Page 65 of Blind Trust
He opened his eyes and watched Nic offer a wave before he left the office for the night. The man was all integrity and had waited until after eight for Tom to arrive to let him know of his decision to join the Syrian mission.
The deep creases at the edges of Nic’s brows told Tom the decision hadn’t come lightly, but it was what Nic said afterward that had him concerned.“I’m considering leaving the agency.”
Nic didn’t offer much explanation, but Tom knew the young man was carrying regret and looking for closure that likely wouldn’t come without some meaningful conversations with the Lord.And then there’s Lyla.
Tom recognized that Nic’s attentiveness to Lyla went beyond that of a teammate, but he maintained a professionalism that Tom both respected and appreciated. Unfortunately, the last couple of assignments seemed to push the young man to confront what was beyond his control—Lyla.
Tom’s phone chirped, and when he saw who the incoming email was from, he sat up. His exhaustion was replaced with ananxiousness he hadn’t felt in a long time. He put his glasses back on and read the encrypted email from the secretary of defense.
Tom,
I apologize for not being able to get back to you earlier, but I wanted to look into a few of your questions before responding. As you already know, Jordan Kemp is working an investigation on behalf of the Secret Service, not the Department of Justice. It has come to my attention that Mr. Kemp’s team has uncovered several counterfeit rings that have direct links to weapons sales involving the Department of Defense and that the discovery of weapons procured through government contracts have been illegally smuggled and sold to countries, rebel groups, and individuals, some of whom are not friendly to the US or our allies. It also appears these unauthorized violations occurred as far back as twenty years, maybe longer.
I’ve informed Under Secretary of Defense for Acquisitions and Sustainment Christine León of your inquiries. She has offered her full cooperation on the matter and has put her chief of staff, Richard Vale, as the point person to further assist you.
I recognize this breach is a potential threat to our nation’s security, and as such, you have my assurance that my office is taking this very seriously. If you need anything else, my door is always open.
Carl Rosch
Tom read the email once more and sat back in his chair. Weapons illegally smuggled...rebel groups...as far back as twenty years. Maybe longer.
Longer.
Opening the middle drawer of his desk, Tom pulled out a photo taken twenty-five years ago of him and his friend.“Stop ’em, Tom ... get truth ... make the world better.”
The final words his friend spoke before he died had hauntedhim for nearly three decades. And even now, they took him right back to the hardest day of his life and to the single question Tom had never been able to answer: Was someone in the US involved?
Tom read the secretary of defense’s words again and felt like his friend was speaking from the grave, reminding him of the promise he made that fateful day.
22
The next day, Lyla hurried down M Street, dodging a group of college-aged women juggling their cell phones and Starbucks cups on their way toward the Georgetown campus. She was headed in the opposite direction to meet up with Mason.
His phone call an hour ago had come out of the blue. The nervousness in his voice when he asked her to breakfast had made her anxious. She wondered if his mom was still trying to orchestrate a love connection, but he quickly squashed that fear when he said R.D. Leto was in town and she had agreed to meet.
She. Lyla wasn’t sure why she’d assumed the conspiracy journalist was a man, but it had been a lot easier to convince Nicolás to let her accept Mason’s terms that she come alone, knowing R.D. was a woman. Especially after what happened at Genevieve’s the day before. She shuddered, and it caused the bruising in her body to ache. Lifeless eyes had haunted her all night. If Mason hadn’t been her childhood friend, Lyla wasn’t sure she’d have agreed either.
Crossing the street, she tugged her scarf against the harsh October wind biting at her cheeks and causing her eyes to sting with tears. The dark, bitter weather suited her mood.
Her brain circled back to the thoughts she hadn’t been able to escape all night. Nicolás was leaving. No matter how many times Lyla repeated the words to herself, she couldn’t believe them. Nicolás was leaving.And he doesn’t know if he’s coming back?
Why was she taking this so hard? Nicolás explained that his old Army boss had requested him personally because of his expertise with the specific explosive being used to kill innocent people in Syria. A quick Google search after she got back to Brynn’s last night, and Lyla saw the horrifying effects of the death and destruction at the hands of terrorists determined to keep the Syrian people from having the democracy they wanted so badly.
Nicolás had to go. She knew that. He was just as much an advocate for the innocent as she was. A protector. His uncompromising determination to keep his team safe wasn’t reserved just for SNAP...so why was she angry?
“You okay?”
Lyla jumped at Nicolás’s steady voice echoing through the piece in her ear. “Yeah, I’m good.” She casually glanced over to the laundromat where he was positioned across from Dexter’s Donut Shop, watching her. “Mason inside?”
“Yes, but he’s alone.”
“Maybe R.D. hasn’t arrived yet.” Lyla paused and pulled out her phone as if she was checking a message, but she really surveyed the busy street. “Or maybe she entered through the back.”
“Kekoa’s monitoring all entry and exit points.”
“Okay.” Lyla put her phone away and reached for the door. Her other hand rested on the inconspicuous bulge in her purse where Cupcake was secure but within quick reach should she need it. “I’m going in.”
Inside, the smell of grease and sweet icing welcomed her straight into a line of customers waiting to pick up donuts. A shorter line waited to be seated in the dining area to her left. Lyla rose on her toes searching for Mason and found him at a table near the back, reading a newspaper.
