Chapter 8
AFTER DOING a sweep of the area, Shamus tried to relax on the sofa, but he could barely sit still. The three men on the list, the same men Amber had interviewed, turned out to be a small part of a bigger group of men bringing US military plans to various Al Qaeda leaders. When captured, the men had on their person, a list of special forces teams, their locations, and their objectives. They never intended to go to the United States, just wanted safe passage out of Syria.
Shamus jumped from the couch, rifle in hand, peering out the front window. On any given mission, he knew the enemy. Didn’t matter if he might not know where they were, he could anticipate their movements. However, since he had no idea who was fucking with him and Amber, or why, he couldn’t predict where or how they would ambush.
“Oh my God. You’re making me nuts,” Amber said from behind the computer, still reading reports regarding his missions and her news stories, both written and those that she’d reported for the network. “Why don’t you take over with this if you need something to do.”
“Have you found anything?” he asked, staring at her as he let out a puff of air. He shouldn’t be taking his frustration out on her, but with no one else around, he had no other place to put it. He hated it when he wasn’t thrust into the middle of the mission. Hank warned him that sometimes protection details were just that, nothing more, nothing less, and often a lot of sitting around and waiting.
He could manage the waiting. Half his missions were ninety-five percent hurry up and wait, and five percent action.
“Nothing. Nada. Your target hasn’t been seen since and is presumed dead. There is no other connection between you and me other than those three men. That is the only time we’ve ever been in the same country, other than the US.”
“What about all my other missions?” he asked, knowing the answer.
She tilted her head, lifting a brow, and a smirk formed across her lips. “I just told you there is nothing else that ties us together.”
“We’re missing something.” he said, lowering his gaze to the floor. His combat boots lined with half-dry mud taunted him, reminding him of the man he carried out of that tunnel and the man he’d left behind. “Noonan,” he whispered, shaking his head. “What if he survived?”
“Do you really think that’s possible?” She set the computer aside and made her way across the room, resting her hand on his shoulder. Her warm skin had a calming effect, slowing his pulse. “If he did, that means your target could have survived, and Noonan is being held captive.”
“Anything is possible,” he said, rubbing his temples. “But not highly probable.” The word motive wrapped around his tongue, holding it hostage. Most terrorists from other countries had objectives, and the motives behind them were political. Some had personal motives, but those were single shooters, generally speaking. “The target wouldn’t know my name unless someone told him.” But why would the name of one American soldier matter in a sea of thousands with boots on the ground.
“You didn’t call to your buddies, or they to you during the raid?”
He lifted his gaze to the ceiling, as if it had all the answers. “We use code names in the field.” Shamus considered his men to be the best of the elite and would rather die than give up any information that would put American citizens in danger. Noonan had been the newest member of the team. He swallowed the burn in his chest. Noonan grated on Shamus’s nerves, and they often argued.
“In the reports I read, the six other members of the A-Team had been outside the tunnel.”
“If it weren’t for them, I would have died.” Shamus nodded. “We needed to provide cover from three different parts of the side of the hill, so we put two men at each weak spot. Noonan thought we should leave at least two in the first room we found in the tunnels. I wanted more gunfire in case.”
“Turns out you could have used more,” she said, her index finger and thumb tugging at his chin.
“You’d be surprised how many we can take out being only two men. The problem was, they knew we were coming, so the second we went for the notebook, all hell broke loose. We almost didn’t get the information.” Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips, kissing her soft skin, then placing her palm on his shoulders. She had this way of keeping him calm and focused. Forcing his mind to slow down and concentrate on one fact and idea at a time.
“What are you thinking?” Her fingers gently massaged his shoulder, but it didn’t ease the growing pit in his stomach.
“After we were given our orders, while surveying the tunnels, Noonan constantly questioned the plan, wanting to make changes.” God, he hated where his thoughts were headed, but nothing else made sense.
“And did you?” Amber’s calm voice did nothing to soothe his nerves.
“We made some, but Noonan continued to push our commanding officer to go with his ideas.” He rested his hands on her hips, staring into her eyes. “Noonan was an IT guy, like me.”
“Intelligence and Operations position,” she whispered, her beautiful dark orbs widened. “I see that wheel spinning. Come on, fill me in.”
“When Max came running out, I couldn’t understand half of what he was saying. The pain from being shot in the side, the chaos that ensued, the urgency to get out was all I could focus on. Max called out Noonan’s name.”
“His code name?”
Shamus closed his eyes tight, trying to pull the memory up as if it were a motion picture inside his head. When they’d left for the mission, their success percentage had been low, but they figured it increased when they realized there were less men than originally thought.
Only there were more men hidden in the hillside that they hadn’t seen in the forty-eight hours they watched from a distance.
Flashes of them yelling at the target who screamed back, guns pointed at each other. The first bullet fired seconds after Noonan had found the book and haphazardly tossed it in his direction. It landed on the ground, pages flipping open.
Rapid gunfire erupted from the north side. Three of his men returned fire as Shamus reached for the book. The target went after Noonan, and Max got in the middle.
“Yes. His code name.” Shamus reached for his back, remembering the searing pain. He’d twisted, ditching into another tunnel as Max raced out, his body jerking as bullets tore through his body.
Compromised! The Bull is a tr…
Those had been Max’s last words before the explosion.
“Are you okay?” Amber asked, her hands roaming up and down his arms.
“Yes,” he whispered, concentrating on his memory, allowing himself to be pulled into past as if it were happening right now.
Max’s body lifted off the ground as the bomb went off, rendering Shamus deaf as he flew backward, smacking the sides of the rocky wall. A shadow, behind Max…
“Shit,” he said, blinking his eyes open. “Seconds before the explosion, I saw a man running past whoever was shooting at us, dodging down another tunnel.”
“You reported that in your official statement, what about it now feels different?”
“I think it was Noonan.” Gently, he took her hands from his body, needing to let the rage flow freely. “Fuck, I should have seen it.” He smashed his fist through the thick drywall near the front door.
“Seen what?”
It amazed him how tender her voice sounded, cutting through his fierce need to toss a second punch. “Noonan and I always butted heads. He was cocky and constantly pushed back. Some of us wondered how he managed to finish Special Forces training, he wasn’t much of a team player, but he had started to settle into the team. Even if we didn’t like each other, he always came through in the clutch.”
“I can see the wheels spinning in your head. Be blunt and tell me exactly what you think.”
“Noonan is alive. He’s a traitor. And he blames me for something and wants revenge.”
“We need to get his military records,” she said, racing to the cell phone on the metal table. “I’m sure Hank can, what’s Noonan’s full name?”
“Noonan is a nickname.”
“I figured that was his last name.”
“It’s from the movie Caddyshack, and he was notorious for shouting out Noonan in a round of golf, dart game, or any sport that requires skill and concentration.” Shamus scratched the back of his head, while Amber stood across the room, phone to her ear. “It was fucking annoying as hell.”
She glanced in his direction. “Name?”
“Jeremy Watkins.”
***
“Jeremy Watkins,” she whispered as the phone slipped through her fingers, crashing to the floor. She gripped the metal chair as the room spun, her gut filling with the kind of nausea that hit you seconds before vomiting.
“Whoa.” Shamus wrapped his strong arms around her body, holding her upright. “What’s wrong?”
“I know Jeremy,” she said, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. She hadn’t heard that name in years, and she’d wished she’d never met the asshole. For years, she’d never given the man a second thought. He’d been a blip in her life.
“How?”
“I dated him.” Though it was more of a meaningless rebound relationship.
“What the fuck?” Shamus cocked his head, taking a step back, but kept a hand firmly around her waist. “When?”
“My first year in college. It lasted all of two months. I was still hung up on you and dealing with making sure my mom had all the help she needed. He demanded too much attention, wanting me to swoon all over him. And he was the jealous type. Made me crazy.”
Shamus helped her to the sofa while she let the shock of hearing Jeremy’s name in conjunction with her current situation, subside.
“Who broke up with who?”
“I dumped him, which pissed him off. Thankfully, he hated Chicago and transferred to…God, I have no idea where he went.” That first year of college had been hell. The guilt of leaving her mother ate at her, but Hank assured her she was doing the right thing. Not to mention, she needed to get the hell out of town if she were to ever get over Shamus.
“Michigan,” Shamus said, sitting next to her, his arm still holding her close. “He wore a Michigan State sweatshirt all the damn time.”
“He never mentioned me to you?” she asked, remembering how upset he’d gotten when he found pictures of her and Shamus, along with a letter she’d written. While Jeremy, Noonan, or whatever he went by these days, had every right to be upset that she was still pinning over a man she’d left behind, he had no right to go through her things. She’d told him to take a hike right then and there. For a month, he made her life miserable.
“Never,” Shamus muttered. “But it explains his instant dislike of me if he knew about us, but it’s concerning that he didn’t say anything to me. He was that kind of man who’d brag about who he’d been with.”
“He was a dick,” she muttered.
“I won’t argue that point.”
“How long had he been on your team?” She forced herself to forget her brief relationship with Noonan and focused on what the connection could mean.
“Eighteen months, but I’d met him before, worked a few ops together in the same Battalion.”
“You know, my story was just supposed to be about refugee policy. I stumbled onto the three men trying to smuggle intel. You and I being in the same country then has honestly got to be a coincidence.”
“I agree. No way could Noonan have made that happen, not to mention, he wouldn’t have wanted those men to get caught, but it gives him more motive to want to fuck with both of us.”
She rested her head on Shamus’s shoulder, biting back a yawn, not that she’d be able to sleep at all. “What do you think was supposed to happen in that tunnel?”
“I can only speculate.”
She was about to ask him to share his thoughts, but a thud rattled the back of the house.
“What was that?” Stiffening her back, she glanced over her shoulder, her heart racing. The sun had lowered behind the mountains, leaving the sky streaked with red and orange. Soon the night would take over and leave them in the dark.
“I don’t know,” Shamus said as he stood, taking one of the rifles in his hands. “Call Hank. Tell him what we need. I’m going to walk the perimeter.”
“You’re not leaving me alone in here.”
He pointed to a bull horn. “You get spooked, honk that a few times, and I’ll come running. I’ll leave you a rifle. Just make sure you check to make sure it’s not me before you shoot.”
“Then you better give me a single. I tend to be trigger happy.”
He let out a slight laugh, waggling his finger at her. “I remember that about you. I’ll whistle twice like this.” He pursed his lips, making a high-pitched noise.
“Please don’t be gone too long.” Her voice trembled. She resented how needy and scared she sounded. Her entire career, she’d been in close proximity to danger, but no one ever went after her personally.
“Fifteen minutes top.” He nodded as he slipped through the door, closing it gently.
Tapping her foot, she waited for Hank to answer.
“Shamus, what’s up? Everything okay?” Hank asked.
“It’s Amber, and we found something.”
“What’s that?”
“A man by the name of Jeremy Watkins, also known by Noonan.” Her mouth suddenly tasted like rotten eggs. She’d never thought she’d utter that name again.
“That’s the man Shamus lost in Syria.”
“We need his military records, and anything else you can dig up on him.”
“Pigtails, the man died in the line of duty,” Hank said. “But let me see what I can do.”
The phone went dead, and the quiet of the cabin sent goosebumps rippling across her skin. She shivered. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she sat on the sofa, staring at the computer, unable to do anything but listen for the double whistle. A light breeze kicked up. Tree branches scratched the window pane, reminding her of the Freddy Krueger movies.
And now she had to pee.
Well, it would give her something to do while she waited. Ducking into the bathroom, she contemplated leaving the door open. An owl hooted in the background.
She jumped.
“Fuck,” she muttered, slamming the door shut. The likelihood that Noonan survived and was in the US had to be pretty slim odds.
After washing her hands, she smoothed down the front of her jeans as she pushed back the door and gasped.
“Surprised to see me?” A man, with a face of pink and white skin, swollen lips, and a missing ear smiled. “I look a little different, don’t I?” He held her rifle in one hand and an AK assault rifle in the other.
“Jeremy?” she whispered, clutching her chest.
He no longer had a right eyebrow and under his cap, she suspected the burns had destroyed most of his hair.
“In the flesh.” He smiled. “Well burned flesh, but I’m still kicking.”
“Shamus will be back shortly, and he’s—”
“I can’t wait to see him.” Jeremy sat on the sofa, crossing his legs, pointing his weapon at her. “Sit.”
She swallowed, thankful that nothing had happened to Shamus, or at least she hoped. Her muscles shook and her feet barely lifted off the floor as she shuffledto one of the metal chairs, not wanting to be too close.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked.
“I’m not telling this tale twice, so let’s wait for your boyfriend to get back.”
“You’re not going to get away with this.”
“Sure I am.” He turned his head and smiled. “I’m dead. No one is looking for me.” He pulled out a piece of paper from his back pocket. “And when they find the two of you dead, they will also find this.” He waved it in the air.
“What’s that?”
“It proves that you and Shamus were planning on selling top secret Missile Defense intel, but tried to double-cross your buyer, and oops.” He held up his hand like a gun and pulled the trigger. “Boom. Traitors and dead.”