True Honor

  Praise for Dee Henderson and True Honor

  “The absorbing third entry in [her] Uncommon Heroes series exemplifies why Henderson, a wildly successful CBA novelist, is dominating this market’s paperback fiction best-seller list.”

  Publishers Weekly

  “True Honor will appeal to the patriotism of every American. Dee Henderson is a fantastic storyteller who knows how to keep and maintain reader interest from the very first page.”

  Midwest Book Review

  “Henderson continues to delight readers with her romantic thrillers, and her popularity continues to soar. Her mainstream crossover appeal makes this a necessary addition to all collections.”

  Library Journal

  “The name Dee Henderson is synonymous with authenticity. Her books shine with believable facts and descriptions while her characters think and act like the professionals they are.”

  Romantic Times magazine

  “Dee Henderson delivers an uncommonly good story with grace and style.”

  Romancejournal.com

  “[Dee Henderson] has created a truly stunning tale of love and devotion to God, country, and to those left behind when the missions are done.”

  Compuserve Reviews

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  Readers’ Praise

  “My husband is in the Air Force, so it is nice to read military stories that are based in reality!” —R. G.

  “You have an amazing ability to weave a tale about Christians struggling to make sense out of their lives and the curveballs they’re thrown. The Scripture verses used throughout the story are well placed and fit the story masterfully.” —K. R.

  “Thank you for sharing your gift and love of God.” —S. H.

  “Dee Henderson is a phenomenal writer. Her books are fast-paced and keep you on the edge of your seat. Be warned . . . if you ever read one of Dee’s books, you’ll be hooked!” —T., Amazon.com reader

  * * *

  Visit Tyndale’s exciting Web site at www.tyndale.com

  TYNDALE and Tyndale’s quill logo are registered trademarks of Tyndale House Publishers, Inc.

  True Honor

  Copyright © 2002 by Dee Henderson. All rights reserved.

  Previously published in 2002 by Multnomah Publishers, Inc. under ISBN 1-57673-043-2

  Cover photographs of man and woman © by Aleta Rafton. All rights reserved.

  Illustration of Seal © 2001 by Dawson 3D, Inc. All rights reserved.

  Scripture quotations are taken from the Revised Standard Version of the Bible, copyright © 1952 by the Division of Christian Education of the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.

  ISBN–10: 1-4143-1064-1

  ISBN–13: 978-1-4143-1064-0

  14 13 12 11 10 09 08

  13 12 11 10 9 8 7

  While I have endeavored to be accurate in both the terminology and tactics of a Navy SEAL and those who work in the intelligence agencies, I was at best only able to capture a feel for what their jobs are like. This is a work of fiction and all errors are mine.

  Table of Contents

  Glossary

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-One

  Twenty-Two

  Twenty-Three

  Twenty-Four

  Twenty-Five

  Twenty-Six

  Twenty-Seven

  Twenty-Eight

  Twenty-Nine

  Thirty

  Author’s Note

  Glossary

  BLACK OPS: Military operations that are conducted without public knowledge.

  bolt-hole: A location arranged as a secure place to hide should a spy be discovered.

  BUD/S: Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL. The name for the initial six-month training program at the facility in Coronado, California, which all men hoping to be SEALs must pass.

  CINC: Commander-IN-Chief.

  CO: Commanding Officer.

  cover blind: A location and occupation created to provide a long-term false background for a spy.

  Cover Your Six: Slang for “watch your back.” Something in the “six o’clock” position would be behind you.

  DIA: Defense Intelligence Agency.

  GPS: Global Positioning System. Satellite guidance around earth used to precisely pinpoint aircraft, ships, vehicles, and ground troops.

  IRA: Irish Republican Army.

  NSA: National Security Agency.

  NATO Phonetic Alphabet: Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta, Echo, Foxtrot, Golf, Hotel, India, Juliet, Kilo, Lima, Mike, November, Oscar, Papa, Quebec, Romeo, Sierra, Tango, Uniform, Victor, Whiskey, X-ray, Yankee, Zulu.

  NVGs: Night Vision Goggles give good night vision in the dark with a greenish view.

  Roger: A yes, an affirmative, a go answer to a command or statement.

  SAS: Britain’s Special Air Service. An elite branch of the British Special Forces.

  SDV: Seal Delivery Vehicle.

  SEAL: One of the elite branches of the U.S. Special Forces operating from the sea, air, or land.

  tango(s): Terrorist.

  TRIDENT: SEAL’s emblem. An eagle with talons clutching a Revolutionary War pistol and Neptune’s trident superimposed on the Navy’s traditional anchor.

  ZODIAC: A rubber motorized craft designed to carry SEALs covertly to shore.

  But understand this, that in the last days

  there will come times of stress.

  2 TIMOTHY 3:1

  Behold, God is my helper; the Lord is the upholder of my life.

  PSALM 54:4

  Prologue

  * * *

  SEPTEMBER 7

  Friday, 6:10 a.m.

  Shelton, North Dakota

  There was a bounty on Darcy St. James’s life, and in the world where she had once worked, having someone come after her was still more likely than not. She rested a booted foot against the lower fence rail she’d replaced the day before and ran an experienced eye along the length of triple-rail fence, judging how much paint she would need to cover the new rails, while in the back of her mind she wondered if this was the day she would be interrupted by unwanted company.

  After weeks of clearing out dead branches and undergrowth, the line of evergreens that provided a wind and snow break for the house had a tended-to look. At least the grounds of the place she called home would return to some semblance of order before winter came, even if the house itself was still torn apart. She loved this place. It was just proving to be a multiyear repair project.

  She sipped her coffee and then reached down for the rifle resting against the fence railing. For those who bothered to ask, it was for the prowling coyote that had killed her neighbor’s chickens, but in reality it was for her own security. Winter was coming and snow, and this year that was a good thing. It would be much harder for someone to approach the house with a few feet of snow to wade through.

  A patrol car slowed on the nearby road, and Darcy lifted her hand to her sister. Amy and her husband, Jacob Bond, lived down the road. There wer
e worse things than having an older sister with a protective streak who happened to be the town sheriff. And if Darcy did a little quiet watching out of her own for her sister’s safety, she kept it to herself. There were some benefits to working for the government that lasted past an early retirement at thirty-five.

  This place was beginning to feel like home. It was different living in one location and setting down roots, but she could feel herself relaxing deep inside.

  Jesus, I didn’t realize how much stress had built up until I was able to fully stop. The verse this morning from Psalm 54 was perfect: “Behold, God is my helper; the Lord is the upholder of my life.” I’m grateful that You brought me back here.

  She looked around the grounds and knew she could use some divine wisdom for the next project on her list. How could she take out that dying evergreen without taking out part of the garage roof? At least while there was work around the house and grounds to fill her days, she could ignore the fact that she still battled boredom when rain or delays in supplies left her with hours to fill.

  The phone in her jacket pocket broke the silence. She was tempted to ignore it. The morning was peaceful and hers to schedule. There hadn’t been enough such days in her life. She reached for the sheepskin-lined jacket inherited from her grandfather that she’d draped over the fence post and tugged out the phone. “You found me.”

  “Mornin’, dahlin’.”

  She smiled at the Louisiana drawl that made the words sing. “Does your wife know you still call me that, Gabriel?”

  “Marla knows that I reserve it for my one and only partner who saved my life.”

  It hadn’t been much of a rescue. Three years ago someone had driven by and shot at them in Bulgaria. She’d shoved him back into the hotel, picking up a bruised elbow for her efforts. “Flattery this early in the morning?”

  “You live too far away. What’s North Dakota got that Virginia doesn’t? You move all the way out there, and I never get to enjoy your funny face anymore.”

  She rested her back against the railing and enjoyed the rising sun on her face. “I miss you too.” There wasn’t much she missed of her former life, but she did Gabriel. “The world blowing up somewhere, friend?” The Central Intelligence Agency had fingers everywhere, and Gabe owned the globe from Europe to the farthest time zone in Russia.

  “Have you seen a paper lately?”

  “Can’t say that I have. I try to avoid such things as news these days.”

  “I can’t believe you’ve been able to go cold turkey.”

  “It’s not that hard when it’s no longer my responsibility to know what, where, when, and how to fix it.” She’d retired from the CIA two years ago with an Intelligence Star for Valor. She’d solved enough of the world’s problems for one person to tackle in a lifetime.

  “I need you.”

  She finished her coffee. “Now, did you have to go and say that?”

  “Sergey wants to talk and he asked for you.”

  What did Sergey Alexandrov have to share that could only be done in person? He was many things: a former KGB station chief in London, a decorated cold war veteran, a spymaster. He’d advanced to number three in the Russian Foreign Intelligence Service before his own retirement last year. He was a worthy adversary. After a decade of competition between them, she’d call it a draw. She straightened. “Is he going to defect?”

  “Doubtful. He’s got a nice place in Spain, and he winters in the British Virgin Islands.”

  “Anyone missing on our side?”

  “No.”

  She leaned back against the fence again. “Then I really don’t want to fly halfway across the country to hear about a coming coup, a missing weapon, a renegade agent, or something else equally nasty that means I’d be working for more than a weekend.”

  “Darcy, you should see some of the new crowd around here. There’s no way I’m going to send one of them to see Sergey. He would laugh and send them back to day care. If you can’t go, I will, but this request came through their embassy. Sergey asked for you by name.”

  And that meant there were . . . rules of the trade in play. The spy agencies of both countries were designed to distrust each other. They built trust on the procedures they agreed to follow, even if they didn’t always trust the contents of the passed message. If possible, the Agency needed to honor this request, even if it meant asking her to come out of retirement.

  Sergey understood how to handle sensitive information. He wouldn’t make an extraordinary request for a face-to-face meeting without good reason. The Russian president trusted him. It could be a private message that needed confidential delivery or information that unless delivered through trustworthy hands would be discounted as not credible because of its unusual contents. Sergey, too, had been called out of retirement. “One weekend and I’m back by Monday?”

  “He asked to meet Sunday night at a hotel in Florida. I’ve got a typed sheet of details. He did his usual meticulous job of laying out time and location.”

  She accepted her answer was going to be yes and shifted to logistics. “Let’s keep this low-key. I’d rather not advertise I’m going to be on the East Coast. Courier me the information and send a guy to check the hotel the day before. I’ll make my own travel arrangements between here and Florida. Sergey’s news may be time sensitive. See if there’s a military flight that can be arranged from Florida, say out of Eglin Air Force Base, on Sunday night so I can bring whatever Sergey has straight to the Agency.”

  “You want a backup team?”

  “I don’t think so. Sergey will follow protocol and come alone. I’ll get to the hotel early enough to look around, make sure I’ve got a bolt-hole. If it looks like I need company, I’ll call the Miami office. I’d rather not have my name in the system unless it’s really necessary.”

  “It’s nice having you back on the job, Darcy.”

  She’d promised Gabe to give it five years before she wrapped up her cover identity and presence on the East Coast and made a permanent retirement to North Dakota. She was only surprised that he had given her two years before he called for something more than a question, her opinion, or an hour to shoot the breeze. “Let’s see what Sergey has to say. I’ll see you in a few days.”

  One

  * * *

  SEPTEMBER 9

  Sunday, 8:20 p.m.

  Destin, Florida

  Sam Houston strolled toward the hotel outdoor pool carrying a soft drink and tugging at his tie, leaving behind the laughter of the banquet room. His buddy Tom Yates was married, and the reception was breaking up now that the bride and groom were safely away on their honeymoon. A huge weight had just lifted from Sam’s shoulders.

  The breeze from the Gulf brought the smell of sand and sea. Sam paused at the steps going down to the boardwalk. Florida was good to its visitors. Miles of beach and luxury hotels stretched to either side. He smiled as he contemplated his upcoming days off. Maybe do some deep-sea diving and treasure hunting—something challenging and adventurous. It wouldn’t compete with his last deployment and getting shot at for an adrenaline rush, but it would do.

  The past few months peacekeeping in Turkey had put him near a shooting war and turned him a little too serious for his own good. His temporary homeport with SEAL Team Nine was Little Creek Naval Base, Norfolk, Virginia. And while diving in the Atlantic could be fascinating, it couldn’t compare to the vast treasures around the Gulf. A little diving, a little getting his priorities back in sync— He planned to enjoy life, not just live it.

  “Now you look like a man at the end of a good day.”

  He glanced to his right and felt a spark of interest. A lady sitting alone by the pool was watching him. He didn’t think she’d been a guest at the wedding—he had tried to meet everyone—but Tom and Jill had more friends than he could hope to keep straight. The thick closed book in her lap, the plate set aside on the nearby table, suggested she had been comfortable there for some time. He walked her direction. “Good food, good friends: the
definition of a very good evening.”

  She tipped her head back as he approached. He liked her smile. Her glasses were interesting: oval-shaped with gold frames and a little star in the corner. She slid them off and set them on the table, and he could see through the glass without distortion to read the print on the magazine cover. She must use them and that little star to detract attention from her eyes—no one would forget those baby blues if he got a good look at them.

  “You’re with the wedding party? I heard the music.”

  “Best man.”

  “That explains the tux and the too tight tie.”

  He tugged it the rest of the way free with a rueful smile. “Hazards of the day.” Making a decision, he dumped his jacket on an empty chair and took a seat on the lounge chair near her, turning up the cuffs of his white shirt. Despite being a chief petty officer, he could’ve used an instruction book for how to give advice to the groom, keep rambunctious buddies in line, troubleshoot problems, and keep track of more guests under the age of ten than he could remember names for. It felt good to be done and able to consider time his own again. Blue lights shimmered up through the water, inviting a late-night swim. “It’s a little dark for reading.”

  She clicked on a penlight. “Five hundred and ninety-six pages—I’m going to finish it tonight and find out whodunit if it kills me.”

  He laughed softly. “A committed reader.” He liked the sound of her voice and the relaxed humor in her answer.

  “I’m recently retired and trying to make up for all the books I missed.”

  The ice in her drink had melted. His drink was getting low. “Like a refill?” He caught the attention of a hotel employee. He requested a second Coke for himself and she asked for a pineapple ice slush.

  It was odd that she thought of herself as retired. He put her age at maybe thirty-five, forty. A glance showed a ring on her right hand, but her left was bare. The watch looked expensive, as did the dress. This wasn’t a cheap place to vacation.

  “I’d ask, but that looked like a private thought.”

  “It was.” He was single, no kids, with life insurance from the military to bury him. He had a lifelong habit of giving extra money away. Buying stuff just meant it had to be packed and shipped to the next base. But he admired the effort it suggested to be able to retire young. She’d had a plan for catching up on her reading. What other plans had she made for herself now that she set her own schedule?