Operation Zulu Redemption--Complete Season 1 (11 page)

An explosion of glass erupted inside the building they’d just left, followed by a heavy, sickening thud.

“Shooter down.”

“Literally,” snickered Houston through the coms.

“Quiet,” Boone snapped then turned to Téya and Annie. “Let’s move.” Once in the truck, Boone pealed away, the rear tires fishtailing as they did. “Stay down!”

Bending over her grandmother, who curled into Téya’s lap, Téya protected her. Prayed they could get out of here safe. They remained down for several long minutes. “Clear,” Boone said ten minutes later.

Téya turned to her grandmother. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,”
Grossmammi
said, her voice strained.

It’s because of me. Because she knows the truth now
. Téya placed her hands on her grandmother’s. They rode in silence for the next thirty minutes until Boone pulled into a mall parking lot. He eased alongside a Pennsylvania State Trooper’s vehicle.

Téya shifted on the seat. “
Grossmammi
, nobody can know you saw me today. Do you understand?”

Green eyes so like her own stared back. Studied. Tracked down to the tactical vest. The weapon holstered at her right hip.

“I know you don’t understand,” Téya said, the guilt strangling her. “And I’m sorry. But—my life is in danger. The men who took you, want me. Do you understand that?”

Her grandmother nodded.

Téya looked out the heavily tinted windows to Boone talking with the officer. “That trooper is the one who found you—that’s what you must tell anyone who asks.”

Concern—no doubt over having to lie—creased the wrinkled face.

“I’m so sorry I put you in danger, to ask this of you. But it’s very important. For both of us. For David. For everyone in Bleak Pond.”

Grossmammi
patted her hand firmly.

The door swung open. “Time,” Boone said as he held out a hand. “Ready, Mrs. Gerig?”

Annie

Lucketts, Virginia

5 May – 0915 Hours

Annie wasn’t sure which was worse—the immediate aftermath of Misrata or right now. She’d never forget the instant they discovered what
really
happened at their hands. The devastation. The deaths. Trace believed Jessie would crack, and by the evidence spread out before them—the contents of her apartment—he was right. Really, it was a miracle that they hadn’t all lost it.

Even now, bile rose to her throat as images of those bodies—the small, frail bodies burned in her mind’s eye.

“Okay, listen up,” Trace said as he and Boone hauled in several boxes and set them on the operations table. “We all know the mind Jessie had—she was a strategist. An analyst.”

“And an obsessive one at that,” Annie put in as she left the couch she’d been sitting on and joined him.

“Right. So, it’d be no surprise that she disobeyed orders and tried to find out who was behind Misrata. And since she was hit first, I’d wager my career she found something.” Trace’s jaw muscle twitched as he waited for Téya and Nuala to join them.

“How’d she die?” Téya asked, her stony facade thicker than ever.

Trace studied them, and Annie could see his thoughts, could see him working out if that information would be beneficial or diversionary. “Sniper shot.”

Nuala straightened. “So, she died instantly.”

Trace nodded. “If you feel anything that I’m feeling right now, then you’ll want to dig through these boxes. They’re from her apartment. I have to get back to INSCOM for a meeting, but I’ll be back tonight. Let’s find some answers.”

Swallowing, Annie shook off the dread. Going through her friend’s things was as creepy as seeing her body in a casket—which, thank God, they hadn’t done. Jessie would be buried quietly and anonymously—since they were, according to government records, already dead. It grated on her nerves that Jessie and Candi wouldn’t have full rights burials. They’d earned it.

But then again, they’d
earned
the anonymity when they attacked a warehouse full of ammunition. What they didn’t know was on the other side of that warehouse, twenty-two orphans and caretakers were waiting out the night for their new residence.

Awkward silence rang through the operations center as she, Nuala, and Téya pored over the boxes, files, every scrap of paper found in Jessie’s Las Vegas apartment. Things had changed.
They
had changed. A lot. Nuala had always been quiet and reserved but uncannily focused. Téya and Annie, however, had been close and raucous. Livewires, Boone had called them.

Téya seemed even more reclusive since the mission with her grandmother and boyfriend. Though Annie wanted to comfort her, the words—even in her head—sounded shallow.
Sorry
didn’t quite make up for the harm caused to someone you loved.

“What’s he like?” Annie asked, pretending less interest than she felt.

Riffling through a stack of papers, Téya hesitated then resumed her perusal.

Okay then. “Words are cheap, but—”

“You’re right. They’re cheap.” Téya tossed the file down and moved to another box farther away from Annie.

“You’re not the only one who lost in this attack,” Annie said softly. Not to be confrontational, but they needed perspective. Had to remember the greater mission.

Téya didn’t respond. She squatted at a box and thumbed through some items.

“What about you?” Nuala said, her eyes curious. “Did you find someone since…?”

Sam’s handsome mug leapt into her visual cortex and forced a smile. “Yeah.” She laughed. “I have a knack for trouble—he’s a Navy SEAL.”

Nuala’s eyebrows raised. “Seriously? How’d you meet him?”

“I worked at a great place called the Green Dot Sub Shop. Sam’s friends with the owner.” She dug through a box of clothes. Slinky, sparkly clothes. “Please tell me she used this to blend in,” Annie said, holding up a skirt. “This looks more like a tourniquet than a miniskirt.”

“Um,” Nuala said, lifting something out of a bin. She held out her hand.

Annie stared at the syringes and elastic bands.

“Did she get into drugs?”

“Jessie struggled after Misrata.” Boone appeared out of nowhere, his expression stiff. “She couldn’t keep it together or cope with what she’d done.”

Téya straightened and glared at Boone. “What someone forced us to do.”

“Easy,” Boone said. “I’m not blaming. Just giving the facts.”

“So,” Nuala said, tossing the syringes down. She planted her hands on her hips, looking around at the boxes. She turned a circle.

“What?” Annie asked.

“I’m just wondering—Jessie wasn’t just a brilliant strategist, she was a computer geek.”

“Everyone knew she loved her devices,” Boone said.

“Then where are her computers? Laptops? iPads?”

“I thought that odd, too,” Houston called from the command dais. “Especially since I can track a bit of traffic back to her address. Utility records do not show she had Internet, but all she needed was a mobile hotspot or something and she’d be up and running.”

Boone glanced back, standing as he always had while training them, hands on his tac belt—appraising. “You sure about that?”

“About as sure as I can be without getting hold of her device. In fact, I suspect she and Keeley had been in contact.”

Annie tensed. That was one of the cardinal rules Trace placed on them when they went into hiding—no contact with anyone in their former lives, especially other Zulu members. Jessie had sent her a message a couple of times, but Annie hadn’t returned them. As cold and heartless as it felt at the time, she believed it too dangerous to have those dots connected. If Keeley and Jessie were communicating…that could explain why they were hit first.

Boone lifted his phone and started toward the soundproof briefing room.

“What do you make of that?” Téya asked as she eased up next to Annie.

“Trouble.”

“So, you had a boyfriend,” Téya said quietly, waiting for Annie to look at her. “What happened to—”

“It ended.” New tension knots bunched at the base of Annie’s shoulders.

“Listen up,” Boone’s voice boomed through the bunker.

Nuala snickered as she stood behind the two of them. “He says that like he’s still our drill sergeant.”

“We’re heading to Nevada.”

Nuala

Las Vegas, Nevada

6 May – 0830 Hours

The Citation Sovereign delivered the team smoothly to the North Las Vegas airstrip, avoiding the overly busy McCarran International. Nuala watched as the sleek craft glided to a stop. A black Ford Expedition EL waited. As soon as the stairs were deployed, the driver’s side door of the SUV opened. A man in a navy suit stepped out as Boone hustled down the steps. They shook hands as they pulled into a shoulder pat/hug. When Zulu reached the tarmac and huddled up, Boone made introductions. “This is Dan Baker. He’s an FBI slave now.”

Normally, those three letters would put Nuala on the run. And not for the first time. She shot a look at Boone. Was he crazy, bringing in the feds? Weren’t they trying to hide from men like this?

“
Slave
is right,” he said, his gold eyes hitting Nuala then Annie but back to Nuala. He gave her a once-over then grinned. “Boone-Dawg, you been holding out on us. Keeping the beauties to yourself.”

Nuala shifted under the attention. Among this group of soldiers, she’d never been the one to get singled out, unless she’d done something wrong. Weird that someone would take an interest in her, not Annie or Téya.

Boone laughed. “Dan is going to get us into Jess’s apartment. We’ll go in. He’s buying us a few hours. Trace will join us soon, but we need to make it quick.”

Houston lagged behind, three different equipment bags slung over his shoulders.

Dan backed up and reached for the door. “Ready?”

They piled into the vehicle, Boone up front with his buddy. Nuala sat behind Boone, watching the city slide by, wondering what Jessie had seen in this crazy city setting. Too many people. Too many buildings. Too many drugs and deaths. Though she hadn’t been especially close to Jessie, Nuala wanted her back. The brunette had provided balance to the team.

As they delved deeper into Sin City, Nuala did her best to pay attention to routes, dead ends, hiding locations.
Always have an exit strategy
, Trace had said more than once.

Twenty minutes later, the Expedition slid up to an apartment building. Paper, cigarette packs, and beer bottles cluttered the path up to the four-story structure.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Annie voiced Nuala’s thoughts.

Jessie had always been meticulous about her bunk space and apartment before Misrata. She’d lived
here
after they all split up?

They climbed out and headed into the building. Dan held open the door while they trailed in, Nuala last after Houston with his gear. She felt Dan’s hand on her lower back as he stepped in behind her. He brushed past her with a wink.

Nuala tucked her chin, the heat of embarrassment filling her cheeks.

“Landlord is in Apartment 100.” Dan walked down the hall and rapped three times on the door.

The door creaked on its hinges as a graying, older lady answered. Hair frizzed, she wore a polyester dress and flip-flops. Though she looked like a throwback from the ’70s, she didn’t have the flighty, lazy look in her expression. “May I help you?”

“You Mrs. Higginbotham?”

She touched her messy frizzy hair as if it were coiffed, clearly taken in by the smooth-talking and charming man at her door.

Dan lifted his badge from his belt. “Dan Baker with the FBI, ma’am.” He unfolded a piece of paper. “I have a warrant to look through Apartment 312.”

Dawning broke out over her plain face. “Oh. Jamie’s place.”

“That’s right,” Dan said, with a smile that poked a dimple into his left cheek. “Can you either let us in or give us a key?”

“Oh sure.” She squeezed into the hall and produced a ring of keys. Her gaze swept over the five of them. “You girls knew Jamie?”

“No, ma’am,” Annie spoke up with a fake Southern drawl. “We’re just here with Agent Baker.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Higginbotham seemed a little more nervous now but headed toward the stairs. As she climbed, she said, “That Jamie—she stuck to herself. Real quiet but real nice, too.” She clucked her teeth, her false teeth. Dentures? Who did dentures anymore? Why not implants? “Just can’t figure why someone would go and do what they done to that poor girl. Don’t make no sense.”

Huffing by the time she reached the third floor, the woman slowed her pace but not her dialogue. “She never brought no boys around, but she was a favorite. Everyone was always sayin’ hi to her. And she helped anyone who needed it. Once, Bert Thompson couldn’t get his fancy smartphone to work and she helped him. Sweetest thang, that girl.”

Nuala traded knowing looks with Annie and Téya. That was Jessie all right. But it pained, twisted her insides, to think of her being gunned down in an alley.

“A’right,” Mrs. Higginbotham said, unlocking the door and passing the key to Dan. “There ya go. Be real kind and bring that down to me so an old woman doesn’t have to walk three flights of stairs again?”

Dan gave his agreement as Zulu entered the apartment.

Nuala was first in. Anticipation of what she’d find met with shock. “It’s ransacked.” She stepped over a scrawny metal lamp and moved toward the futon that had been sliced open, batting bleeding out.

Nuala slid toward the back wall that held a small counter, sink, and a two-burner stove. A microwave sat on the counter. Nuala recoiled when she saw something black skitter out of sight.

“Not exactly the Hilton.” Dan Baker stood behind her, a hand resting on her shoulder to steady her. “Take it you don’t have to live with those things.”

“Not in peace anyway,” she said.

He laughed then turned to the apartment. “Looks like someone beat us to it. When I was here the night she was killed, the place was messy, but not like this.”

“I’m not seeing anything,” Houston said as he looked around. “No cables, no Internet lines.”

Nuala walked the seven-hundred-foot efficiency, careful to avoid touching anything. Though the grime and disarray lingered, so did evidence of the strong woman she’d known. Jessie had a thing for all things Africa, so the tribal mask, the carved giraffe, bespoke the soldier who’d felt she was fighting for freedom.