Operation Zulu Redemption: Act of Treason - Part 4 (8 page)

Trace walked into the three bunk rooms and hit the lights. “Let’s go! Rise and shine, Zulu!” He banged on the doors. “In the briefing room in fifteen.”

Téya threw a shoe at him. Trace dodged it. “I’ll have you work that out under Quade’s gentle care later.”

Téya groaned as Annie rolled over and squinted at him. In the other room, Nuala was gathering her stuff for the shower. “C’mon,” Trace said. “Noodle’s on her feet and she’s the only one with an excuse to move slow.”

As Nuala walked past him, he touched her arm. “How you holding up?”

“Fine,” she said, then gave a shrug. “Nothing a hot shower won’t loosen up.”

He nodded. Glanced back at Annie, who was shuffling around her room now. She’d been civil to him since taking a hatchet to his hopes of picking up where they’d left off before Misrata. With Sam gone, she probably blamed Trace for that.
Figures.

He glanced back into Téya’s room and noticed her lying back down, arm slung over her eyes. He banged on her door. “Move it, Two!”

“I’m not a number,” Téya ground out.

“Then prove it and get on your feet. Fifteen in the briefing area.” Trace headed back to the command area of the bunker, where Houston was digging through the two-dozen doughnuts Trace had brought. “Leave some for the others.”

Houston turned, doughnut glaze on his chin. “It’s your fault.”

“Okay,” Rusty said, emerging from the fourth room and sliding his hands through a black T-shirt, “this ought to be good.” He smirked at Trace. “Can I watch as you kill him?” Rusty slapped Houston. “Go ahead, tell him how—whatever it is—is Trace’s fault.”

Trace had to admit—it was really great to have Rusty back, especially watching the cocky tech-geek squirm.

Houston shrugged. Swept a hand that held a Boston cream-filled doughnut over the boxes. “You left me alone with them.”

“Self-control ever enter your mind, Glaze?”

Houston blinked. “Glaze?”

Trace looked at his chin and bobbed his head.

“Yes!” Rusty snapped his fingers and pointed to Houston. “That’s his new name.” He grinned. “I like it.”

“No no no,” Houston said. “You are not giving me a name like that. I need a superhero-sounding name. Something like—Techtro. Or Cere—”

“Sorry, Glaze.” Rusty snagged a banana from the kitchen area. “You don’t get a vote.”

“That’s some seriously messed up stuff there,” Houston argued. “Especially since I have to answer to it.”

“If you lay off the doughnuts, you might get another name,” Rusty laughed.

“Dude, there isn’t enough power in the ’verse to keep me from these amazing confections.” He stuffed a chocolate cake one into his mouth, hooked two more on his pointer finger, then headed back to his computer.

Trace gave a snort. “You got everything ready like we talked about last night?”

“Worphin’ on it,” Houston said in doughnut speak.

“Get your gear in here. We need to start soon.” Trace hesitated. Looked around. “Where’s Boone?”

“Beaphs me,” Houston muffled around his food.

Trace entered the briefing area and planted his hands on either side of the notes he’d scribbled during the all-night marathon session he’d had with a few key individuals. Ones who would keep this between them, him, and God. Well, and the team in about—Trace looked at his watch—“Five minutes!”

Less than thirty seconds later, Téya trudged into the room and tossed a plain doughnut on the table. “Need coffee.” She shuffled back out, but not before bumping into Annie, who had tucked her hair up and wore a coral-colored top that made her skin look soft and her lips—

He shoved his gaze to the papers on the table. Down. Away from her.
Haul it up, Weston.
He’d have to reassign her or something after this, assuming she wanted to keep working. She’d never been one to quit, though.

He focused on the plans. The calculated risks forbidding him from entering the arms of sleep last night. He’d made it through the ranks quickly because he hadn’t been afraid to take those risks. Sometimes, the best solution was unconventional.

Within a few minutes, they were all gathered. Nuala’s hair dripped as she sat at the table, legs pulled up on her chair, and instead of a doughnut, she had yogurt.

“I spent thirty dollars on fat pills and you eat yogurt?” he teased.

She bunched up her shoulders. “I eat one of those, I’ll be gasping for air when Quade returns.”

His gaze skidded around the room. “Speaking of returning. . .where’s Boone?”

“Hey, Boss,” Houston said, hauling a squeaky cart into the room with his gear. “I couldn’t get the blueprints—”

“Work on it after,” Trace said, glancing at the three women and Rusty.

“What’s so important that you have to interrupt our sleep? It’s not like we weren’t out running all over England trying to track down a punk and getting shot at.”

“HOMe is getting a fully funded grant along with rent-free facilities in Reston.” Trace watched their reactions. Watched the confusion morph into surprise. Then to anger.

“Just like Washington to throw more money at corrupt entities,” Téya said with a snarl.

“Are you sure someone’s giving them money?” Annie scowled, shifting in her seat. “Their finances are questionable at best. We proved that.”

“Yes, but not in a way that can be publicly made known at this time.” Trace stuffed his hands on his belt. “A large gala is planned for the Fourth of July. HOMe is the guest of honor.”

Annie raised her hands. “Who is stupid enough to give them this benefit and raise money for an organization that is as corrupt—”

“To the outside world, HOMe is a reputable, humanitarian organization,” Trace said. “And we want them to believe that.”

“Why would we want them to believe that?” Téya asked, mimicking his words.

“Because we’re throwing the fund-raiser.” Trace had to admit, he was proud of this idea. Felt it was just the lure they needed. “We’re inviting them in to honor them.”

“We?” Annie’s eyebrows winged up. “Are you insane?”

“Information has come to light in the last few days.”

“Yes, like threats from Ballenger to stay out of his way,” Annie said.

“True.”

“He has GIS operatives working for him. We don’t want to incur his anger,” Annie warned.

“But we also aren’t going to lie down and roll over for him,” Trace said. “We are in the middle of an active investigation—more active than it’s been in the last sixty-two months. We’re not backing off.”

“What else?” Téya asked.

Trace glanced to her, surprised at the question.

“Well, I mean, you aren’t going to just throw this huge event simply because Ballenger threatened us, so what else have you learned?”

“Varden—he’s an officer tied to this somehow. I’m still looking into how.” Trace nodded. “My contacts at the Pentagon are helping with this ruse—the cover story is that the government is providing a one-year grant to help them build new facilities in countries HOMe has been trying to get into,” he said. “Solomon is building the cover and preparing everything. He’s got a whole team on this.”

“Why?” Annie shoved her hand through the loose curls around her face. “This doesn’t make sense.”

“Think about it,” Rusty said, apparently having already caught on to the game. “Think who’ll be there. If this is for HOMe, then not only will Hollister be there, but—”

Understanding washed over Annie’s face. “Mercy Chandler.” Her face went a little pale. “Won’t Batsakis be there, too?”

Trace gritted his teeth, remembering how that man had pawed Annie. “More than likely. Along with Stoffel.”

“This is a lot of risk,” Annie said, her voice tipping into the realm of fear.

Trace held a hand toward her, trying to stay her complaints and concerns. “If we can make this a big, elaborate event; if we can get Stoffel, Giles, Chandler, and Hollister here, then that will draw the attention of—”

“Ballenger,” Téya said with a firm nod. “I like it. Let’s do it.”

“No!” Annie sat forward, her mind racing with panic and awareness. “This is insane. Ballenger threatened us. He had a GIS operative in Dover, and you want to lure them into our country? Invite them to take a bead on us? What about Varden?” Annie’s head felt like it was splitting open with the flurry of information and names coming to light. “What about the person sourcing him—isn’t that who we need to lure into the open?”

“Ballenger is,” Téya said. “When will you start paying attention to the facts and not to Trace?”

“Hey,” Trace snapped at the out-of-line comment.

Indignation clawed through Annie’s chest with a chunk of embarrassment. “Grow up, Téya,” Annie said, unable to put up with her friend’s snark and moodiness any longer. “I don’t know what happened in Bleak Pond—”

“That’s right,” Téya said, her face darkening. “You
don’t
. So
don’t
go there.”

“I’m sorry,” Rusty said as he stood. “I thought I was with a professional team of soldiers, not a WWE cat fight.”

Heart on a rampage from the fear, the uncertainty about this new plan, the attitude and meanness from Téya. . .Annie struggled. She was tired. So tired of all of this. She wanted Sam. Wanted him to hold her and reassure her things would be fine. But she couldn’t afford a Pollyanna moment right now.

“Easy,” Trace said, glaring at both her and Téya. “Listen, we’re doing this. It’s not up for a vote. We have less than two weeks to get this in play. I’ve been up all night with Intel analysts and Solomon. This is our prime opp to have everyone in the same place at the same time.”

“What about the hearing?” Téya asked, her question filled with defiance.

Trace stilled, stretched his jaw, then looked at Téya.

Annie hated that, once again, Téya knew more. But the look on Trace’s face bothered her more. He was an intense soldier and person, but the storm that erupted over his face alarmed her. “What is she talking about?” she asked, bouncing her gaze between the two. “What hearing?”

It would take a machete to hack through the tension in the room.

“There’s a hearing,” Trace said slowly, definitively, still glowering at Téya. Then looked at Annie. “It’s not your concern.”

“Wrong,” Téya countered. “You were placed under arrest trying to stop that woman from giving up our names.”

Trace shifted, his shoulders lifting. Arms out to the side, he was about to detonate.

Annie couldn’t move. Her mind galloped through their words as the duel played out.

Trace’s face went like stone. “Leave us,” he barked.

It took a second for Annie and the others to register that he wanted them to leave. But this—there was no way she’d walk out now. Something big was happening. Trace was hiding something. “No.”

He aimed all the ferocity that was the combat soldier and colonel at Annie “
Leave
us. I need—”

“We need openness and transparency,” Annie said, tasting the bitterness of the words, knowing she hadn’t given him that. Not about. . .everything. Seeing this anger, seeing his fury—she could only imagine how he’d react if he found out the whole truth about their past. But that was different. This was now. They were in a mess that had to be sorted. “We’ve been operating with half-full files. Put it all on the table, Trace. Enough with the secrets.”

Annie couldn’t help but notice the way Rusty lowered his head, bouncing his leg. It went against every bit of training they had to question and challenge Trace like this.

Wide-eyed, mouth open, Houston watched.

Trace pinned Annie with a fierce gaze, one that probed down. . .down. . .down. . .into the recesses of her soul. Someday, she’d have to tell him. Just not yet.

“Fine,” Trace huffed, then touched the table again. “General Marlowe encouraged a committee to re-open the investigation against me regarding Misrata. They are aware of the deaths of Herring, Reyna, and now Shay. Someone—”

“Tell them,” Rusty said, and when Trace about punched the guy, he raised his hands. “They should know it all.”

“General Solomon’s daughter somehow obtained files on your identities.”

Annie felt the dagger of those words right between her ribs and straight to the heart.

“She was going to reveal them in the hearing. I. . .intervened.” He seared Téya with one of the angriest expressions Annie had seen. “Though I’m not sure how Téya is aware of that.”

Dear God, help us.
“Is it over?” Annie asked, folding her arms as she took her seat again. “Do they know our names?”

“No,” Trace snapped. “I won’t let that happen.”

Something in his expression bothered Annie. Something about the dark fury in his face. “Wh–what do you mean? What are you going to do?”

Fingertips on the cold surface of the table, Trace tempered his frustration. “Can we get back to the mission? There’s a—”

He was going to do something. Anything. Whatever it took to stop someone from exposing them. Annie could see it all over him. “We want to be there,” Annie said.

“Not happening.” Trace swallowed—hard. “The hearing is closed. I can’t get you in without credentials, and that’s not possible.”

“You get us into other countries but can’t get us into a hearing?” Téya once again worked against him.

“It’s a case of
can’t
, not
won’t
, right Trace?” Annie said.

“
Commander
,” Nuala said, clearing her throat.

“Listen!” Trace barked. “You’re not going. It’s hard enough to keep you safe here. But out in the open”—he shook his head—“impossible. Forget it.”

Annie sat forward. “But—”

“
Enough
! It’s not happening. End of story,” Trace roared. He snatched up his files then stomped out of the room. “Reconvene at fifteen hundred.” And he was gone.

Stunned, Annie sat there, working through what had just happened. Téya left the room almost immediately. Nuala and Houston departed together. But Annie stayed, thinking. Trying to separate the angry, yelling Trace from the man she knew.

On the other side of the table, Rusty sat there, his chair sideways against the table, forearms on his knees.

“They’ll take him down, won’t they?” Annie asked quietly, her heart breaking for Trace. He shouldn’t be facing this alone.

Rusty said nothing.

Annie moved around the table and sat in front of him. “Is it bad?”

Rusty gave an almost imperceptible nod. Then he dropped back against the chair with a sigh. “Francesca Solomon is driving a Bradley right up Trace’s butt. She’s relentless, and her information, though wrong, sounds and looks right.”

“Rusty, what will happen to him if they find him guilty this time?”

“He’ll be buried in the prison system.”

“And Zulu?”

His blue eyes held hers. “On your own. Or worse—arrested and tried as well. Assuming they find you.”

“So, worst possible.”

He bobbed his head. “Worst possible.”

“Then, Rusty, I need your help. Would you take me for a drive tomorrow?”