Operation Zulu Redemption: Collateral Damage - Part 1 by Ronie Kendig
Authors: Ronie Kendig
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that bore dark stains of the deaths.
God, help me.
Trace stepped back, as if he could put distance between that horrible night and the truth.
Despite every explicit order and command, Jessie had disobeyed. She’d been researching Misrata. His gaze hit the ceiling. Scrawled in big black marker:
I Want My Life Back!
“Behind you,” Boone said, from the other end of the crawl space.
Trace shifted around. A presentation board nailed to the wall. A Venn diagram. Names. Pictures. Yarn stretched out to the walls perpendicular to it, connecting locations on a map.
“What is it?” Annie asked from the other side of the wall. There hadn’t been enough room for all of them, and Trace had no idea what they’d find, so he didn’t want them in yet.
“Everything,” Boone muttered. He whistled and shook his head. “She was a serious head case.”
“As in she analyzed everything.” If anyone could’ve solved what happened, it would’ve been Jessie. And she’d apparently been trying to do just that.
Pictures of the girls—
where
had she gotten those? He’d wiped everything off the Internet to insure they had a clean start in their new lives. But now, they stared back. Condemning. Accusing. Jessie. Candice. Keeley. Even Annie, Téya, and Nuala, though they were alive—their teammates were not. And lives were still in danger.
He had to get out of here.
Get out. Now.
Trace bent and ducked through the cubbyhole. Annie was there, her expectant green gaze riveted to him. He could only shake his head as he moved to the Heller side of the apartment. The air conditioner kicked on with an annoying buzz. He lowered himself to the cream vinyl sofa and perched on the edge, forearms on his knees.
Was this why they died? Had Jessie’s curiosity, her insatiable tenacity—one of the very reasons he’d hand-picked her for Zulu—been what had gotten her killed? He couldn’t imagine her doing all that research, searching all those names and locations, and
not
arousing attention.
How’d we miss this?
How had she hidden her trail? He had an entire team dedicated to monitoring electronic intel for any sign of her. They didn’t know why he wanted her found. It’d been his way to make sure they all stayed off the grid. If they’d chatted, he would know. He made sure.
And now, now she was dead. Reyna was dead. And Shay. . .
Cool air swirled as someone joined him. He flinched as Annie perched next to him. She touched his arm softly. “You okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. Half the team is dead or dying.” He gritted his teeth, steeled himself against her presence.
She sat for a few minutes without speaking. “Her data wall is pretty impressive.”
“It’s pretty stupid.” Trace didn’t intend to be mean, but— “Did she seriously think she could find what an entire branch of the Army couldn’t?”
“I think. . .Jessie wanted vindication.” Annie rubbed her knuckles, swaying gently. Nerves. She was nervous around him. “She had this theory”—her voice went soft—“about who was behind feeding us the bad intel—”
“We all had theor—” Trace snapped a look to Annie. “How do you know she had a theory? That she wanted vindication?”
Her fair complexion went crimson and she yanked her gaze away.
“Crap!” Anger pushed him to his feet. “You were in contact with her, too, weren’t you?”
Annie stood. “Listen—”
“Do you people not understand the meaning of ‘no contact’?” Have I spent the last five years of my career dodging bullets and ambushes by investigators for you six to sink the ground beneath my feet?”
Annie scowled. “This was
our
lives, Trace! We killed children. We lost everything we had and everyone we knew and loved. Do you have any idea what it’s like to start over?”
“At least you had the chance to start over. You would’ve been behind bars for life or dead, if I—” His phone rang and he ripped it from his belt. Glanced at the caller ID. He turned away
God, help me.
Trace stepped back, as if he could put distance between that horrible night and the truth.
Despite every explicit order and command, Jessie had disobeyed. She’d been researching Misrata. His gaze hit the ceiling. Scrawled in big black marker:
I Want My Life Back!
“Behind you,” Boone said, from the other end of the crawl space.
Trace shifted around. A presentation board nailed to the wall. A Venn diagram. Names. Pictures. Yarn stretched out to the walls perpendicular to it, connecting locations on a map.
“What is it?” Annie asked from the other side of the wall. There hadn’t been enough room for all of them, and Trace had no idea what they’d find, so he didn’t want them in yet.
“Everything,” Boone muttered. He whistled and shook his head. “She was a serious head case.”
“As in she analyzed everything.” If anyone could’ve solved what happened, it would’ve been Jessie. And she’d apparently been trying to do just that.
Pictures of the girls—
where
had she gotten those? He’d wiped everything off the Internet to insure they had a clean start in their new lives. But now, they stared back. Condemning. Accusing. Jessie. Candice. Keeley. Even Annie, Téya, and Nuala, though they were alive—their teammates were not. And lives were still in danger.
He had to get out of here.
Get out. Now.
Trace bent and ducked through the cubbyhole. Annie was there, her expectant green gaze riveted to him. He could only shake his head as he moved to the Heller side of the apartment. The air conditioner kicked on with an annoying buzz. He lowered himself to the cream vinyl sofa and perched on the edge, forearms on his knees.
Was this why they died? Had Jessie’s curiosity, her insatiable tenacity—one of the very reasons he’d hand-picked her for Zulu—been what had gotten her killed? He couldn’t imagine her doing all that research, searching all those names and locations, and
not
arousing attention.
How’d we miss this?
How had she hidden her trail? He had an entire team dedicated to monitoring electronic intel for any sign of her. They didn’t know why he wanted her found. It’d been his way to make sure they all stayed off the grid. If they’d chatted, he would know. He made sure.
And now, now she was dead. Reyna was dead. And Shay. . .
Cool air swirled as someone joined him. He flinched as Annie perched next to him. She touched his arm softly. “You okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. Half the team is dead or dying.” He gritted his teeth, steeled himself against her presence.
She sat for a few minutes without speaking. “Her data wall is pretty impressive.”
“It’s pretty stupid.” Trace didn’t intend to be mean, but— “Did she seriously think she could find what an entire branch of the Army couldn’t?”
“I think. . .Jessie wanted vindication.” Annie rubbed her knuckles, swaying gently. Nerves. She was nervous around him. “She had this theory”—her voice went soft—“about who was behind feeding us the bad intel—”
“We all had theor—” Trace snapped a look to Annie. “How do you know she had a theory? That she wanted vindication?”
Her fair complexion went crimson and she yanked her gaze away.
“Crap!” Anger pushed him to his feet. “You were in contact with her, too, weren’t you?”
Annie stood. “Listen—”
“Do you people not understand the meaning of ‘no contact’?” Have I spent the last five years of my career dodging bullets and ambushes by investigators for you six to sink the ground beneath my feet?”
Annie scowled. “This was
our
lives, Trace! We killed children. We lost everything we had and everyone we knew and loved. Do you have any idea what it’s like to start over?”
“At least you had the chance to start over. You would’ve been behind bars for life or dead, if I—” His phone rang and he ripped it from his belt. Glanced at the caller ID. He turned away