Faithful Service, Silent Hearts Read online

  "Alex," Devon began, "I-"

  "Hey," Alex stopped her, grasping her by the left hand and leading her into the living room.

  They settled sideways on the couch to look directly at each other. The energy in the room was a bit strange for them both, but not exactly uncomfortable. Both women began to talk at the same time and then laughed.

  "You go ahead," Alex smiled, drawing her fingertip lightly from Devon's hairline down her cheek.

  "I just don't want this to make things weird between us." Her eyes were clouded with uncertainty.

  "Is it going to make it hard for you?" Alex raised her eyebrows with the question.

  "I'm not uncomfortable so far," Devon's dazzling grin lit up her face, making Alex smile brightly back.

  In the next second Devon was utterly serious. "I just know that you are extremely important to me…our friendship, and…well I just can't get into a relationship right now with anyone..." She looked down at her hands, "Sorry."

  Alex reached out to lightly touched Devon's chin, lifting until their eyes met again. "Listen to me. I knew exactly what we were doing, and I have no agenda other than to enjoy each other's company for the next few days. If that's a problem for you, just let me know." Devon shook her head no.

  "Look," Alex continued, "I'm not going to pretend that I haven't always had a crush on you." Devon smiled shyly and looked away again. She could feel the heat of the blush in her cheeks.

  Alex went on, "You have never been dishonest with me. Our friendship means the world to me, too, Dev. Nothing's ever going to change that."

  She hugged Devon tightly around the neck, speaking softly into her ear, "But, if I ever find the woman who broke your heart, I might have to kill her."

  Chapter 19

  Two weeks later, Devon was summoned to her commander's office. "Have a seat, lieutenant," Colonel Brinkman waved his hand toward a brown leather chair in front of his wide cherry wood desk. He moved behind it and eased his large frame into the high back leather chair, leaning back and smiling briefly at her.

  "Thank you, sir." Devon sat upright, her back not touching the chair. She was a bit uncertain about the reason for the urgent meeting he had called, and she had expected a group setting, not a private conference.

  As if reading her mind, he spoke, "I'll get right to the point."

  She nodded, holding his gaze steadily while fighting her rising anxiety and waited for what he had to say.

  He picked up a folder on the desk and held it out to her, "I've only seen this type of thing happen once or twice in my career, Devon, so I want you to appreciate what you've accomplished."

  Devon opened the folder and read the inside sheet, which was a transfer order with her name at the top. Her heart lurched. She felt instantly a little sick, wondering if she had pushed too far and was getting packed off to some shithole assignment.

  Reading the apprehension on her face, her commander quickly reassured her, "Lieutenant, this is a very good thing." Smiling at her he continued, "Your intelligence and hard work paid off, Devon. Congratulations, you have been assigned to the ISA."

  "ISA? I don't understand, colonel."

  "The Army's Intelligence Support Activity. I don't pretend to know everything they do, but they are a newly formed unit, still under the intelligence command of NSA. One of their missions right now is monitoring the peacekeeping operations in Lebanon. Since you have come up with some innovative thinking on operational matters, along with your educational background, it appears that you have the right stuff." He rose to shake her hand across the desk.

  "Thank you, sir." She couldn't keep the astonishment from her voice. "I hope I can live up to your expectations."

  "Oh, you've already accomplished that, lieutenant. That's why you were chosen for this assignment. You are going to do fine."

  Devon stood to return the handshake. The colonel concluded their meeting by handing her a sealed envelope stamped with the words 'Top Secret Optimize Talent' stamped in red letters across the seal. "This dossier will provide you with the background information that you need for your new assignment, lieutenant." He smiled affectionately, "A little light reading for your flight. Good luck, Devon."

  Chapter 20

  Beirut, Lebanon August 1983

  First Lieutenant James stepped from the C130 military transport plane onto the tarmac of the airfield. A hot breeze blew clouds of sand through the air and she lowered her head and squinted trying to keep it from getting into her eyes. She was greeted by a sergeant who snapped a firm salute as she approached the small caravan of military vehicles about two hundred yards from the planes. Returning the salute, Devon extended her hand to the man who she judged to be in his late twenties and he grasped her hand firmly.

  "Good afternoon, ma'am. I'm Sergeant Joe Wilson, but everybody calls me Woody." His demeanor was businesslike, but his eyes were friendly as he greeted the new arrival.

  "I'm your driver and mechanic. Anywhere you need to go, you just holler," He smiled and gestured to the half dozen Black Hawk helicopters on the other side of the runway, "Unless you need to go by air, then Captain McKinley will give you a lift."

  "Thanks, Woody," she replied as he took her duffle bag and threw it into the jeep. He motioned for her to get in on the passenger side as he slid behind the steering wheel and started the engine. "The major said to bring you right over, lieutenant, so we'll be heading directly to his office."

  As he drove, Woody gave the lieutenant a rundown of the general operations, a sort of lay of the land. He explained that their operations were run out of a separate building from either the temporary embassy structure or the Marine barracks building. However, virtually all U.S. military operations facilities were housed on the grounds of the airport, for safety concerns.

  Knowing that Alex was assigned to the general area, she asked the sergeant, "What about CIA, are they still housed with the embassy personnel?"

  He looked curiously at his new boss, wondering why an army officer cared what the super spooks were doing. "Yes, ma'am, I believe they are, but we really don't have any contact with those people." His tone revealed his disdain for the non-military intelligence folks.

  Devon made a mental note of his obvious irritation at the mention of the CIA. Casually, she continued, "I just know that they lost a lot of personnel in the spring, and wondered if they had moved them to a closer proximity to the military for security reasons."

  He laughed at that. "Lieutenant, they certainly don't want us anywhere around anything that they are into. We're just a bunch of grunts to them."

  Wilson pulled the jeep in front of a nondescript concrete block building about two miles from the runways. The building was surrounded by a chain link fence topped with barbed wire, the two army guards on either side of the door rendered sharp salutes as Devon approached, which she returned before stepping through the door behind the sergeant. He led the way down a short corridor to an outer office area where a specialist 4 sat behind a desk.

  "Watson," the sergeant addressed the young woman, "This is Lieutenant James. Please inform the major she has arrived."

  The specialist smiled, "Good afternoon, lieutenant, please have a seat." She indicated the chairs along the wall. She picked up the phone and after a few seconds, said, "Major, Lieutenant James is here to see you. Very good sir." Returning the phone to the cradle, she spoke again to Devon, "The major will just be a few moments, ma'am."

  Devon thanked the young woman and again reviewed the paperwork in her briefcase.

  Less than five minutes later, the door behind the specialist opened and Major Kelly, a silver haired man in his fifties, about 5'10", who appeared to be very fit walked briskly toward Devon, his hand outstretched, a welcoming smile on his face. "Lieutenant James, good to see you."

  Rising to greet the commander, Devon returned his smile and took his hand firmly. "Thank you, sir. I
'm very happy to be here."

  During the thirty minute briefing, Devon learned that she was to be part of an intelligence gathering team concentrating on identifying and locating targets of interest in and around the mid east. In particular their emphasis was on those from Lebanon, Syria and Iran as well as PLO and recently, Hamas. Analysts would identify signals of interest, and once Devon's team located the targets, they would either forward the information to allied forces, or if the threats were serious enough, U.S. special operations forces would be sent to neutralize the threat.

  The team would be supported in their mission by the direction finding unit at NSA, Devon's previous unit. Devon was glad to know that her people would be working with them, even if it was from the other side of the world. The major indicated that the unit was becoming more involved in operations, as they began to identify more potential targets. Devon had been sent to his command specifically to increase their threat assessment capabilities by applying her methods from NSA to their operations.

  Major Kelly surveyed his new team leader. During the briefing she asked only a few questions, but they were on point, intelligent inquiries. She didn't mince words and her directness revealed self confidence that he liked. James knew her stuff.

  "Colonel Brinkman and I went to West Point together. Did he tell you that, Devon?"

  "No sir, I wasn't aware of that."

  "He spoke so highly of you that I was afraid that the reality might disappoint." He smiled. "So far so good."

  "I was fortunate to have the colonel's support."

  "The way he sees it, he was fortunate to have someone with your talent. Now's your chance to show me what you've got. Let's go meet your team, shall we?"

  The major rose from behind his desk and started toward the door as Devon followed. "I can't wait to see what you come up with around here."

  "I've heard this is an outstanding unit, major. I'm very excited to be here."

  "These folks are all pros, the best in their fields, so I expect that you will be a good fit here. We are a new unit, and that tends to give us more flexibility than most other assignments. Feel free to be innovative-I hear that's really your specialty-just keep me informed so I'm not blindsided, and you and I will get along fine."

  "Yes sir." Devon looked appreciatively at her new commander.

  "Oh, and Devon," the major smiled at her, "You'll find that I worry more about work ethic and results, not ceremonial B.S. Most of the team operates informally as far as rank. Everyone is on a first name basis in the unit, and with the support personnel that they work closely with."

  "That's fine, sir." Devon gave the major a pleased grin. She had a feeling that this was going to be her kind of operation.

  She followed the major to the operations center for a tour where she met the other members of the team. Along with Watson, there were three additional intelligence officers. Mike Stephens, a sergeant first class from Portland, Oregon was the unit's Morse code specialist. Dave Michaels, a sergeant from Lincoln, Nebraska was a linguistics specialist, fluent in several Arabic languages. Jeff King, a specialist 5 was the unit's signals specialist. All were experts in direction finding techniques, and all, just like their new boss were airborne trained graduates of jump school at Ft. Benning, GA.

  "Gentleman, I am very pleased to meet all of you. I look forward to accomplishing great things with our unit." Devon met each man's eyes in turn. "I am able to copy about 50 groups per minute in Morse code," she grinned at Stephens, "That's like a snail compared to you, I'm sure Mike, but at least I can help." Stephens returned the smile.

  Continuing, Devon said, "I have some experience from my stint at NSA with other signals direction finding work, Jeff, so I know something about your area of expertise as well, but I'll need you to bring me up to speed as to the recognition of the unique sounds of the equipment used by the terrorists here. As for you, Dave, I've got nothing," she laughed slightly, "I can speak Italian-passably, so I'll rely on your expertise completely in the language translation department."

  "I know how to work the equipment, I can parachute from a helicopter, and I am good at sifting through data for patterns or irregularities. However, you guys have been here. You know the terrain and the players already. I will rely on each of you to provide me with your piece of the data. My job will be to compile it and decide on the recommended locations for the strike force teams to take to the major. Questions?"

  Looking again at each team member she nodded when they all shook their heads no. She knew that they had no questions about the job, what they did question was her. The only way to get past that was to jump right in and let them get to know her. Checking her watch, she saw that it was 1400hrs local time, which meant her body still on east coast time, said it was 0700 and she had begun her journey at 0540 hours the day before. She sighed, no time for sleep now.

  "Okay, then, two things. First, somebody show me where I can stow my gear so I can get my first lesson at field station Beirut. Second-"

  The door behind her banged open and Devon turned to see a woman in a green flight suit, her sleeves rolled up to reveal her muscular forearms striding purposefully across the open space. Her hair was jet black with just a hint of curl as it reached the edge of the collar and spilled over her forehead. Her steel grey eyes were sharply focused and her full lips looked to be just holding back a smile as she approached the new lieutenant.

  "I heard we had a new arrival," the captain said in a conversational tone to the room but her eyes continued to assess Devon. She stopped within a foot and extended her hand, smiling, "Erin McKinley, but everybody calls me Mac."

  Devon extended her hand and grasped the captain's firmly, smiling as well. "Devon James, Captain, very pleased to meet you."

  The grey eyes flickered with amusement, "Just Mac is fine, Devon."

  Devon's instantly liked the directness in the other woman's demeanor. "Okay, Mac."

  "I'm the unit's pilot, so whenever you need to go, or send out a recon team, you just give me a yell and we'll be in the air within thirty minutes. Less, if you don't catch me when I'm…otherwise engaged."

  The guys all laughed, as Mac winked and grinned knowingly at the group. "Anyway, I just came to say hello. Give me a shout if you need anything, Devon." With that, she strolled out just the way she came in, leaving Devon to get acquainted with her team.

  Chapter 21

  Devon sat in front of a bank of monitors and radio receivers wearing headphones. One side covered her right ear listening to the transmissions and the left was hiked up on her head, allowing her to also hear the room around her. She turned the dial every few minutes alternating between the three frequencies that the team had identified as primary transmission lines for the PLO and newer, more active terrorist group, Hamas.

  Jeff was monitoring transmissions from Israeli military units from a nearby station. "That last car bomb explosion was a little too close to the airport for comfort. What do you say, Devon?"

  "Yeah." She paused to concentrate a moment on the voice in her right ear. "That's why we have to figure this out, Jeff. We have to identify a location for the group claiming responsibility. They're getting way too bold."

  "Nobody's said anything yet," he rubbed his chin, "I'm hoping the Israeli's might have something. If not, I'll switch over and help you search."

  Devon heard chatter as she rolled onto the second frequency. She immediately flipped the left earpiece down onto her ear blocking out all other noise. Over the last few weeks, Jeff had given her some lessons in at least identifying the language she was listening to so that she would be able to distinguish the transmissions even if she didn't understand what they were saying. The speaker was definitely Palestinian. Devon made a note of the exact frequency and time, then flipped the switch on the remote antenna. She mashed the tracking key, repeatedly taking as many readings as possible until the transmission was termin
ated about five seconds later.

  She spun around, pushing her wheeled chair across the small space toward a laser printer that was spitting out lists of coordinates and corresponding maps of the target fixes. In the past few days they had begun fixing targets just to the east of the U.S. compound in a mountainous area long thought by the team to be the base area for the terrorist group Hamas.

  "What do you think, Devon?" Jeff looked over her shoulder at the printouts.

  "I think we have two problem areas," Devon said, rising from her chair and moving to the large area map hanging on the wall. She placed a red pin in the area identified by the latest fix, and after reviewing similar hardcopies generated days before, she placed another pin in an area not even two miles from the airport.

  "This first area is already known to be Shi'a dominated." She drew her finger down the map to the second point. "That area is an extremely poor neighborhood, ripe for recruitment of new martyrs for the radical Shi'a Muslim groups. Maybe they've already set up shop there."