Trident's First Gleaming: A Special Operations Group Thriller (20 page)

“Oh, no,” Sonny cried in disgust, “don’t you do that. I can’t use my legs, but I can still shoot you.”

Chris smiled. “I’ll search the tangos for intel. Hannah, can you call Young to see if he has any new intel on Mordet?”

“I’m on it,” she said.

Chris searched Jawwad and Lateef carefully, and when he stepped back to his team, Hannah was off the phone. “Young and Frank aren’t answering their phones,” she said. Her voice shook slightly.

“Don’t wait for me,” Sonny said. “I can still shoot to defend myself if I have to. Young might be in trouble.”

Chris and Hannah nodded.

“Be careful,” Chris said.

“You, too.” Sonny tightened his grip on his weapon and laid his head back.

Chris and Hannah ran into the trees from where they’d come, and as they ran, Chris called the pilot to confirm she was still standing by. They were going to need her help.

_______

C
hris and Hannah raced back to the park and rendezvoused with their helo, its rotors already spinning. As soon as the pair were inside, Moose lifted the helo off the ground. The last time Chris had found Young, he was in a shit state, almost dead. He called Young—still no answer. Hannah called Frank—nothing. Moose flew them to the school in Annandale and landed.

Chris and Hannah dashed from the helo and off the school grounds. Soon Young’s house came into view: there were two marked police vehicles and what looked like at least two unmarked vehicles parked next to the curb, but there was no uniformed cop out front. As Chris and Hannah cut across Young’s lawn, they slowed to inspect the sidewalk—stains. Blood-stained footprints from three or more men led away from the front door. Chris packed Young’s previous shit state and their friendship and all related emotions into a box and stacked it on top of the stacks of boxes in the dark warehouse in the suburbs of his mind, but the adrenaline coursing through his veins wouldn’t be stowed away so easily.

Hannah stopped and pointed to the space between the bushes and the front door where a uniformed cop lay still.

Chris clicked his rifle’s safety off. Upon inspecting the door-frame, he found two cracks—one near the doorknob where someone had kicked and one close to the lock where the door gave way. Up higher, he spotted a third crack, near the deadbolt. He gave Hannah hand signals that they were about to do a soft clear: no noise.

She nodded and moved in close behind him—she was ready.

Chris gently pushed on the door—it swung open freely. There was no give in the doorknob, and the metal strike plate from the latch assembly lay on the floor.

Chris’s adrenaline continued to surge, but he was in control, scanning for targets. He cleared the doorway and stepped over a body before quickly taking command of the left side of the room all the way back to the corner. He sensed Hannah enter behind him and take the right. The crimson-soaked carpet squished with each step. In his peripheral vision, bloody bodies lay on the floor. He experienced a vague hope that none of them were Young, but he’d seen corpses before, and if he didn’t want to be one of them, he had to stay focused on his responsibility and remain alert for living threats. He moved to the far corner of the room—no bad guys. Then he scanned to the cross-corner; at the same time Hannah would be scanning to her cross-corner and their fields of fire would overlap in the center of the room. The whole process took less than five seconds, but there was also a closet on Chris’s side, so he opened the door and looked inside—no threat. Room clear.

The bodies in the living room area appeared to be five armed Arab males and two plainclothes law enforcement officers. Agent Garnet lay there, too, and Chris frowned. Some of Young’s computer equipment was missing, and so was Young.

They moved toward the kitchen, where blood was splattered across the table, countertop and walls. Another uniformed policeman lie on the floor with eyes open and his pistol still in his hand. The puddle of blood beneath him glistened on the ivory tiles.

Chris and Hannah cleared the other rooms in the house quickly and found traces of blood on the carpet throughout.
No Young.
Now that they were sure the house was empty, they returned to the living room.

“It looks like the tangos killed the uniformed officer in the front of the house before breaching the door,” Chris said.

“Then Frank and two others opened fire on the tangos, and the tangos returned fire. A uniformed officer came out of the kitchen to help but was gunned down.

“The three surviving tangos searched the house for Young, tracking blood throughout.”

“Do you think they found him?” she asked.

“Unless he got away.”

She touched the side of Frank’s neck, where the artery lay, checking for a pulse. Her voice was filled with melancholy: “Do you ever get used to friends dying?”

Chris thought for a moment. “Yes and no.”

She pulled her hand away and shook her head. “
Yes
in what way?”

“Yes, I’m used to it sucking every time,” he said.

“What’re you not used to?”

“Never got used to seeing their families and friends suffer.”

She nodded.

Chris helped her examine the other officers to see if anyone had survived, but they were all deceased. Next, they checked the tangos to see if any of them had survived, but they were all dead, too. Chris grabbed a plastic trash bag from the kitchen, and then he and Hannah searched the tangos’ bodies for intelligence—not just their pockets, but every inch of their clothes. The pair dumped wallets and personal belongings into the plastic bag. Chris found an almost imperceptible bulge on one side of a jacket worn by one of the tangos. Inside the coat, a secret pocket had been sewn in.

He pulled out his pocket-knife and carefully snipped the stitches, revealing a small Ziploc bag containing a credit card and a piece of paper with a phone number written on it—a simple escape and evasion kit. “This guy must’ve been some kind of leader,” Chris said. “He’s the only one with an E & E kit.”

Hannah’s attention seemed to be elsewhere. “You know, when we cleared the house, the bookshelf in the master bedroom seemed kind of shallow.” She left the room without another word, and he followed her into the master bedroom.

She pointed to the wall next to it. “You see how thick this wall is—that could be used to add a closet—or something. It’s all dead space. Why would a builder leave all that dead space?”

“The paint on this wall is newer than the rest of the room,” Chris said.

“That, too. And why paint only one wall in the master bedroom? Nobody sees it.” She pushed and pulled on the bookcase, but it didn’t move. “Young, it’s me, Hannah! Can you hear me?”

Chris helped her tug at the bookcase. It moved slightly before stopping, as if it was locked from the inside. “Young, it’s Chris! Your house is secure!”

“Young, are you in there?” Hannah called. “It’s safe to come out.”

A
click
sounded from behind the bookcase, and then it opened. Young came out from a secret room carrying computer equipment under his arm, and Chris let out a sigh of relief. The whites of his eyes were bloodshot, and dark bags sagged below them, his skin was pale and his feet unsteady. But he was alive.

Chris helped him out and set his computer equipment to the side. He was in a hurry to keep Young safe, but he wasn’t in a hurry to show him the carnage in the rest of the house. “Why don’t you lie down on the bed for a bit until we can get some more help?”

Hannah threw off the bed covers, and when Young sat on the edge of the bed, she helped him out of his shoes. Then she touched his cheek. “Your skin feels cool.”

He lay in a fetal position, and she tucked him in. “I wasn’t expecting it,” Young said quietly. “The police officer outside radioed something to Agent Garnet, and he told me to take cover in the master bedroom. Then there were gunshots outside, the door crashed down, and all hell broke loose. There was so much noise that the house vibrated. It was so terrible. I almost pissed myself, but I was too scared to piss. Then I heard voices—Arabic.” His voice started to tremble along with his body. “They were looking for me. I was so scared Professor Mordet would find me; I was so scared. They searched my bedroom for what seemed like forever.”

“You’re okay now,” Hannah said.

“Was Mordet here?” Chris asked.

“I … I don’t know,” Young replied.

“Did you hear anything that might be a clue—anything at all?” Chris asked.

Young looked up at him. “It was all in Arabic.”

Chris nodded.

“I took this off one of the tangos.” Chris handed Young the bag with the credit card and phone number. “After you rest a little, I need an address for this phone number.”

Young exhaled long and slow. “Okay.”

“We’ll be here with you,” Chris promised.

Chris backed off to give Young a rest, and Hannah stroked Young’s hair.

“Did anyone survive?” Young asked.

“Shh,” Hannah said. “Just rest.”

Young leaned forward. “I have to know.”

“They’re all gone,” Chris answered.

“They were under attack, and all I could do was hide,” Young said. “I should’ve done something to help, anything. Instead of just hiding … like a coward.”

“You’re not a coward,” Chris snapped. “You helped us when no else would. Your unique computer skills are critical to this mission. We can’t find Mordet and stop him if you’re dead. Agent Garnet’s job was to protect you, and he did. If you tried to do his job and he tried to do your job, you’d both be dead.”

“Maybe,” Young said.

“Just rest,” Hannah said again, soothingly.

Sirens sounded outside, and Young looked to the window. “Police.”

“We’ll take care of the police while you rest,” Chris said. “You’ll need your energy for what’s next.”

“What’s next?” Young asked.

“I don’t know,” Chris answered.
The only easy day was yesterday.

Chris and Hannah explained to the police what had happened, and then they explained again when FBI Agent Trinity Hayes arrived. Her chestnut hair touched her shoulders, and she moved confidently and slowly like a snake, referring to the FBI as
the Boo
, short for
the Bureau
: “The Boo can never replace a guy like Frank,” she said. “Right now most of our agents are running around chasing false leads on Professor Mordet.”

“Have you been in touch with the computer forensics people about what’s inside the Nasrallah cousins’ van we gave them?” Chris asked.

“It was serving as some kind of repeater for another computer, but we haven’t been able to trace it to the original source,” she said. “Fortunately, the attacks on our airports have stopped.”

“We’ll need a safe house for Young,” Chris said.

“I’ll take care of that,” she said.

Chris liked the conviction in her voice, and he and Hannah both thanked her. Then they went into the master bedroom to check on Young. “How’re you doing?” Chris asked.

Young turned over on his side. “I’d like to go back to work.”

“You need to pack first,” Chris said. “The Bureau is arranging for a safe house. You can’t stay here, even if it weren’t a crime scene.”

Young sat up. “Okay.”

Rather than dwell on the terrors of the past, Chris preferred to dwell on the opportunities of the future. He gave Young a gentle punch in the shoulder. “You’ll be up and running again in no time.”

“I’m backed up on the cloud and with one of my assistants,” Young said, “so as soon as I replace some equipment, I should be back in action.”

“I’ll make sure we get some protection for your assistants, too,” Hannah said.

Chris gave her a small smile. “Good idea.”

Young stood, his jaw dropping for a moment. “I do remember something.”

“What?” Chris asked.

“One of them grunted in a strange way, like a nervous tic or something. And there was a noise, like the sound of a cigarette lighter flicking open and closed.”

Chris knew those sounds. “Little Kale.”

“You think?” Young asked.

“I know.”

Minutes later, Chris and everyone in Young’s house loaded themselves and their gear into a black SUV while Bureau and police escorts stood by.

_______

T
he Bureau agent switched on his headlights, put the SUV into drive, and pulled into the street as Trinity made calls on her cell phone from the passenger seat. While carefully checking his mirrors, the driver cruised around a block in a circle, but no one seemed to be following them. Chris, Hannah, and Young sat in the back.

Fourteen kilometers later, they reached a two-story milky-white southern colonial in an upscale neighborhood. Four columns formed a colonnade in front of the house, the roof sheltering a front patio behind the columns. Black shutters bordered the windows.

“Here we are,” Trinity said. They got out of the SUV and walked across a symmetrical brick walkway that led to the door.

“We seized this property years ago from a guy running a Ponzi scheme,” Trinity said. “Put it up for auction but didn’t get the minimum bid, and the Boo needed a safe house, so we paid the minimum to a fund for the investors who got scammed.”

“Sweet,” Chris said.

Trinity led them inside, under a chandelier, and up a grand staircase, where they set up shop for Young inside the master bedroom on the second floor. Under crown molding, the colonial blue walls contrasted with the regal-red carpet. Luxurious surroundings or not, getting his analysis up and running was priority one.

“Chris, you and Hannah can stay in the Jack-and-Jill bedrooms,” Trinity said. “The agent in the hall will work in shifts, so someone will be up here around the clock. We’ll have a team of agents downstairs. There’s a sophisticated alarm system surrounding the house, and we’re stationing a surveillance team across the street.”

“Thanks,” Chris said.

She nodded and headed downstairs, leaving them to settle in, Chris guessed. And he needed those few minutes alone. Even just washing his face and brushing his teeth made him feel refreshed.

He knocked on the bathroom door leading to Hannah’s room to see if she was okay. She opened the door, looking beautiful with her hair flowing to her shoulders like paint on a Renoir.

Her smile fired up his soul. “Come in,” she said.

Chris forgot his original purpose of checking on her.

“Is everything okay?” she asked.

The fullness in her voice made his blood throb stronger and faster, and the fullness in her lips made him want to kiss them. There would be no sin in one kiss….

He closed the gap between them, tilted his head, and softly touched his lips to hers.

“That was a surprise,” she whispered. “This could complicate things.”

He kissed her again.

She laughed, and the sweet sound rang through him. “A reverend and an atheist. Hmm….”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” he said quietly.

She kissed him this time, and blasted through the lock on his warehouse of boxed-up emotions like an armor-piercing bullet. Everything he’d ever felt for her burst into the air.

She opened her lips slightly, allowing his tongue inside. She put her hand on his shoulder, and he caressed the silkiness of her cheek. Passion, fire, joy, tenderness, grief, worry, and a host of other emotions floated in the air, surrounding him.

When he broke the kiss, she took five steps back. He didn’t know if she was playing hard to get or pulling him in, but it didn’t matter. He took five steps into her room. Her bed looked feathery soft, covered by a fluffy comforter.

The feelings covered him, and he didn’t fight it. He put his hands on her hips and watched as she closed her eyes and leaned toward him. This time, when he touched her lips, he savored the taste of her. He closed his eyes and his heart thumped louder. She wrapped her arms around his neck, and his hands eased around to the small of her back. Emotions swirled around them, pulling the oxygen out of the air.
Breathe
.

Her lips pressed against his harder, and her tongue dove deeper, so he gave it back to her harder and deeper. Hannah’s hands tightened, digging into his flesh. He pulled her in closer as his body pressed forward, and she lost her balance. He opened his eyes as the two of them fell and landed on the bed.

He wanted to explore her body with his hands, but he knew he couldn’t.
This is going too far.
His mind raced to the Bible for something to save him, anything, and he recalled Potiphar’s wife’s attempt to seduce Joseph, who resolved the problem by running away from her.

Not knowing what else to do, he got out of the bed and stood. “I’ve got to go.”

“Now you’re surprising me again, but I think I liked the first surprise better.”

“I vowed not to have premarital sex. I promised Reverend Luther and God.”

She just listened.

“You said this could complicate things.”

She eased out of the bed and stood in front of him. “Sometimes I like it complicated.”

He stepped back. “I’ll know. And God will know.”

“Is it a sin for you to kiss me?” she asked softly.

“No.”

She took a step forward. “Do you want to kiss me now?”

He nodded. “But I can’t do more than that.”

“I want what you want.” The warm breath of her words caressed his lips.

He leaned forward until their mouths touched, and they communicated without words and without time.

Eventually, the fatigue of the past few days caught up with them, and she pulled away. “Thank you. For putting the world on pause.”

“Thank you.”

She kissed him on the cheek. “We should probably get some rest.”

He smiled before kissing her once more on the lips. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

Chris returned to his room, his pulse still racing. He had remained true to his vow of chastity, but the battle wasn’t over. He tried to read his Bible, but he glanced at his door connected to the bathroom leading to her room. All he wanted to do was make passionate love to Hannah until they both passed out. His eyes returned to his Bible, but he couldn’t focus.

I need to sleep.

He tried taking a hot shower then soaking in a hot bath. It relaxed him, but he still wasn’t sleepy. Again, he looked at the door leading to her room. Then he knelt next to his bed and prayed. But when he opened his eyes, he couldn’t help glancing at the door once more.

He didn’t know how he was going to get any rest.
Maybe a glass of milk would help.
He walked out of his room, and the agent in the hall glanced at him but then looked away.
Maybe he heard us kissing in her room
. Heat rose to his cheeks as he headed downstairs. But on his way to the kitchen, he noticed a small bar up ahead, by the kitchen entrance. He walked down the hall, more surprised than he should’ve been to see another agent sitting on a stuffed sofa in the living room.

“Is everything okay, sir?” the agent asked politely.

Without thinking, Chris shook his head, but then he changed it to a nod. “Everything is fine,” he fibbed.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” he said with all the conviction he could muster.

The agent nodded with a puzzled look on his face.

He opened the cabinet and surveyed the stock. He’d known enough serious drinkers to know that the strongest liquor inside was probably the bottle of Wild Turkey 101.
This will definitely help me sleep.

He removed the cap and sniffed. A mixture of caramel, vanilla, and gasoline wafted into his nostrils. Chris felt the weight of the possibility that this drink could be the first step to him becoming an alcoholic like his grandfather. He also felt the weight of his responsibility as an ambassador of the Lord. He’d been so successful as a teetotaler that it seemed a shame to throw it all away in this moment. Even so, a drink of alcohol was forgivable; premarital sex would cost him his ministry.

He selected a squat glass and filled it halfway. His throat burned as he drank the amber liquid, but he didn’t stop downing the alcohol. He wasn’t drinking for pleasure or camaraderie. The burning soon became numbness, and he quickly emptied the glass. Warmth spread from his chest to his belly and throughout his body as he set the glass down and closed the cabinet. On his way back to the stairs, past the living room, the agent wished him a good night.

“Good night,” Chris said, but his vocal cords were unsteady. He turned his head before he had to see the agent’s reaction to his odd behavior.

Back in his room, he lay down in the bed and turned on the TV to a televangelist, but he couldn’t focus on the words. Within fifteen minutes, he was nodding, so he turned off the TV and closed his eyes.