Covert Christmas (13 page)

“When we marry? Cam, no. I…”

Suddenly panicked that she would still walk away, Cam
fought for calm. “Did you lie when you said you loved me? Did you?”

Shaking her head, she murmured, “I have loved you all my life. But that doesn't mean—”

Cam couldn't let her finish. Not without showing her the truth of what he felt. He kissed her. The kiss of a man still desperately in love—as he had also been all of his life.

“Don't leave me again,” he whispered against her mouth. “Stay with me. Make me whole.”

“Daddy?” A little voice called from behind him. “I'm thirsty. What's going on?”

“Chloe.” Cam turned his head to see his sleepy daughter standing just inside the kitchen with her teddy under one arm. “You should be asleep, baby. But now that you're up, I want you to meet…”

“My angel! Daddy, you found her for me.” Chloe came closer and looked up at Tara with a serious expression on her sweet face. “I'm Chloe. I know you. You're going to be my new mommy.

“Right, Daddy?”

Cam turned to Tara, holding his breath. Tara's eyes filled with tears as she smiled down at his child and then gazed up at him.

“Two against one. I give up.” She turned back to Chloe and held out her hand to bring his baby into the circle of their love. “Yes, honey. I guess I'm going to be your new mommy.”

Chloe snuggled close and buried her face in Tara's tummy. “My angel.”

Cam wrapped them both in his arms, silently giving thanks to whatever force had really brought Tara back into his life and had given him a second chance. This time he vowed it would be forever.

Loreth Anne White

For my parents, who married two days before Christmas, forever entwining memories of the season with memories of their love.

December 22, 1600 Zulu

A
thick equatorial stillness hung over the U.S. embassy's residential compound in Kigali, broken only by a sudden shrill screech from a troop of silver-gray monkeys, three of them swinging down through the iroko trees and dropping into an open-walled, thatched lapa where Cass Rousseau, West Africa staff correspondent for CBN International, was setting up to interview Susan Swift, U.S. Deputy Chief of Mission.

Since it was a Sunday, most State Department staff and their families were in the residential compound, which lay in the foothills of jungle-encrusted mountains that reached up into hot, wet mist—and most were lying low in their bungalows, avoiding the energy-sapping heat.

The only reminder that it was just three days before Christmas in this tiny country wedged between Ghana and Cote d'Ivoire was the fake white tree in front of which Swift had positioned her seat for the interview. Decorated with tiny ornaments crafted from African beads, the tree looked
incongruous against the verdant backdrop. But even that plastic symbol of the season was too much for Cass. Especially today.

Sweat beaded across her upper lip as she repositioned her fluorescent light stand, trying to stay focused on her job—the fewer prompts that tomorrow was her wedding anniversary, the better.

Christmas had once represented a time of hope and dreams for Cass. Then her son, Jacob, had been killed.

Hope and dreams died with him that day.

So had her marriage.

Now she liked to get as far away as she could from anything even vaguely reminiscent of cool, snow-covered mountains, twinkling lights, the scent of gingerbread, crackling fires, roasting turkeys. Now she preferred chasing stories—the closer the shaves, the sharper the adrenaline, the hotter and more foreign the locale, the better.

However, things had finally grown calm in Kigali since the first democratic elections thirteen months ago. So calm that U.S. Ambassador Jon Wight had taken a month of home leave, his duties falling to Susan Swift in the interim.

This was great for the Kigali people, but not for Cass. The lag in breakneck action gave her time to dwell on the past, to remember. She'd begun to think of moving on.

Opening her backpack, Cass removed a small mirror and checked herself out under the lighting. She dabbed a tissue over her damp brow, freshened her lip gloss.

“Sorry about the lack of air-conditioning,” Swift said with a laugh as she watched Cass. “Maybe in another year we'll actually get some—seems we're not a high priority on the department budget.”

Cass smiled and snapped the mirror shut. She liked Swift. She liked that a woman was in charge, and she liked that Swift had a sense of humor. “Believe me, I've dealt with way worse than melting makeup. And I do like to think that viewers cut us beleaguered foreign correspondents some slack in the looks department from time to time.” She motioned to her
cameraman, Samuel Sekibo, as she spoke. “Ready to roll, Sam?”

He shot a big thumbs-up, his ebony-skinned face splitting into a broad, white grin. “Ready to roll 'em, boss,” he said in his resonating bass. Cass repressed a smile. Sam uttered those same words without fail each time—she'd miss them, and him, when she moved on.

Since she'd arrived to cover the country's turbulent transition into a democracy, Cass had made some firm and fast friends among the staff at the local Kigali news station where CBN rented space for her, and where she'd set up her editing equipment.

Sam was one of them. He contracted out to Cass, working as her driver, translator and camera guy. Another was Gillian Tsabatu, a feisty young reporter with blood ties to the Kigali royal family. In addition to challenging viewers with her liberal—and often risqué—reporting, Gillian had become Cass's guide into the complex cultures, religions and tribal fabric of this once volatile country. And she'd become a dear friend in the process.

“And are you ready, Mrs. Swift?”

“Please, call me Susan,” the Deputy Chief of Mission said, straightening her skirt. She sat ramrod-straight, her brown hair cropped bluntly at her jaw, exuding a businesslike efficiency and elegance at the same time. A true diplomat, thought Cass as she seated herself in the wicker chair opposite Swift. Her gaze fell unintentionally to Swift's hands, to the simple gold band on her ring finger.

Cass cleared her throat, glanced away quickly. No matter how she tried, this time of year was rough. Talking to this woman about how she juggled both family and job was going to be of no help, either.

She should have found a way to weasel out of this assignment, but with the ambassador away and the political situation in the country deathly calm, Cass had needed to fill airtime. And Swift was a woman on the fast track, pegged for high office, possibly even Secretary of State down the road.
Cass's editors liked the idea of a profile on this very ambitious chargé d'affaires who was also a mother of three—clearly a wife whose husband gave her all the room and support she needed to pursue her career around the world, Cass thought.

Unlike what Jack had given her.

Cass cursed silently.
This
is what happened when the hard news went soft—she was forced to resort to this stuff.

“I'll do a proper introduction in the final edit, but for now we'll jump straight into the questions, if that's okay?”

“Go right ahead.”

One of the monkeys perched on the wall nearby watched them with interest as it tore open a wild blood orange, its teeth yellow as it sucked at the fruit. Cass leaned forward slightly. “Madame Swift, it's been just over a year now since Kigali voted for its first president, effectively putting an end to decades of oppressive monarchy-military rule. What has this transition meant to both the people of Kigali and to the United States? And where to from here?”

“Those elections, thanks in part to the forward thinking of King Harold Savungi, have opened doors to this, our first diplomatic mission to Kigali. And Kigali is a country of strategic importance in this region. It has also paved the way for military-to-military contact. For example, earlier this year a Special Forces Operational Detachment from the third Special Forces Group Airborne was tasked to develop a training plan to assist in the development of a new Kigali army. And now that—” Swift was suddenly interrupted by an aide carrying a phone, signaling to her it was urgent.

A frown creased Swift's brow. She turned to Cass. “Can you excuse me a—”

But the aide didn't wait. He came over to Swift's chair, bent over her, lowering his voice, but not enough to escape Cass's hearing. “It's one of the marines,” he whispered urgently. “He says the embassy building in Molatu is under attack—the entire capital under siege.”

“What?” whispered Swift.

“At 3:00 p.m. about five hundred men wearing red
bandannas or armbands entered the city on technical vehicles, quickly engaging in urban combat with Kigali troops. The parliamentary buildings have been breached, the president and his family are missing and now the U.S. embassy building itself is under attack by revolutionary forces—”

“
What
forces?” The shock on Swift's face was blatant. “We had no warning of this?”

More phones started to ring, additional staff rushing into the lapa. Cass motioned quietly to Samuel to keep rolling video as Swift surged up from her chair. She snatched the receiver from her aide. “This is DCM Swift. I'm putting you on speaker.” She pressed a button.

Tension crackled in the sweltering heat as the distant sound of staccato gunfire reached them via speakerphone. The marine yelled over the noise. “The American embassy is under attack! We've taken casualties—the contracted guards outside the gates are all down. Only two of us inside. Crowds are out of control, throwing rocks, smashing windows…a truck is presently ramming the embassy gates. We—” The sound of glass shattering came over the speaker. Someone swore. The line went dead.

Faces, pale, looked at each other.

“Get me the White House!” Swift said.

A sharp thrill ripped through Cass. “Samuel, quick,” she whispered. “Hand me our sat phone.” Cass moved rapidly across the lapa and down the stairs onto the lawn, dialing the CBN newsroom, heart racing.
This
is the kind of story she lived for.

This
would help her endure Christmas, get past her wedding anniversary without having to think of Jack. Or Jacob.

“I've got breaking news here, Paul,” she told the CBN staffer manning the news desk. “U.S. embassy is under attack—looks like a coup attempt by as yet unidentified forces. Most of the U.S. staff are safe at the residential compound, but they've lost contact with the two marines guarding the embassy.”

“Where are you?” said Paul.

“I was interviewing Susan Swift when word broke. She's presently on the line with the Joint Chiefs of Staff. Can you get me live sat hookup—I'm going to need to stay on this all night as it develops.”

“Hang on a sec, Cass.”

She waited for a moment, then shot a thumbs-up to Samuel. “We go live in twenty!”

Monday, December 23, 0038 Zulu

Cass stood on the dark lawn illuminated by her portable fluorescent light stand. Although it was just after midnight, the equatorial night felt thicker, hotter. She could now smell smoke, hear gunfire in the distance.

“The violence that erupted in the capital yesterday has spread rapidly to residential and rural areas during the night,” she said into her mic, eyes focused on the camera. “Reports of arson, looting and the random rape and slaughter of innocent civilians were coming in from Molatu before the phone system went down—” Her lighting suddenly dimmed. All the lights in Swift's home died for a moment. Cass hesitated.

A generator kicked in and the lights went on again. She continued. “Cell towers and power grids are also being sabotaged in what appears to be a coordinated attempt by as yet unidentified rebel forces to cut off communication across the entire country. Armed vehicles carrying RPG artillery are now reported to be heading towards the U.S. embassy's residential compound located about twenty miles outside of Molatu. Kigali troops loyal to King Harold Savungi are reported to be in a defensive position at a blockade along the highway, but are taking severe casualties. U.S. Deputy Chief of Mission Susan Swift has now ordered the evacuation of all non-combatant embassy personnel and their families. Swift has personally vowed to stay on as long as she can, but it appears the diplomatic situation is becoming untenable. Earlier this evening, the U.S. Department of Defense mobilized the first available resource in this region, a Special Forces Operational
Detachment Alpha, consisting of twelve men who were in Kigali to develop a training plan for the new army. They will start spearheading the evacuation.”

As she spoke, Cass heard the first helicopter thudding in the thick air. “Meanwhile, the
U.S.S. Shackleton,
a naval helicopter ship with twelve hundred marines on board, has been deployed to the area. The ship is expected to arrive within the next twenty-four hours. It will wait off the coast to help with the evacuation of Americans.” Cass spoke louder as a Black Hawk descended over the compound. Trees began to whip in the downdraft, leaves and debris flying out over the lawn. Monkeys screamed, scattering down from the iroko trees.

Cass motioned to Sam to get footage of the chopper setting down. Swift stood up on the patio, illuminated by the security spotlights around her home, her hair whipping around her face.

The helo door swung open. Cass signaled quickly for Sam to move in closer for a better shot. A special forces soldier hopped down onto the grass—tall, powerful.

And Cass froze dead in her tracks.

Her entire world stopped spinning as the rotors slowed and the ground felt as though it was falling out from under her.

Jack.

Cass's mouth went bone-dry. A chill breeze blew over her, the sense of snowflakes swirling, icy on her skin…the tiny Colorado church…her special ops soldier coming down the aisle…

The memories came crashing violently, her world narrowing as she recalled the reason they married. Their child.

And the reason they fell apart.

The reason she had not seen, nor spoken to, nor touched Jack in four long years.

He glanced up at Swift, ordered men left and right. Then he turned, and his gaze collided with hers.