Chapter Eight
Every muscle in Liam stilled. His thoughts stalled, leaving him to contend with the thudding pound of his pulse until he spat, “ What?”
Her bracelets jangled again. “You were part of Operation Red Gold.”
Several years had passed since Red Gold, but Liam didn’t confirm her statement. As far as he knew, Red Gold was classified as top secret. He didn’t plan to take a single fucking breath until someone volunteered what the hell was going on.
“For God’s sake.” Sorenson huffed. “I chair the Senate Intel Committee. Even the goddamn president has to update me.”
Liam’s eyebrows arched. The two men who sat on either side of her didn’t react, and he decided to take his cue from them and ignore the bravado. He’d keep his answer concise and pray this conversation was sanctioned. “Yes. I was a part of Red Gold.”
“Were you aware of casualties?” she asked.
“There were no friendlies on the casualty list.” Of that, he was certain. As for the details, specifics were fuzzy. He hadn’t thought about that in years.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“Ma’am, with all due respect…” Liam glanced at the other men.
Their faces held no information. For all he knew, this could be some convoluted masquerade to extract intel, and suddenly, he couldn’t be sure of the men who’d transported him or who controlled the location they were in.
He wondered if the salacious documents about Julia were a lure that had trounced his better judgement.
“We debriefed years ago. There’s likely a report better suited to provide you an update than I could. ”
“I provided you an update on your girlfriend,” she said pointedly then moderated her tone. “This is related.”
Liam couldn’t make any connection between Red Gold, Julia, and Sorenson. His temples ached. “There were casualties of enemy combatants, but I don’t recall the exact count.”
“What did you do with the bodies?” she asked.
The question unnerved him. “What does that—”
“The bodies?” she said again.
His jaw twitched. “Our instructions were specific. Bag and tag ’em.”
“Then?”
Then? What does she think we did? “I don’t know their final destination. My job was done.”
Sorenson’s sharp chin jutted toward the man at her right. “Mr. Westin, care to elaborate?”
“The dead count included,” he said, not missing a beat, “a young woman named Quy Long.”
Shaking his head, Liam said, “We had confirmed intelligence. No women. No children. None were within a desert mile of that place.”
“That was the best intel available at the time,” Mr. Westin added vaguely.
Liam’s nerves danced, and he doubled down on his words. “And we didn’t see any.”
“You wouldn’t have,” Mr. Westin said.
Tension built in Liam’s shoulders. “We only interacted with tangos who engaged us with weapons first.”
“Quy Long engaged with you first.”
“A woman was fighting?” Liam reassessed what he could remember about the mission. “Their patriarchy wouldn’t allow it.”
“There’s always an exception to the rule,” Westin continued. “Her father, Tran Pham, has had his fingers in every domestic and international terrorist attack in the last two decades. He’s the exception to almost every rule you can think of.”
“I haven’t heard of him before.” Though Liam wasn’t sure he was the best candidate to make a list of terrorist protocol. His job had never been to dabble in the intelligence community’s tedious work, only to follow orders based on their findings.
“Most people haven’t,” Sorenson said. “Pham stays in the shadows.”
“I’d assume everything the IC works on is in the shadows.” Liam wondered what they thought his experience with the intel community was.
The senator repositioned, and her jewelry clinked. “Think of him as a fundraiser.”
“All right…” If that was the case, they’d brought the wrong man in to discuss terrorism financing. Military contracting had many facets, and Liam’s didn’t reach to fundraising. Hell, the first fundraising images that came to mind were Linda’s kindergarten brownie bake sales.
Westin cracked his knuckles. “He’s the money man behind several terrorist states, yet only a few dozen agencies worldwide focus on Tran Pham.”
“Why?” Liam asked.
“Some in the IC believe he’s a myth.”
“But he’s not.”
“Not one bit,” Mr. Westin confirmed.
“And we killed his daughter?” Liam asked.
“Bravo, Ace. Now it’s clear?”
As clear as mud. Liam focused on Westin. “Are you searching for him?”
“Not personally.”
“I am,” Sorenson interrupted.
Liam glanced around the table, unsure how that connected his participation in Red Gold and Julia’s premeditated murder. “Why are you telling me?”
Mr. Westin lifted his chin to the second man. “Mr. Black?”
Mr. Black eased his elbows onto the table. “Julia’s death initially piqued the interest of the feds because of her work on Zee Zee Mars.”
Liam’s mind reeled. “You think Zee Zee Mars is mixed up in this too?”
“No,” Mr. Black corrected. “It’s not Mars’s MO, but Julia’s work with someone on the Marshal’s Most Wanted Fugitive List caused the government to take a closer look.
That wasn’t a fast process, but when they did that, her death provided the missing lynchpin to connect a much larger, unnoticed problem. ”
Liam clenched his molars. “And what was that?”
“Other victims that were connected to Red Gold.”
“Connected how? My old platoon?”
Mr. Black nodded. “Yes, but indirectly. They weren’t victims. You weren’t the victim. Yet each of you was victimized.”
Liam inhaled and held it. If what Mr. Black said was true, Liam hadn’t only failed to protect Julia from the shooting, he’d also brought the gunman to her. A wave of guilt made him queasy. “This is my fault—why?”
“Pham required his daughter to train like those he funded so she could have respect when she took over his work,” Westin said. “That included live-action combat training.”
“Field training would have protected her from their naysayers,” Mr. Black further explained Pham’s rationale.
Naysayers seemed an understatement for a group that didn’t believe women could hold leadership roles, but then again, he didn’t understand the logic of terrorism. “And Red Gold killed her?”
“Red Gold killed her and took her body,” Westin said.
“In Pham’s mind,” Sorenson interrupted, “you, personally, stole her body.”
“Me?”
“You led your platoon.”
Liam processed the information. “It’s been years.”
“Pham is patient, meticulous, and vengeful.”
An eye for an eye. “Who else did he attack?”
“In the last few years…” Mr. Black produced a tablet and gestured to the screen. “Parents, in-laws, wives, a girlfriend, and a daughter died. Some families were hit more than once.”
“We believe Pham’s focusing on connections that would be classified as loved ones,” Westin added.
Liam pictured their faces as if years hadn’t passed. Pain bubbled in his chest. “How?”
“Explosions in the home made to look like accidents.”
He remembered the night of the Red Gold operation and the brilliant fires that tore through the night sky with detonations and gunfire.
The mission had been deemed a success, but if his commanding officers knew then what he’d just learned…
His stomach roiled, and he jerked his head toward Westin. “But Julia was shot.”
“She’s the outlier,” Mr. Black answered instead.
“But you’re sure this is related?”
“Without a doubt,” Sorenson answered.
“How do you know—”
“We’re aware of a related situation.” The senator pursed her lips. “And between your team, you, and the situation—”
“It’s an abduction,” Westin said, shedding light on the mystery.
“Which adds nothing to our current discussion,” Sorenson snapped.
“Agree to disagree, Samantha.” Westin smoothed a hand over his dark beard as if he needed to focus his hands on something other than the senator. “Questions?”
So many… Liam balled his fists. “Why did it take this long to figure out?”
“Pham spent years planning this hit job,” Mr. Black said. “Your team has been split up for years. Different states, different jurisdictions. It doesn’t appear many of you stayed in touch.”
The blame weighed heavily on Liam. It was true. They’d mostly moved on to new lives. It wasn’t as if any of them were dropping in on one another online or in person.
“If it hadn’t been for Julia…” The senator’s jewelry clinked. “The deaths would’ve gone unnoticed.”
“Unnoticed,” he repeated numbly.
“Unnoticed and chalked up to faulty electrical work, gas line breaks, or appliance malfunctions,” she continued. “But when you can tie each explosion together, the revelations are quite stunning.”
The woman simplified their tragedies to data points in a word problem. His jaw clenched.
Westin’s eyes narrowed. Other than the reference to the senator by her first name, his reaction was the first time that either man had shown a flicker of emotion.
Westin’s glare silently shouted a giant Shut the fuck up in Sorenson’s direction, and as heartsick as Liam was, he fully supported Westin’s sentiment.
“You should know,” Black said, breaking the tension, “you are one of the few people to have seen Tran Pham in the flesh.”
Raising his eyebrows, Liam thought back. The man with the questions on the Metro, the one who made me uncomfortable—he knew Julia’s name. Culpability and regret pounded. “The second shooter. That was the man who exited the tunnel.”
Westin nodded. “Tran Pham.”
“He talked to her. Small talk.”
“He identified her,” Westin clarified.
“Then why not just…” A lump in his throat cut him off. “Why not just shoot her? Right then and there? Without the elaborate charade.”
“He deems you responsible.” Westin stroked his beard. “Just like he holds himself responsible. You fucked with his head. Now he’s here to fuck with yours.”
Westin was correct. A mind fuck had Liam by the balls. Every question, every memory that he replayed every day for more than a year. How would the outcome have changed if I hadn’t tried to be a hero? That bravado had forced him to lose the greater battle.
“Look, Brosnan.” Westin planted his fists on the table. “We need your help to end this.”
He blinked, surprised by the quick turn in the conversation. “What kind of help?”
“It’s simple,” Sorenson said. “Give us a list of your loved ones.”
They wanted him to name a potential hit list. But he didn’t have anyone anymore.
Black produced a paper and pen. “Write it down. That’s easier.”
Numbness stiffened his hand as he picked up the pen. Its cool black metal weighted his fingers down as if he’d grasped a cinder block. “I’m not close to anyone but the Nymans.” He scrawled out their names—Frank and Linda.
“The kindergarten teacher and the banker?” Black asked.
Liam straightened. “The Nymans are in danger?”
They didn’t answer.
“Your father?” Black asked.
Liam shook his head. “We’re not close. We haven’t talked in years. I couldn’t tell you where he is.”
Black took back the paper and didn’t ask about his mother. Liam guessed that meant they’d done their research beyond the Nymans, but reassurance didn’t come. “Are Linda and Frank in danger?” Obviously, they were. “What are we going to do?”
“Nothing,” Sorenson said.
Liam balked. “What?”
“What the senator means,” Westin snarled, “is we are in a unique position.”
“We aren’t in a position. I am.”
“With only one target, we know who Pham will likely hit next.”
Their cavalier wording hit him like an avalanche. “Let’s be clear. If the Nymans are in danger—”
“Let’s be clear,” Sorenson snipped. “You are the best opportunity our country has had to apprehend an international terrorist. The greater good is most important. Above our personal concerns.”
Westin’s jaw ticked, and if Liam didn’t need to know more, the meeting would end right then.
Westin glared at the senator then added, “Look, Brosnan. Pham doesn’t know we’re on to him. The Nymans cannot deviate from their normal schedules.”
He resisted. “You want to use them as bait? They’re civilians.”
“They’re targets,” Sorenson corrected. “Whether you like the truth or not.”
“No way.” He’d hide the Nymans himself then patrol the streets if it kept them safe.
Sorenson steepled her fingers. The glittering bracelets dropped down onto the cuff of her suit jacket and twinkled under the bright light. Each sparkle stood out of place in the sterile glass room. “No one wants the Nymans to be in danger, and everyone knows we have a duty to protect our country.”
Her condescension only pressed salt into a wound. “They need a protective detail.”
“No,” she said firmly. “With the exception that you can keep an eye on them from a distance—if you can do so without tipping Pham off.”
No problem, if wrapping their yard in razor wire and bunking on the front porch with artillery meant he wouldn’t tip off Pham. “I’ll talk to them.”
“Not an option,” Sorenson responded. “They will tip off Pham.”
“They won’t.”
“Of course they will,” she said. “They’ll watch over their shoulders and skit around like the boogie man is behind every mailbox.”
He frowned then looked at Westin and Black. Both waited, expressionless.
“I’m not asking for your help,” Sorenson continued. “I’m telling you this is your duty.”
“I don’t work for you.”
“You have an allegiance to this country, and if you don’t, I’ll keep you locked up where you can’t interfere.”
Indecision wrecked his thoughts, but he didn’t have a choice. “How long will it take to catch Pham?”
“However long it takes,” she said. “He’s a virtual ghost.”
“Who was abducted? When?”
“Quite some time has passed, which is why we’re focused on Pham, rather than finding the victim.”
There had to be a better way to do it. He couldn’t protect the Nymans indefinitely. “I don’t see how this would work.”
“Officially,” the senator said, “DHS will sign a contract with you.”
“For what?”
She shrugged a padded shoulder. “It doesn’t matter. But it will afford you an income, allow you to keep an eye out for the Nymans while staying in contact with me.”
There wasn’t another option. Some involvement was better than none. Still, short of staking out the Nyman’s street, he didn’t how to keep them safe with the senator’s restrictions. Liam tried again. “There has to be another way.”
“There’s not.” Senator Sorenson straightened. “We want him, and he wants to hurt you. It doesn’t get any simpler than that.”