The Echo of Violence

New York City

Sentinels Headquarters

After Jessie left for her mission, Seth knew he’d go stir-crazy, worrying about her. He needed a good distraction—one that might help her in the process. He got Tanya to relocate his workstation to the main control room where her geek squad worked. Across the room, the cavernous space was dark, and the faces of analysts were cast in eerie shadows, with a kaleidoscope of colors coming off the screens. Tanya’s people looked like the remnants of a bad acid trip or an MTV video gone amuck. The fancy setup was intimidating at first, he had to admit.

The massive room filled with high-tech toys nearly gave him a woody.

“Garrett…you and your people sure know how to roll,” he muttered as he sat at his new workstation, a half- moon-shaped desk with plenty of elbow room. He had state-of-the-art technology at his fingertips, three large computer monitors, and a cool ergonomic chair that had more adjustment buttons than a TV remote.

Although the setup was impressive, it was almost wasted on him. He didn’t need all the fancy bells and whistles to help Jessie and Alexa. He got to work, initiating the tracking program he had stashed at his cache sites.

Everything in the room around him faded to black. The voices were tuned out. And nothing existed except him and his program.

While he waited for the terrorists to use their SAT phone again, he adapted instructions for the program to track where the call went. Locating the origination point was easy now that he knew what signal to look for and had narrowed the search parameters in Cuba. And since he already had a sample of Sayed’s voice from the British Virgin Island kidnappings, he could use the man’s voiceprint to specifically target any similar voice patterns coming from southeast Cuba. Voice recognition would trigger his trace program faster and allow him to capture vital location parameters sooner.

Tracing the call to the handler would be another story. Success would depend on the duration of the call and how fast his program worked. If he built upon the trace data piece by piece, his modification might give Garrett a good shot at isolating a part of the terrorist network that was higher up the food chain.

But as he was putting the finishing touches to his program, one of his monitors flashed a warning. A new trace had begun.

“Holy shit. Here we go,” he whispered, his gaze fixed on the screen. He worked the keyboard as fast as he could.

“Damn it!” He nearly forgot to breathe. Colors off the screen flashed across his face. And his heart pounded like a sledgehammer as his fingers moved on instinct. He barely noticed the crowd of analysts who rushed to his workstation and stood behind him.

“Come on,” Seth pleaded under his breath. “Stay on the line. Please!”

Baracoa, Cuba

Alexa had showered and changed in record time. She didn’t want to be in their motel room any longer than necessary. To blend in, she shed her BDUs in favor of more casual civilian attire, jeans and a T-shirt. Kinkaid did the same. Before he put his shirt on, she helped him re-dress his belly wound and watched as he sat on the edge of the bed and took the last of his antibiotics. He tried to hide that fact from her, but in the reflection of a mirror on the dresser, she had noticed and didn’t say a word. No point now.

She turned and placed her hand on his brow and moved her fingers down to his cheek and neck.

“You’re burning up. I’ve got aspirin.” She retrieved the pills from her first-aid kit. “Maybe we can find a doctor in town.”

“No, we don’t have time.” He shook his head. “And doctors ask too many questions.”

For his sake, she wanted to argue, but he was right.

“Then let’s get moving,” she said as she stashed the SAT phone into her fanny pack.

“Wait,” he said as he stood. “We gotta do something first.”

As a precaution, Kinkaid stashed the assault rifles and their valuables behind a removable ceiling tile before they left their room. If anyone broke in, searching for something to steal or their identification to learn who they were, they wouldn’t find much.

When they hit the streets of Baracoa, Alexa was impressed with Kinkaid. He was indeed fluent in Spanish. As promised, he spoke the language like a local. And she did her part by keeping her mouth shut—not an easy feat. Despite its isolated location, Baracoa had a burgeoning tourist business, so no one asked too many questions about why they were in town. When they did, Kinkaid claimed they were freelance reporters covering the hurricane damage.

People were more willing to talk to a reporter, especially after the storm. Kinkaid got the layout of the town in short order, narrowing their search to likely places for Sayed to hide. He avoided obvious tourist traps, figuring a terrorist on the run with a captive would do the same. Their search was focused on places frequented by locals.

“I’ve got someplace else,” he said. “It’s tried-and-true…and not far.”

“Where’s that?”

“You’ll see.”

“You’re a man of secrets, Kinkaid. A real puzzle.” She smiled.

While they walked, Alexa took advantage of the opportunity to question him.

“So tell me about Kate. How did you two meet?”

At first he looked surprised by her question. He shifted his gaze and stared straight ahead, not really focusing on anything. His mind was clearly in the past. The mounting silence made her believe he might not answer her. Eventually he did.

“We met at a low point in my life. I was like a drowning man, going down for the final time, but Kate wouldn’t let that happen.” At the mention of Kate’s name, Kinkaid smiled. It was a distant expression, an odd mix of sadness and amusement. “She’s stubborn, but in a gentle, persistent way, you know? She got me through some dark days. I consider her a good friend.”

Alexa wanted him to go on, but he stopped. And he purposefully left out any reference to his meeting Kate at a psychiatric hospital. She’d have to find another way to keep him talking.

“She sounds like an interesting woman. Did the two of you ever…get together?”

He lifted a corner of his lip into a lazy smirk.

“Get together?” he questioned. With him staring at her, she felt her cheeks blush with heat until he said, “No, it’s not like that between us. She’s got a…significant other in her life. She’s pretty devoted to him. In fact, she worships him. The guy walks on water as far as she’s concerned. Like I said, we’re friends. That’s all. Why are you asking all these questions about Kate?”

“Just making conversation, that’s all,” she lied.

“Uh-huh.”

Alexa gritted her teeth and avoided his eyes. The guy walks on water, my ass. Kinkaid was playing her and having fun doing it. She ignored the fact that she was toying with him, too. Prying personal information from him was more like…intelligence gathering. It was practically her job, for cryin’ out loud.

No matter how she justified her curiosity, Alexa knew her interest in Jackson Kinkaid had become personal. The man intrigued her. She’d become obsessed with learning more about his connection to Kate and his stay at the psychiatric hospital.

Given their mission, she couldn’t afford to alienate him by pushing too hard. If she admitted knowing that Kate was a nun, he’d realize she got that from Garrett. Whatever beef Kinkaid had with her boss could drive a deeper wedge of mistrust between them.

With her thoughts focused on Kate being a nun, Alexa found it ironic when she saw where Kinkaid had taken her.