the ring on her right hand. “You don’t need to worry about your safety here, Dar. Only a couple people know you are here, and the house has wonderful security.” Sam tossed a pebble off the steps. “The Brits are staying another week. They’ll make sure the place stays safe.”

  “I know.”

  “Can I call you?”

  She looked over at him. “I was kind of hoping you would.” What did she really want? A friend, a date, a distraction? She smiled. She’d take whatever she could get. “I’m going to be bored here.”

  “Not with the Brits around.”

  She laughed. “They do have a few stories to tell.”

  She relaxed and settled her arms around her knees to watch the skyline. She’d like to freeze this moment. Sometimes the best friendships were found in moments like this, in the shared silence. She rested her chin on her updrawn knees and contemplated the odds he would call her within the first twenty-four hours after he left. What would he tell his fellow SEALs about h
er? She’d love to have a bug in the room so she could listen in.

  He picked up her Bible. “This has traveled a few miles.”

  “I keep thinking I’ll get a new one, but that one is well marked and hard to replace. I got in the habit of memorizing verses years ago since I often had to leave that behind when I went out undercover.”

  He rubbed the faded inscription on the cover. “Darcy is your real name?”

  She blinked then laughed. “Yes. I used Darla when I needed a cover name.”

  “I wondered.” He set down the Bible. “I find Scripture pretty comforting on weekends like this.”

  She’d always been pretty quiet about what she believed, but she heard a confidence in his voice at talking about the subject that she appreciated. “It has been a help.”

  “Thankfully, Jesus is able to handle anything that happens. I just wish that hadn’t involved you being hurt.”

  “Unfortunately it’s a risk of the job. The pain is down to a dull ache.”

  “Have you taken the next round of pain pills yet?”

  “No.”

  “I’ll be back in a second. Stay here.” Sam got up and disappeared inside. He came back in a few minutes with a jacket and a folded blanket. He draped the jacket over her shoulders. “Have you ever had a lemon Coke?” He offered her a can. “It’s new.”

  She opened it. “What will they think of next?”

  He offered the prescribed pills and she accepted them with a quiet thanks. He leaned back against the folded blanket, resting his weight on his elbows. “Did I ever tell you the long version of the story about the cougar?”

  She turned to look at him. “No.”

  “My partner is the guy who just got married. Tom goes by the handle Wolf because everyone claims he can track like a starving wolf. He can’t, but since his war face is a lot like a wolf snarling, the name stuck. He’s pretty tame normally.”

  Darcy could hear the respect of two guys accustomed to razzing each other. She understood why the bond between soldiers formed and its depths sometimes amazed her—if Tom got in trouble, Sam would get him out.

  “We were on vacation three years ago, doing some mountain hiking, and he decides he has to get this photo of the sunrise from a ridgeline for his girlfriend. It’s about four o’clock, and he wakes me up rather abruptly because we’re going to have to hustle to get there. Anyway, we’re packed up and walking, and I’m eating tough jerky and trail mix as we hike. It’s a narrow trail cutting uphill on a pretty good grade.