Word of Honor Read online

  Another expletive from Jack brought a scuffle behind her.

  “No! Not in here,” Cisco said.

  Something cold and metal bit against her skin seconds before her hands fell free. With relief, she brought them forward, rubbing her wrists one at a time. The other two men dragged Jack past her line of sight.

  He looked at her as they went by. “Don’t give in, Lynda!” he yelled.

  They went through a door into another room. Cisco followed. He paused near the doorway and picked up the shotgun leaning against the wall. The men who carried Jack threw him to the ground. He tried to get up but fell again, likely from his busted kneecap.

  Cisco stood in front of the open door and lifted his gun. “You’re going to read a statement on behalf of Green War.”

  “Make me.”

  Lynda struggled, but they had secured her ankles to the chair. Sobbing, she bent over, fumbling to access the knife sheathed against her ankle. She could barely feel her numb fingers, and she couldn’t lift her pants leg because of the zip tie securing it. “Jack!”

  Cisco chambered a round in the shotgun. Somehow, she could hear the sound through the roaring in her ears. “Last chance. You will read a statement on behalf of Green War.”

  “Here’s my statement, you dirty—”

  The room exploded with the sound of the shotgun blast. Lynda froze, unable to believe what had just happened. Cisco turned back toward her. Jack lay just outside the door, unmoving. She could see only his legs and feet. One of the other men lit a match, fired up a hand-rolled cigarette, and tossed the match on Jack. His body went up in flames.

  A sound came from Lynda—a scream, a yell, a guttural moan.

  Cisco strode across the room toward her, aiming the shotgun at her face. He stopped close enough that she could see the wild look in his eyes. “Now, Agent Culter. Let’s have a conversation.”

  Red-and-white lights strobed from her right. Through the open barn door, she spotted police cars coming their way. A sob of relief had her close her eyes and bow her head. She didn’t know if the man would kill her before help arrived, but at least she and Jack wouldn’t die out here where no one would know what had happened to them.

  A sharp whistle from the black-haired man made everyone scramble. A thick, bound stack of papers landed at her feet.

  “That’s our manifesto,” Cisco said. “Goodbye for now, Agent Lynda Culter. We’ll meet again.”

  As two police cars pulled into the yard, a door slammed behind her. Sobs tore through her, feeling like they’d rip her body in half. The smell of gasoline-laced smoke filled her nose, burned her eyes, became all she could taste.

  “Jack!” she screamed.

  CHAPTER

  TWO

  FORT CAMPBELL, KENTUCKY

  NOVEMBER 23

  Bill Sanders initiated a video call to his professor. As he waited for it to go through, he picked up the orders again and read them. He had to leave next week for an unnamed mission. That didn’t sound very promising. As one of the weapons specialists of a US Army Special Forces Operational Detachment Alpha, or A-Team, by the time he boarded an airplane, he and his team usually knew where they were headed, if not why.

  The call connected, and Doctor Mike Herowitz’s face filled the screen. He raised his eyebrows. “Mr. Sanders. Don’t usually see you so dressed up.”

  Bill looked down at his Army uniform, then around at the ready room. “Doc. I wanted to let you know I just got orders.”

  The professor rubbed his eyebrow. “When do you leave?”

  “A week from tomorrow. Thursday.”

  “You have three weeks left in the semester.”

  Bill sighed. “Yeah. There’s nothing I can do about it. I’ll have to try again next semester.”

  “Listen,” Doctor Herowitz said, shifting his phone to his other hand. “Where are you in your thesis?”

  Bill shrugged. “It’s done. Just needs editing. I finished it last week and set it aside.”

  Doctor Herowitz cleared his throat. “I wouldn’t do this for just anyone, but my daughter edits for income. If you send it to her, she’ll edit it and turn it in to me on time.”

  Bill didn’t think his paper was anywhere close to a standard for editing, but did he have much of a choice?

  “Do you have time over the Thanksgiving weekend to take the final?” Doctor Herowitz asked.

  Bill barked a laugh. “Sure. If I want to fail. I haven’t studied for the final, and like you said, there are still three weeks left in the semester.”

  “You know the material. You just need to pass, and then your master’s degree is in your hands. I’ll open it up until midnight Tuesday. If you can afford the time to take it, it can’t hurt, right? If you fail, you’ll need to retake the class. If you don’t take the final, you’ll need to retake the class. Get where this is going?”

  A burst of elation spread from Bill’s chest to his fingertips, but he kept his face neutral. “Deal. I’ll try.”

  “And send me the paper. I’ll get it to my daughter.”

  “Fair enough.” He smiled. “Thanks. And, uh, have a good Thanksgiving.”

  Bill hung up, sat back in the leather chair, and started to create a mental checklist of the things he needed to do before he left. He had to read his thesis tonight. That would take hours. But if he could finish up the semester, he would have his master’s degree in psychology, something he’d worked toward for twelve years.

  His commander, Rick Norton, came into the room but stopped short when he saw Bill. He had released their team for the Thanksgiving holiday an hour ago.

  Bill and Rick had been friends since they met in Ranger school eight years ago. Despite Rick’s rank as a commissioned officer and Bill’s as an enlisted non-commissioned officer, they’d connected in a deep way. Since then, their career paths had constantly intersected until Rick led Bill as the commander of their Special Forces ODA. Out of uniform, they were brothers in Christ, lifting each other up, supporting each other through the many trials of life that came with their vocation.

  “What’s up, brother?” Bill asked.

  Rick sat down across from Bill. “I’m going to ask Cynthia to marry me tonight.”

  Bill’s eyes widened. Rick and Cynthia had met on a mission in Katangela, Africa. She had run a medical clinic there for a mission organization. During a firefight with a local warlord, Bill and their medic, Phil Osbourne, had taken bullets. Cynthia had saved their lives, then traveled with them through the jungle to the American embassy in the capital city.

  “Well, many happy returns.”

  Rick smiled. “I know you don’t approve.”

  Bill sighed. “It’s not a lack of approval. It’s just concern about what that means for you. Nothing more.”

  “What it means is that I get to have the woman I love by my side, as the other half of my one, for the rest of my life. I think I can live with that.” Rick stared at him, his green eyes unwavering. “I hope one day you can say the same.”

  Bill believed that men in their profession shouldn’t get married. A wife provided a distraction, affected decisions, and influenced career choices. He had decided to go the route of the apostle Paul. Yes, the Bible said it wasn’t good for man to be alone, but he felt like he had a bigger mission than to have a wife and family. He needed to have all of his focus on the mission and to have the power of acting and reacting without considering how his actions might affect the future of another human being. He would tolerate occasional moments of loneliness and be a better soldier for it.

  “Well,” he drawled, “you’re assuming she’ll say yes.”

  Rick laughed. “Exactly.” He reached over and slapped Bill’s knee. “Either way, I’d like you to be at the wedding. Friday.”

  “Like day after tomorrow?”

  “Yep. In Charula. Assuming she says yes, her parents plan to meet us there for the holiday, and we’ll get married the day after.”

  “You haven’t even asked her yet.”

&n
bsp; Rick’s face grew serious. “I don’t want to go on a mission without securing that part of our relationship. I want to marry her before I go. Or else I need to know we never will be.”

  Bill already had plans to go with Rick to his parents’ home for Thanksgiving. Even though he had a final to study for and a thesis to finish, Rick took priority.

  Bill winked and stood. “Guess I better go polish my boots.”

  “You better.” Rick stood with him. “Did you get ahold of your professor?”

  “Yeah. He’s going to let me try to take the final.”

  With a grin lighting up his face, Rick said, “That’s great.”

  Bill shrugged. “We’ll see. It’s a lot of missed lectures to try to pass.”

  “That’s baloney. You could teach that class.” They started out of the empty room. “What will that mean for your future? Have you decided to reenlist?”

  “Not yet.” He thought about the reenlistment packet waiting for his completion. He had to turn it in by January 10. “I’m praying about it, though. I’m just not sure what God wants from me yet.”

  “I guess wait and see how the final goes.”

  “I guess.” Bill shrugged.

  Outside, they slipped on their green berets, lining up the crossed arrow-and-dagger crests above their left eyes, and walked toward the parking lot. Clouds obscured the sun, but the air was still moderately warm.

  “I’ll be praying for you,” Bill said. “And I guess I’ll see you in Charula tomorrow?” For the last several months, they had been stationed just three hours from Rick’s hometown. His family had taken Bill in as one of their own years ago.

  “Yeah. Mom said dinner’s at four eastern. Make sure you account for the time zone change.”

  That would give him the whole morning to study. He wouldn’t have to leave until noon. “See you then.”

  ★ ★ ★

  ANCHORAGE, ALASKA

  NOVEMBER 30

  Lynda looked at the aerial view of the devastation. Domestic terrorists had blown up an oil pipeline in northeastern Alaska. The resulting explosions caused a fire to surround a nearby town, killing twenty-seven people, including six children. She pinned the photo to the board above the report of a similar attack in South Dakota in October. Thankfully, no one had been killed or injured in that attack.

  As she turned back to the stack of papers, the door opened and her director, Perry Blake, marched into the room. He had dark-brown skin, salt-and-pepper hair he kept cut short, and a bulbous nose. Lynda had worked under him for three years and couldn’t imagine a better supervisor.

  Three people Lynda did not recognize came into the briefing room behind Perry. “Agent Lynda Culter,” he said, “this is Agent Natalie Lewis, a senior analyst with the CIA. Agent Mason Cartridge, cyber on loan from the NSA. Last but not least, Agent Neil Smith, Homeland Security. They have been working on this case in their individual capacities. After what happened in May, it’s time we all did this in the same room.”

  Lynda studied each one as they were introduced. Agent Lewis had light-brown hair worn in loose curls to her shoulders. She stood about five six, with light-brown skin, honey-colored eyes, and red-framed glasses. She wore a blue pantsuit with the jacket open and shoes with no heel.

  Agent Cartridge had curly brown hair, red freckles splashed across his face, and headphones draped around his neck. He wore a pair of olive-green cargo pants and an open button-down shirt over a black T-shirt depicting a scene from the arcade game Centipede. He did not meet Lynda’s eyes when he shook her hand and wiped his hand off on his pants afterward.

  Agent Smith stood at her height, about five nine, with a U-shaped black hairline. His scalp reflected the fluorescent lights above. He had green eyes and a thin mouth. He wore a gray suit with a gray-and-white-striped tie and had a wide wedding band on his finger.

  Lynda had communicated with each of them in different capacities during her investigation. “It’s good to meet you all in person,” she said as they all took seats at the table.

  Perry’s deep voice resonated around the room. “Gary Owens died this morning.” He walked to the board and tapped the face of the Oregon State sophomore they had found collapsed from crush injuries caused by the explosion near the Alaskan pipeline. “Mason, please share your report of your team’s findings on Owens’s computer.”

  The cyber specialist swiped on his tablet until he got to a particular screen. “Yeah, uh, yes. We found emails with detailed instructions for perpetrating the attack and making the explosives.” He hugged the tablet to his chest and looked at Perry for the first time. “He’d deleted them, of course, but not efficiently.”

  Lynda tapped a photograph of a symbol spray-painted in fluorescent green on the side of Owens’s car. “Dot-dash-dash. The Morse code for W,” she said. “Green War’s signature.” She looked at Agent Cartridge. “So, he was emailed instructions?”

  “That would appear to be the case.”

  After a moment, Perry said, “And?”

  “We were able to trace the origin of the emails,” Agent Cartridge said. “They’d gone through some proxy servers and onion routers to obfuscate, but I found them.”

  He didn’t elaborate, so Lynda asked, “Found what?”

  “The origin. They’re in Istanbul.”

  She frowned. “Why are they in Istanbul?”

  Perry gestured toward Agent Lewis. She stood up. “Four months ago, there was an attack on an oil field in Kuwait.” She tapped on her tablet, and the smartboard on the wall came to life. “Last night, I was looking through the images from the bombing site the Kuwaiti government finally provided and spotted this.” A picture of the back of a street sign showed green spray paint and the Morse code for W. “And there was another one on a pipeline in Colombia six months ago.” She added another picture to the smartboard. On this one, someone had painted the symbol on the side of a large rock, barely seen through the brush. “The authorities in these locations didn’t know to look for this tag. They also didn’t think to look beyond their own borders for the perpetrators.”

  Frustration bubbled up in Lynda’s chest. “So it’s global, not just domestic.” She shut the file folder as Agent Lewis sat back down. “How can we go after a group in Istanbul?”

  “We’re all smart people in this room.” Perry smiled as if he knew the punch line to a joke. “You’re going to find a way.”

  Lynda looked around the table and back at him. “Me?”

  “You’re the only one we know of who’s seen any of them in person.”

  Immediately, she mentally flew back to the barn. Unwillingly, her nose filled with the smell of gasoline and burnt flesh. The fear she’d felt that day suddenly rose up again, threatening to suffocate her.

  Clearly oblivious to her internal struggle, Perry continued. “We’ve established a joint task force with DHS, the State Department, and Interpol with support from US DOD since they have bases there. We’re going to go into Turkey and find them.”

  Sweat beaded on her upper lip. Somehow she knew what he was about to say. “Go into Turkey?”

  “Yes. You. With Agent Smith. There’s a Special Forces ODA that DOD assigned to take part in this mission since they are trained in HRT and have a lot of experience in that theater of operations. You’ll liaise with them in Kuwait and then travel into Turkey.”

  She shook her head. “DOD doesn’t do police actions, and the FBI doesn’t go into Turkey. Their focus is combat, and our focus is domestic crime.”

  Agent Smith spoke up. “On paper, that’s all true. At the end of the day, this is our mission. All you’re doing is acting as eyes for us. You do what they say and go where they go. Your job will be to observe and report. We’ll handle the rest.”

  “I’m glad you all have this figured out.”

  A scattered chuckle moved around the room. She stood and picked up her file folder. Despite her vocal objections and the nerves painfully stabbing her stomach, it felt good to have a plan after weeks of in
formation gathering. Energy hummed in the background of her brain.

  “Where do I need to go?” she asked.

  Perry slid a packet toward her. “You’ll meet with Agent Smith at a private airfield outside of Anchorage this evening. You’ll get where you need to be midmorning Friday.”

  She could manage only a closed-lip smile as she scooped up the packet. “Great. I’ll go pack.”

  Perry nodded, and Agent Lewis stood again. “Actually, you’re going to need some special clothes. If you’ll come with me.”

  On her way out of the room, Lynda paused beside Perry. “Why does it feel like I’m the only one who didn’t know about this?”

  “Everyone has known about their individual parts as the plans came together. Because this is unprecedented, it all required approval by officials at echelons above mine.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up if the task force fell through.”

  She nodded and followed Agent Lewis, who led the way to an empty office. Several brightly colored dresses hung on a clothing rack.

  “What’s this?” Lynda asked.

  “You’re going to be undercover as a woman of Muslim faith. You’ll be going into a mosque every day while you’re in Turkey. Our intelligence suggests Damien Cisco is somehow affiliated with that mosque.”

  She drew her eyebrows together in a frown. “With a mosque? None of the men I saw were Arabic, and none of the language in their manifesto suggests radical Islamic ideology.”

  “Nevertheless, all of the emails came from a cell phone using the mosque’s Wi-Fi. It’s the best lead we have.” Agent Lewis ran her finger over a sleeve the color of rich coral. “You can wear Western clothing, but you’ll need to have your head covered. It’s also important to have one or two dresses like this in case you’re invited to a more formal event.”

  Lynda looked down at her white blouse and black slacks. “Western clothing like this?”

  Agent Lewis shrugged and nodded in a single movement. “Almost. You’d need long sleeves.” She helped Lynda pick out dresses and hijabs, then showed her how to put them on. “You can hide weapons here or here,” she said, showing pockets on the sides of skirts and pants. “These outfits should accomplish two things. First, they should adequately obscure the fact that you’re armed, and second, they should give you ready access to your weapons. But you will need to practice.”