Eye of the Storm by Dee Davis

hers, his lawyer's face again neutral.
    Martin let out a long, low whistle. "And you were there?"
    "In Sangre de Cristo, yes. But we weren't behind any of what happened. We were only there to retrieve Ramirez."
    "But you failed. Ramirez was killed along with the rest of them, wasn't he?"
    "Yes. By the time I found him, he was dead. And we were surrounded. Cut off from escape. And since officially we didn't exist, there was no help coming."
    "So what did you do?" Martin asked.
    "We fought our way out." Simone shrugged, a futile effort to try and shut out the memories, the cries of the wounded and dying echoing through her head as if she'd heard them only yesterday. "People were dying everywhere. I remember a kid standing by a fountain in a plaza, crying. I grabbed her just before a mortar blew the fountain to bits.
    "There were eight of us working the operation. Six at the drop zone. Two in the jungle to facilitate retrieval. When we got to the city we split into two groups of three. Code-named 'blue' and 'red'. It made it easier to blend in with the locals. Once it all went south, we worked toward the rendezvous. Blue team never made it. They were slaughtered along with everyone else."
    "The engineers from Altech."
    "You know a lot about Sangre de Cristo."
    "It was an international incident." It was Reece's turn to shrug. "And I've always had an interest in human-rights law." It seemed she wasn't the only one who hadn't exercised full disclosure. But she shouldn't have been surprised. Reece had always been about doing what was right. Good versus evil and all that. Everything in black-and-white. It was part of why she'd fallen in love with him. Too bad the world was all about shades of gray.
    "But you made it." Martin urged her back to the story.
    "Yeah. We did. Almost lost Bea along the way, but eventually we got out. It took about a month to work our way out of the mountains, and another month after that to make it back to the States."
    "And then you were disbanded."
    "Quarantined at first, actually. Tempers were running pretty hot, and the CIA was under pretty heavy scrutiny. As I said, we were responsible for handling the Company's dirty work. And after Sangre de Cristo, no one wanted our endeavors coming to light. After things died down, they relocated us."
    "And now someone from your past is back." Reece had crossed his arms over his chest, looking every bit the inquisitioner.
    "Yes." Simone reached into the inside pocket of her purse and produced the postcard. "When we were relocated, we were given a password—a set of coordinates actually, to initiate a locator program—and the instructions that if anything happened to threaten the sanctity of D-9, we'd be sent a warning. A call to bring us all together again. I got this in the mail today." She handed the postcard to Reece, and Martin got off the bed to stand behind his brother.
    "'The storm is coming'?"
    "That was the message we were told to expect. The M is for Maurice Baxter. He was our handler. The official unofficial head of D-9. He's the only one left who even knows we existed."
    "Have you seen him?"
    "No. Not since we were relocated. I haven't seen any of the team. The powers that be thought it better if we were separated permanently."
    "Weren't you tempted to try and find them?" Martin asked, tipping his head to one side, observing her as if she were a specimen in a lab.
    "I'll admit sometimes I think about how nice it would be to talk to someone who understands my past. A kindred spirit, so to speak. But no, I've never tried to find anyone. Nor has anyone contacted me. It was made pretty clear that if we did try, there'd be serious consequences."
    "So this message, what exactly does it mean?" Reece waved the card as he spoke.
    "'The storm is coming' means that D-9 has been compromised. Conceivably by an enemy. 'Take cover' is code indicating we're to head for the rendezvous."
    "And the rendezvous would be the coordinates you spoke of?" Reece as usual had cut