AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“TheWashington Postmoved a little blurb about an hour ago on their website,” she says. “Looks like a team of mercenaries got lost in the mountains of northern Lebanon. Three members supposedly out on a rogue mission, hunting terrorists.”
“Oh,” Tom says, feeling like he’s sinking deeper into his bed.
Victoria gives a raspy cough and says, “Sorry about that. Twenty years of Virginia Slims and Seven and Sevens will do that to you. Anyway, a nice little interesting story, so I dug around, and that’s why I called you. Tom, two sources confirm to me what the story says: the mercenary team is led by an ex-Army officer—a woman.”
Tom closes his eyes, for the briefest moment imagining he can sense Amy’s scent next to him on the bed.
He manages to say, “Anything more?”
“Nope, that’s it.”
“I…”
Victoria says, “Look, I’ve never met you in person, or your wife, or your kid. But I like you, Tom, and I’ve poked into your office after hours and I’ve seen your photos.”
“Ah…”
“Hey, not that I’m being weird or anything, but I like to put faces to phone calls, right? So I know your wife was once Army—did some hard things and traveled to bad places—and I know she’s working now as a consultant. Right?”
“Right.”
“And she’s gone now, right?”
Tom’s mouth is drying out. “Right.”
“So I put two and two together. Maybe I got four, maybe I got twenty-two, but I wanted to give you a heads-up. I’ll send you a link to thePoststory, then mine will be up in about half an hour. Good luck to you and your girl, okay?”
“Okay,” he says, and quickly disconnects the call.
Tom is in his home office, careful not to bump or trip over anything that could wake up Denise. The office is smaller than the one he had in Virginia, but he’s made do, even with the constant drone of traffic outside their townhouse, the incessant horn blowing and distant sirens, the never-ending symphony of living in Manhattan. Only with Amy’s CIA housing allowance could they afford to live here, just north of Greenwich Village. Using another MacBook Pro on the cluttered desk, he goes right to his email and clicks on the link Victoria provided:
A three-person mercenary team believed to be working for a military contractor has been reported missing after coming under attack in the Anti-Lebanon Mountains of northern Lebanon, near the Syrian border, government sources in the intelligence community revealed tonight.
The mercenary team was in the area to kill al-Qaeda operatives believed to be traveling to Syria. It’s not known if this mission had been a success.
While identifying details of the mercenaries and military contractor affiliation were not released, sources say the leader of this particular team is a woman, a former U.S. Army officer with experience in the field.
Tom leans back, then quickly starts working the keyboard, seeing that thePoststory has been picked up by the Associated Press, Reuters, Agence France-Presse, and his old employer, theNew York Times.But none of them has any more information than the originalPostsquib.
He rubs his forehead, knowing deep down, despite his reporter’s skepticism and cynicism, that this is Amy.
What now?
In a few deep and contentious conversations with his wife after she joined the CIA, she had warned him there would be times when she’d be out of contact for several days. She had also cautioned Tom that to help her and preserve her career, he should never try to contact her or anyone else at the Agency, no matter what.
Still…
One compromise.
She had scribbled down a phone number on the back of one of his business cards, passed it over.
“If there’s a time when either you or Denise are near death or something equally urgent comes up, you can call this number, and someone will reach out to me within twenty-four hours,” she had said. “And only then.”
Hoping to lighten the mood back then, Tom had said, “What about a zombie apocalypse?”
She had snapped the business card out of his hand and torn it in half, saying, “You’re not taking me seriously.”
Oh, what a mistake that had been! Only after some serious pleading and apologizing had that been eventually resolved.
