Gwen opened her phone and, using a stylus, drew the shape of a crown of tiny feathers. “Did it look like this?”
“Yes, how did you know?” Jessie quaked in the bed as tears filled her eyes. “Tell me it gets better,” she begged.
Gwen nodded. “Yes. It does, especially if you accept the help we will give you.” She thought about Troy and everyone else. She hated herself—she still was keeping secrets.
The door opened, and in walked Commander Bryan Brooks. “Daddy, this is Gwen. She’s a first deputy here.”
“Gwen, pleasure to meet you. How’s your boss fairing this morning? That was a helluva interview he gave last night,” the commander asked.
“Spending a much-needed day off,” she said.
“Tell him I send my best to him.”
“I will, sir. Jessie, I’ll stop by again soon. Keep getting better.” Gwen slid the door closed behind her and forced herself to walk to the elevator to not raise alarm. Finally making it to her office, she locked her door and sat at her desk.
Her hands shook as she typed in the name Samuel P. Carter Military Academy. There it was: on a black background rose a bust of Samuel Perry Carter wearing a red headdress. Carter, who served in the US Navy and during the Civil War in the Army, used Powhatan as his call name to communicate with Union soldiers behind enemy lines. Jessie’s watcher had a pen belonging to the school William Cook and his evil friends went to.
Gwen needed more proof. A blue-eyed man with a SPCMA pen was not enough to go on. How many of Will’s friends had blue eyes? She called technical analysis. “Hey, this is Gwen North. Could you do a yearbook search for me? Samuel P. Carter Military Academy, class of 2001. Thank you.” She prayed the photos were in color. If not, she’d make a list and search from there.
Gwen exited her office in time to see two members from 3-Romeo each carrying a large box. “What’s going on? What’s in the boxes?”
“Ms. North, they’ve all been x-rayed, opened and swabbed for dangerous substances. They’ve been arriving since last night. They’re letters for Mr. Bremen. Mr. Wentworth ordered two large metal boxes, bomb-safe, to receive them. There are also over a hundred bouquets of flowers and chocolates. We are to photograph the flowers, make sure they are safe and deliver them to the VA hospital in Mr. Bremen’s name. Any food is to be photographed, and for safety, destroyed; the cards are kept.
“A banner has been placed on the website asking for donations to be made to donors’ favorite charities in Mr. Bremen’s name or to Soteris,” the first operator said.
She turned and re-opened her office. “Put them inside. I’ll bring some to Mr. Bremen; I don’t want to overwhelm him.”
Kip came down the hall toward her. “I was coming to open his office, but I see you showed initiative. He’s receiving letters at all our branches.”
“Have you read any?” Gwen asked.
“Only the ones addressed to Greece,” Kip said.
“Our mystery caller?” Gwen said.
“Unfortunately, yes. Troy left his cell in his office during the interview. We didn’t retrieve it until this morning. There were two more calls there and one on your voicemail.”
“Wait, when I checked my messages… You cleared it.” She pressed her lips together.
“Gwen,” Kip’s eyes narrowed, “we need to go for a walk.”
“Should I worry?” Her voice wobbled.
“No, I’m sorry. A little tense. I will admit last night threw me.” He shook his head. “We are working on getting you some answers.”
Gwen grabbed a stack of cards from one of the boxes, secured the envelopes with a rubber band, and handed it back to one of the operators. “Could you take these to Mr. Bremen? I’m sure they will brighten his day.”
* * *
Gwen walked aheadof Kip down the corridor, pausing at one of the larger conference rooms. “Come sit inside; I need to check Julian’s office to see if Ian’s ready.”
When Kip opened the conference room door, his voice filled with distress. “Gwen, come back into the hall.”
It was too late. Ian Chase was sitting at the head of the table. Martin sat to his left, and Wes sat to his right with Zach beside him. But it was the two other men in the room who turned her cold. The first man in a navy blue Henley and navy blue slacks simply nodded. She had a vague sense of recognition.
“Hello, Gwen, it’s been a long time,” said the second man, who had a well-trimmed beard and hazel eyes and wore a thobe.
Flushed with fury, her hand instinctively reached for her hip at the sight of the man who stood beside the caliph as she was tortured in that ISIS camp. “You bastards, do you know who this man is?” she screamed.
