Operation Zulu Redemption: Act of Treason - Part 4 (3 page)

When Boone pushed out of his seat, Trace waved him back down. He shot a cursory glance to the main area to make sure the others weren’t coming yet. “We’ve got ten minutes before the AHOD.”

“What do you know?”

“First—I’m sorry about Shay.” Trace said it with authority and strength. Not with pity but with promise. “It won’t go unanswered.”

It seemed a weight lifted from Boone’s chest. He gave Trace a nod of thanks.

“Rusty,” he said as he met the other man’s gaze. “I’m glad you’re here, though I know you’d rather be elsewhere.”

“No, sir.”

Boone stilled.

“I’m right where I want to be now.” Rusty said nothing more, and nothing else needed to be said. They were the handlers of the Zulu team, the trainers, the leaders. They had a job to do. A retaliation to put into effect.

“We have a few more puzzle pieces in place,” Trace said. “But each time we walk through a door to a question, two more open.” He jabbed his fingers across his short-cropped hair. “I’m getting fed up with the whole thing. It’s been like this for five years. Answers were merely more questions in disguise. The more they asked, the more questions bred.”

“What about Frankfurt? What was that?” Rusty asked. “And since when are we working with the Turks? Téya was missing for two hours—should we be worried?”

“No.” Trace could answer that unequivocally. And he had a theory on the missing two hours. One he didn’t really want to think about. One he
couldn’t
worry about right now. “I don’t think that’s a problem, at least—not one connected to Misrata.”

The door opened and in filed Nuala, Annie, Téya, and Houston, who had an array of technology on a cart. Trace waited for the remnant of Zulu to find a seat, then noted Houston plugging in his machines and getting things working. “Okay, let’s get this going. First thing I need you all to be aware of is the Lorings have vanished from protective custody.”

Silence slapped through the room.

“How is that possible? Did they miss the part where it’s
protective
? Why would they leave it?”

Trace had been through these questions a dozen times on his way over and since Haym had called and warned him.

“Do you think they’re in danger?” Annie asked.

“No,” Trace said. “I think they willingly left.”

“But we got their information, right?” Annie leaned forward, pressing her fingertips to the table. “They gave us Ballenger, that he was the one behind moving the children there.”

“That’s not much for them to be on the run though, is it?” Rusty scratched the side of his face. “What threat are they running from if they only had information on Ballenger?”

This is why Trace had wished Rusty would’ve returned to the team weeks ago. This type of dialogue, talking out the problem, kept them safe.

“Unless Ballenger is a bigger threat than we realized,” Annie said, then looked at Trace. “Is he?”

He considered the question. Ballenger. Danger. Yeah, they seemed to go hand in hand. “We won’t rule it out. Each time we’ve sought him, we’ve encountered deadly opposition—in Denver and Paris.”

“Yeah, but that could’ve just been us. Someone trying to put us off the trail,” Annie said.

“Ballenger could be doing that,” Nuala offered. “He plays the victim very well.”

“We need to move on. We’ll qualify Ballenger as a high threat.”

“With the Lorings missing, is the bunker in jeopardy?” Boone asked, arms folded over his thick chest.

“Possibly,” Trace said, unwilling to play things safe. “Need to keep our ears and eyes out at all times coming and going.” He nodded to Houston. “He’s going to catch us up on what came off the yacht computers.”

“There wasn’t much,” Houston said as he aimed a remote at a laptop. “I should say—there was a lot, but not much useful to us. There are innumerable files pertaining to what appear to be shipments. Port records. Munitions sales—”

“Batsakis is in weapons,” Annie said. “Aegean Defense Systems.”

“Yes. Right. Buuuut,” Houston said as he pulled up another file. “The pattern is fairly regular. What I looked for is irregularities.” He snickered. “Or I should say, irregular
regular
shipments.”

“Houston,” Trace bit out.

“Right.” Houston’s Jheri curl hair bobbed as he nodded. “If you look through this file, ADS has a pattern of shipments, going out every few months. Same countries. To the same clients. It’s your standard fare, right?”

“Except?”

Houston grinned, a tech-geek in his element as he pressed the remote and a series of neon blue panels flashed over the screen, highlighting certain entries in the shipping ladings. “Except these.”

Trace wasn’t the only one leaning forward. “They’re imports.”

“Bingo! Score one for the commander!” Houston beamed with exultation. “They’re imports.”

“Where are they coming from?”

Houston sniggered. “That’s the question, isn’t it? Because you, of course, noticed there’s no origination scan to match these records as there is for every other shipment.”

“You’re telling me that a world-renown defense contractor is buying illegal weapons, and. . .what?” Annie pressed. She always did. She wanted solid proof. She had to be sure the rabbit they hunted was rabid before putting it down.

“Black market,” Boone said.

“Makes sense,” Rusty put in.

“How?” Annie’s voice pitched. “They’re a billion-dollar company! Why would they need to deal in the black market?”

“Because seven years ago, they were on the verge of filing for bankruptcy. Most companies in Greece were,” Boone said. “How did a company going under suddenly recover? Not just recover, but soar into the billions with profit returns?”

“Exactly.” Trace returned to the head of the table. “Our problem is figuring out who’s selling the weapons to them.”

“And that is where I’m hitting a brick wall,” Houston said. “There is a highly encrypted file on that computer that I have not been able to break into. I believe that file will give us what we need to figure out the coded references attached to each entry.”

“That’s the jackpot,” Boone said. “That person, that company—whatever, they’re responsible for murdering three of our team. They’re the ones out there right now, trying to lob off the rest of our heads. And with Keeley being poisoned in her hospital room, it’s clear they are actively pursuing each of us, still.”

“Wait,” Nuala said, pushing up in her seat. “If they know who we are to target us, would it follow that they know our families? Is this a game changer?”

Silence fell like an anchor.

“Because while I haven’t talked to them, I still have a brother and mom out there.” She brushed her long bangs from her face. “I want to know if they’re in danger so I can warn them.”

“No, I don’t believe so,” Trace said.

“They hit my family—and David.” Arms and legs crossed, Téya held his gaze evenly. “Twice.”

“Because you were
living
with them.” Trace motioned to Nuala and Annie. “You weren’t. You were concealed within your pseudonyms.”

Téya’s eyes blazed. “So, it’s my fault.”

“Negative,” Trace said. She would not bait him into a confrontation. He had expelled too much energy already on frivolous arguments. He wouldn’t engage here on his own turf. “They went to Bleak Pond to find and neutralize you. But you were already gone, so they hit those familiar with you.”

“And then they went back, hurt him again. Snatched my grandmother. Because I got away.”

“It’s true—they were trying to draw you out.” Trace pointed around the room. “Don’t let these dogs put that guilt on your shoulders. They are the ones murdering. Not us. The others did not and do not live with family. Your true identities are not known.”

“They know me,” Boone said, knuckling his jaw. “I’ll put my parents on an Alaskan Cruise. They’ve been wanting it. Can’t get my brother out of the way. If he thinks something’s up, he’ll be more bullheaded than a dog with a scent.”

“You mean, he’ll be just like you,” Rusty said with a chuckle.

“I’m not bullheaded.”

Laughter trickled through the room.

Boone scowled. “I’m determined.”

The laughter rose to a roar.

“Hey.” Houston’s interjection killed the laughter. “Oh wow oh wow.” His eyes went wild, the overhead vent rustling his curls. “This. . .look at this. I’d been running various algorithms on Jessie’s info wall. Check this out!”

Trace looked at the wall again, this time scanning a series of letters and numbers that slid and dropped over rows like Tetris pieces. It happened faster and faster until they ended with a list of names. “What is this?”

“A list.”

“No duh, Curly Locks,” Boone said. “What names are those?”

Houston bent forward, scrolling up and down. Going back. “I–I’m not sure.”

“I know,” Nuala said, pulling Trace’s attention to the petite girl. Her face had gone pale. She looked sick to her stomach. “It’s the names of the children.”

Trace knew what children she meant, and it felt like someone had shoved a dagger into his heart five years ago and just grabbed the hilt again to dig it deeper.

“How do you know that’s their names?” Annie asked, her question squeaking as Boone turned back to the image on the wall. “We didn’t know their names. Did we?”

“Footage,” Nuala said, her voice dull. As if she were in a trance. “I watched the videos and interviews afterward.” She met Trace’s gaze with a nod. “I know we weren’t supposed to, but I needed some closure. Something to stave off the nightmares. I wrote down the names. There were only a few publicly mentioned, three.” Her pale blue eyes looked like pools of water. “I memorized them”—she nodded to the wall—“Qayyima, Akifa, and Sawsan. They’re on that list.”

“Wait,” Téya finally spoke up, her hazel eyes wide. “Look.” Her complexion paled.

Confused, Trace glanced at the screen. Then back at Téya. “What are you seeing?”

“It’s what I’m
not
seeing—the Lorings!” She brushed her hair from her face. “The kids aren’t listed there.”

“But they didn’t die,” Annie said.

“That’s not a list of the dead. There are too many,” Nuala said. “It’s a list of the children cared for by HOMe.”

Boone came alive. “Think Jessie somehow got this from HOMe?”

Though he didn’t want to believe a list actually existed, Trace couldn’t discount it. “It came from someone in the know. Hope of Mercy told us a list didn’t exist, that the facility was too new.”

“Apparently not.”

“But still—the Lorings.” Téya asked. “Why aren’t they on there?”

“And now, they’re missing. Mighty convenient.” Boone rapped his knuckles on the table. “Ladies and Gentleman, I’m thinking we had the enemy right in our midst.”

“May I have a word?”

At the intrusion of Téya’s voice, Trace looked up from the table where he was reviewing the files Houston had uncovered. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sat back, tossing his pen down. “Sure. Come in.” Whatever she wanted to say, he hoped it brought answers about the two missing hours.

Téya entered and took the seat at the corner next to him. She slid a small flash drive on the table. “What they promised.”

He expelled a breath. “I’d started wondering if they pulled a fast one on me.” Pocketing it, he noted she hadn’t moved. “Heard you had some excitement on the mission.”

She almost smiled, her expression taut as she stared at the table, seemingly lost in a memory.

Trace sat forward. Leaned into her. “Téya, I’m on your side. Whatever—”

“Red Wing is my stepfather.” She said it so fast and with such little emotion that Trace froze. Processed words he hadn’t expected. But then he recalled her military records. He’d studied each dossier in depth. “Hold up—your stepfather was a base commander, right? Records show him dying—”

“In an accident that supposedly killed him and my mother. Apparently, my mother was the only unlucky one in that.” The news had hit Téya at the core of her being. Trace knew from her dossier that losing her mother had devastated her to the point of needing a therapist.

Téya sat there, processing.

And Trace took the time to do the same. To also note the cuts, bruises, and swelling on her face. “What happened, T?”

“The mission went bad from the get-go. It’d been too many years since I’d been there. Things had changed. We got in, but we had to crawl through raw sewage. When I got in there, I realized the man I thought to be Nesim was in fact The Turk.”

Track jerked forward in his seat. “What? I thought you were rescuing him!”

“That’s what they told us,” she said with a nod. “But he lured me into that facility for one purpose—I thought it was to kill me once I realized who he was. But then he took me to a security room where I saw the camera feed. My stepfather is in that facility.”

“I’m not following.”

“Good,” she said with a laugh. “Because I wasn’t either. I couldn’t understand why he didn’t just tell me. Majid said that he knew I wouldn’t believe him if I didn’t see for myself that Georg was still alive.” She had this wistful smile now as she talked, and it unnerved Trace. Especially when she sat for several long minutes staring blankly at the time. But the flickering of her eyes, like an awake REM, told him she wasn’t here. She was remembering.

“Téya?”

“How much of a coincidence is it, Trace, that my stepfather is Red Wing, the one purported to be highly connected to whatever was happening in Misrata and beyond? What are the odds?”

“Pretty high.” In fact, he’d call them contrived. Fake. “You said you saw your stepfather in security footage?”

She gave a lone nod.

“That could’ve been recorded. Faked.”

“Perhaps,” she said slowly. “But I don’t think so. Even if it was, what would be the point of faking it, of telling me he’s alive?”

“To throw us off. Get us on the wrong track?”

“Why? How would that benefit him?”

“He hunted you down in Paris and threatened to kill you to get you out of the way. I wouldn’t put it past The Turk to do that now, if something we’re doing interferes with his mission.”

Téya nodded. Then nodded some more, as if sorting the facts and storing them. Finally, the consternation washed off her face and she straightened. “I want to go to Bleak Pond—no, I
need
to go.”

“Té—”

“I need to warn them, Trace. To warn David. I won’t go see my grandmother. She was too shaken when we rescued her,” Téya explained. “But I have to talk to David. Make him aware of the danger.”

There was something else behind her reason, he could feel it. See it in her eyes. Did she want to go back to say good-bye? “Did The Turk make you an offer?”

Téya smiled. “I need to go back, Trace. Please.” She touched his hand. “I’ll be back by nightfall.”

“One condition—Boone goes with you.”

“Boone’s grief-stricken.”

“Rusty then.”

Nodding, Téya finally relented.

She hadn’t answered his question. She’d referred to The Turk by his given name. And now she wanted to return to Bleak Pond—
and
she’d told him rather than running off like last time. Trace had a sinking feeling Majid Badem was recruiting Téya out from under Trace. Stealing her.