She put up a third photo. “This is Novak Jovanovic. He goes by the name of Vak and is now in control of Darko Stjepanic’s vast fortune. He is holed up in the densely-forested Bosanska Krajina region of northwestern Bosnia.” She put up a map of a thickly green area with mountains in the background. “Vak and his crew are heavily armed, both to fight off any splinter groups looking to unseat him, and anyone else who ventures into his territory, namely special forces of any country. They have demanded a ransom for the two men. Three million each.”
She looked at Iceman and he issued his orders. “We’re spinning up in ten hours, so get yourselves situated and report to the airfield at 1800. Let’s get to it.”
Preacher sat still while the room emptied. He rose and headed toward Rose, determined to at least set his mind to rest about Karasu. She was talking in low tones with Iceman. “Rose, could I have a private word with you?”
She glanced at Iceman who frowned. “Everything all right?” he asked.
“Everything is fine, boss. Just need to ask Rose a personal question. That’s all.”
Ice nodded and left the room.
Rose faced him and smiled. “What can I do for you, Preacher?”
“I wanted to know if Karasu was all right. The last time I saw her was in France and she seemed…unsettled. I’ve tried to reach her several times, but her cell phone is no longer in service.”
“Oh, Karasu. Of course. She’s working with Volk on a mission that’s classified. The Shadowguard normally dump their phones after each mission, so it’s difficult to get in touch with her.”
“Will she be in Bosnia?”
“I can’t answer that. I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “I understand all about classified missions. I want them to be safe. I’m glad to know she’s all right.”
“Sure. Do you want me to relay a message to her if I happen to hear from her?”
“No, that’s all right. I’m sure our paths will cross eventually. Thanks, Rose.”
He turned to leave. A wave of pain and old guilt surged through him as he wiped his palms on his jeans, the ache inside him so big he could barely contain it. But he did. He pushed it all into the back of his mind. Ignore and override. He and the team had a mission to complete. There were no half-measures for Preacher.
He was all in all the time. That meant sacrifices and loss.
No one said he wouldn’t struggle with his memories, regrets, and what-ifs.
Uncle Sam waited, and he would always answer the call.
2
There wasn’tone person on this mortal coil who didn't wonder what it was like to die. But passing from one existence to another left an indelible mark on the soul. Karasu knew what it was to become a ghost, lost in shadow, trapped in whispers, invisible only to other ghosts. Orphaned and unable to go back to the people she loved.
Swathed in black, she stood in deep gloom beneath the Japanese maple she used to climb, the promise of the rich, vibrant colors of fall just touching its leaves. The branches had spread, reaching to the sky for sunlight to sustain it, but Karasu couldn’t feel that absorbed warmth.
An owl hooted above her, a sign of both luck and protection from hardship and suffering in Japanese culture. In her language, the word for them wasfukurou.
She faced a small white stone house on a residential street in the suburbs of Tokyo, nondescript from the other homes, the occupants busy with their lives. The father went to work every day as an accountant, and the mother split her time between teaching English and being a translator. The whole area was late-night-quiet, no sounds of traffic, no slamming of doors, no conversations. Hushed. Still. Just the whoosh of the wind and the rustle of leaves.
Signs of domestic bliss surrounded the house. Well-kept bushes and flower beds, especially on the walking path adjacent to where she stood, still bright with late summer flowers, a small bike propped against the low, decorative wall that cordoned off the small front yard.
One of the two boys, who had grown into men, was now a father. His small son was the owner and rider of the child-sized bike.
Experiencing a twist of regret, she redirected her gaze to the lighted window, the glass blurred and still a bit wet from the day of rain.
Another breeze stirred, and she shifted her back against the trunk, longing and memories both sharp and indistinct. She’d missed this place, a place where she had been pure and innocent, unaware of the evil in the world. She inhaled deeply, savoring the blend of fragrances, trying to ignore the lump in her throat.
She didn’t want to be here. There were too many old regrets. Too much old guilt. And shame. Always the shame. But she had felt obligated to come.
In the darkness a candle burned, the silhouettes of her parents, arms around each other. Together they gazed out of the window, but they couldn’t see their hidden daughter. It had been a special day for them all.
She looked down at her watch as the time ticked from eleven-fifty-nine to midnight. Yeah, it had been her birthday.