Operation Zulu Redemption: Act of Treason - Part 4 by Ronie Kendig Read Free Book Online

of his heart against his pulse. This could end his career. This could devastate his life. This could destroy Annie, Téya, and Nuala. So, he began. “I am an American Special Forces Soldier! I will do all that my nation requires of me.”
    “Colonel Weston, you do not have the microphone,” he could hear Chairman Moller saying.
    But Trace continued. Never stopped. “I am a volunteer, knowing well the hazards of my profession.” Which might include getting arrested today. “I serve with the memory of those who have gone before me.” Jessie. Candice. Keeley. “I pledge to uphold the honor and integrity of their legacy in all that I am—”
    “Colonel Weston,” Moller shouted, his voice mingling the noisy thrum rippling through the courtroom. “Colonel Weston, if you do not stop—”
    “Just cut his mic,” General Marlowe said.
    And Trace’s mic died. So Trace lifted his voice, unwilling to let Francesca Solomon in her insane quest to destroy him put the lives of Annie, Téya, and Nuala on the line, too.
    “I am a warrior. I will teach and fight whenever and wherever my nation requires.” Even with civil disobedience right now. “I will strive always to excel in every art and artifice of war. I know that I will be called upon—”
    “Security!”
    “—to perform tasks in isolation far from familiar faces and voices.”
    “Trace,” Haym said, his face strangely pale for an Italian. “What are you doing?”
    “With the help and guidance of my faith, I will conquer my fears and succeed. I will keep my mind and body clean, alert, and strong. I will maintain my arms—”
    Two Capitol Hill police entered the room, and before the door shut, Trace saw two more jogging down the hall.
    They hauled Trace to his feet, but he never stopped reciting the Special Forces creed. And he didn’t struggle against the authorities. It’d only go worse later. Cuffs tight against his wrists, he was hauled out of the room. As he passed Francesca, Trace broke free. Shoved his face in hers. “Remember, those names—they’re lives you’re playing with. More innocent people will die because of your vendetta against me. Can you live with that, Francesca?”

Annie
En route to Dover, England
12 June – 0100 Hours
    As the cabin door shut, Annie eyed Boone. “Where’s Trace?”
    “Not coming,” Boone muttered as he took the seat across the aisle next to Rusty.
    Why wasn’t Trace flying out with them? It was weird, honestly, to have Rusty back in the game, though the guy had sworn he wanted nothing to do with this. Annie guessed that knowing someone had slipped poison into Keeley on Rusty’s watch had been the catalyst. But for Trace not to come when they had yet another arrow pointing toward Ballenger didn’t make sense.
    Was Ballenger leading them? If so, for what reason?
    The indiscriminant din of rock music, suppressed by ear buds, drew Annie’s gaze to the row behind her. Eyes closed, feet on Rusty’s seat, Téya looked like she might be asleep. She’d been distant and moody since returning from Frankfurt and even worse after visiting Bleak Pond.
    Nuala had the window seat next to Annie and held an e-reader, devouring the latest novel by a James Rubarb or some other. Annie hadn’t listened very closely because, if she were going to read, she’d select something from James Rollins or Brad Thor. Or Lis Wiehl—especially Lis because her novels were relevant and often ripped straight from the headlines.
    So, here they were. All but Trace. On their way to Dover to track down the elusive, cryptic Berg Ballenger.
    Though the remnant of Zulu was together, they were anything but. Hearts and minds divided meant efforts would be limited. That wouldn’t be good trying to find Ballenger and getting him to cough up what he knew.
    But it felt silly and almost redundant to track him down. To fly all of them to Dover. What was Trace thinking?
    There were no answers and no way to drill Trace with questions, so Annie drifted off