Mistaken Reality, page 1
All statements of fact, opinion, or analysis expressed are those of the author and do not reflect the official positions or views of the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) or any other U.S. Government agency. Nothing in the contents should be construed as asserting or implying U.S. Government authentication of information or CIA endorsement of the author’s views. This material has been reviewed by the CIA to prevent the disclosure of classified information. This does not constitute an official release of CIA information.
Cover image: Apple on White Background © glasslanguage, Hand Grenade in Green © ilze79, Red Apple © blackred; courtesy of Istockphoto.com.
Cover design copyright © 2019 by Covenant Communications, Inc.
Published by Covenant Communications, Inc.
American Fork, Utah
Copyright © 2019 by Traci Abramson
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format or in any medium without the written permission of the publisher, Covenant Communications, Inc., P.O. Box 416, American Fork, UT 84003. This work is not an official publication of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. The views expressed within this work are the sole responsibility of the author and do not necessarily reflect
the position of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Covenant Communications, Inc., or any other entity.
This is a work of fiction. The characters, names, incidents, places, and dialogue are either products of the author’s imagination, and are not to be construed as real, or are used fictitiously.
First Printing: October 2019
ISBN 978-1-52440-943-2
For Luke
Always remember
nothing is impossible
Acknowledgments
Thank you to the wonderful people at Covenant who continue to support me in doing what I love, especially Robby Nichols for your constant support and my wonderful editor, Samantha Millburn. Truly, I am so grateful that you continue to nurture my writing abilities and always encourage me to improve. Thank you to my critique partners, Paige Edwards and Ellie Whitney, and the members of my writing group, Nicole White and Kyla Beecroft. You all help me so much more than you know.
Thank you to real Hadley Baker for sharing your dreams with me as well as lending me your name. Oh, and thanks for naming your fictional cat in this book. Thanks also to Jake Turner for sharing your hopes and ambitions and for letting me use some of those within these pages.
Thanks to my husband, Jonathan, for supporting my crazy career, even when it takes me all over the world. Thanks also to my children for all you do to help me in my writing endeavors.
Thank you to the Central Intelligence Agency Publication Review Board for your efficient service in helping review my manuscripts.
Finally, thank you to the many readers who have supported me on the journey as we discover what happens next.
Chapter 1
Hadley followed the maître d’ through the elegant restaurant, Spencer and their three dining companions falling into step behind her. White tablecloths, fresh flowers, dripping chandeliers. Across the room, tall windows framed the Occoquan River, sailboats visible in the distance. Hadley soaked it all in.
Her gaze wandered as she recognized several familiar faces. Was that James Whitmore, the senator from Virginia? And Richard Lincoln from Channel 9 News two tables over? And the woman in the corner—where had Hadley seen her before?
The maître d’ stopped at a round table in the corner. He leaned down to light the candle in the center before pulling Hadley’s chair out for her.
“Thank you.” Hadley took her seat, Spencer sitting on one side of her and his boss, Carlos, sitting on the other.
After the maître d’ passed out menus, Spencer immediately set his aside and took Hadley’s hand in his. “Hadley, you look stunning tonight.”
Hadley’s cheeks flushed at the compliment. “Thank you.”
“I have to say, Spencer, you are a very lucky man,” Carlos said. “Hadley is every bit as beautiful as you claimed.”
Her blush deepened. Though she had met a few of Spencer’s coworkers once before, this was the first time she had met his boss.
One of the two clients sitting across from them nodded his approval. “How long have the two of you been together?”
“Long enough,” Spencer said. He squeezed her hand, his eyes meeting hers briefly before he continued. “Long enough for me to know I want to spend the rest of my life with her, just the two of us.”
The mention of a life together sent a bevy of butterflies fluttering in her stomach, though the wings turned sharp as she contemplated the end of Spencer’s sentence. She wanted to question him, but she felt too uncomfortable having such a private conversation in front of men she had just met; instead, she fixed a neutral smile on her face.
Carlos kept the conversation going. “Better be careful there, Spencer, or you’re going to find yourself spending all your money on diamonds and diapers.”
“Diamonds maybe,” Spencer countered. “I’m passing on the diapers.”
Hadley’s eyebrows drew together, and she pulled her hand free. In an attempt to hide her discomfort, she cast her gaze at her water glass, where a cloth napkin had been folded in the shape of a fan and placed inside. She removed it and laid it in her lap.
No one spoke until she looked up at Spencer. He put his hand on hers again. “You’d rather have diamonds than diapers, wouldn’t you?”
Trapped by the direct question, she said, “Actually, family is more important to me than jewels.”
Something flashed in Spencer’s green eyes. “I’m sorry, but children aren’t in my plans.”
Heat flushed up her neck and into her cheeks. She didn’t want to make a scene, so she lowered her voice. “Maybe we should talk about this later.”
“Hadley, you should know I’m not budging on this. I’ve given my life to my career. I don’t want to be a father. Ever.”
Shock, disbelief. Hadley absorbed both emotions, searching for some sense in Spencer’s words. He couldn’t mean it. Her focus solely on Spencer, she shook her head. “You never said anything before about—”
“I’m saying it now,” Spencer interrupted. “I don’t want children. If you do, then maybe we don’t have a future after all.”
“Maybe we don’t.” Tears burned in the back of her eyes, but Hadley refused to let them surface. She wouldn’t give these men the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Instead, she stood. “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go to the ladies’ room.”
With silence hanging over the table, Hadley headed for the privacy of the restroom walls.
* * *
A blue pickup, a white van, and three men standing between them. Three terrorists, JD corrected as he took position at the rear corner of the upscale hotel in northern Virginia.
JD glimpsed a sailboat on the Occoquan River a few hundred yards away. The white sails against the blue sky should have evoked a sense of calm, but if intel was right, calm wasn’t what these men had in mind. Rabell’s men.
JD knew the man’s file well. Over the past few years, Rabell had expanded his empire, his fingers reaching into all manner of chaos and terror. Arms deals, smuggling, terrorist attacks. Rabell’s attacks didn’t follow the usual pattern of religious extremism or fighting for political dominance. Instead, he attacked anyone who stood in his way. His primary goal: profit.
Noah Cabbott’s voice came over JD’s communication headset. “Any sign of the bomb?”
“Negative. It’s got to be inside the van,” JD said. “If they already had it planted, these guys would be long gone.”
“Maybe the bomb squad will get here in time after all.”
“What’s their ETA?”
“Fourteen minutes.”
One of the suspected terrorists made a sweeping motion with his hand, spurring another man into action. The youngest of the three crossed to the van parked to the right of the service entrance. He opened the back door while the other two men climbed into the pickup. A minute later, he reemerged and started toward their apparent escape vehicle.
JD’s hand flexed on the grip of his pistol. “They’re on the move.” He gave the make and model of the pickup, along with the license plate number.
“On my way.”
The truck engine started, but before the third man could reach the vehicle, Noah whipped around the corner behind the wheel of a full-sized SUV.
Panicked voices spoken in a foreign tongue echoed through the air.
JD lifted his gun and peeked around the corner of the wall where he had taken cover. “Federal agents!” he shouted.
An instant later, gunfire sounded, and plaster sprayed into the air as the bullets impacted the wall inches from JD’s head.
JD ducked and took aim. “Drop it!”
The warning fell on deaf ears, and JD fired, his bullet striking the man who had been caught in the open space between the van and the pickup.
Even as the truck went into motion and headed for the narrow piece of driveway between the SUV and the trees to Noah’s left, more bullets sprayed the air, this time originating from the passenger side.
Noah stepped out of his vehicle and used the door for cover. He squeezed off two shots, the splatter of blood on the windshield indicating he’d hit the driver.
The truck swerved, now h
He fired at Noah, forcing Noah to face the danger of the oncoming vehicle to avoid the spray of bullets.
With no angle for a shot, JD sprinted forward. The truck was within fifteen feet of Noah’s SUV when he fired, and his bullet hit the last terrorist in the chest.
“Clear!” JD shouted.
Noah abandoned his position and raced toward the line of trees bordering the service area parking lot. He ducked behind a thick oak as the truck smashed into Noah’s government-issued vehicle.
Metal crunched. Glass shattered. Debris exploded into the air.
“You okay?” JD shouted to Noah.
“Yeah. Check the two over there.” Noah approached the truck to evaluate the driver, and JD headed for the last man he had shot.
JD kicked the fallen pistol clear before leaning down to find a weak pulse on the man. After checking him for additional weapons, he confiscated a knife and a second gun. When he checked the other terrorist sprawled on the ground, he quickly ascertained that the man hadn’t survived his wounds. After removing the man’s weapons, he retrieved the keys to the van.
Noah stood beside the pickup, a shake of his head indicating the driver was also dead.
JD pulled out his cell phone and dialed. “I need an ambulance.” He proceeded to give their location before he hung up and looked at Noah. “You sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah.” Noah drew an unsteady breath when he glanced behind them at the two vehicles, their hoods crumpled, glass glittering on the surrounding pavement. “Thanks.”
JD nodded, heading for the van. He checked the doors for booby traps before unlocking the back. He pulled the doors open and stared. Plastic explosives filled the entire cargo compartment. The old-fashioned red numbers counted down: 13:44. 13:43. 13:42.
“What’s the ETA on the bomb squad?” JD called out.
Noah relayed the question to dispatch before responding. “Eight minutes.”
“Better tell them to step on it.”
Noah passed on the message, along with the request to evacuate the hotel through the front entrance. Noah rounded the back of the van and came to an immediate stop. “I guess intel was right on this one.”
“Yeah.” JD pushed the van’s back doors open wider. “But none of these guys were Rabell.”
“Which means he’ll try again.”
“Exactly.” JD let out a sigh. “The question is, Who is his target?”
* * *
Kelsey Cabbott waited by the phone, eager for the latest update. Her group at the CIA had identified the bomb threat in Occoquan, Virginia, and she had personally passed the information on to the FBI, knowing her husband would likely be one of the agents involved.
Sure enough, Noah had texted her shortly after the intel had been shared to let her know he had to go in for a weekend assignment. She looked at the clock. If the agency’s source was correct, the bomb would be going off any minute.
Kelsey had conducted the phone interview of Jenetta Blaese, the twenty-six-year-old woman who had called a tip in to the CIA hotline. Jenetta’s boyfriend, one of Rabell’s men, hadn’t known she was home when he’d gone over his plans with his two partners, plans that would destroy The Waterfront Resort and kill everyone inside.
Eli, a CIA analyst in Kelsey’s division, knocked on her open office door before walking inside. “Hey, Kelly. Any word yet from the FBI?”
“Not yet.” Even after a year working at headquarters, Kelsey’s coworkers still didn’t know her real name or the fact that she was married to an FBI agent. Safer that way, she reminded herself. After spending more than two years deep undercover, using an alias was now second nature. “Have the U.S. Marshals secured our source yet?”
“Yeah. They picked her up an hour ago.”
Jenetta had provided an incredible amount of detail, enough so that the agency had agreed to relocate her under the witness protection program to ensure her safety.
Kelsey’s phone rang. “Kelly Park.”
“Kelly, this is Burt Powell with the FBI. A bomb has been located at The Waterfront Resort in Occoquan.”
“Status?” Kelsey asked.
“Agents are on scene, three suspects have been contained, and the bomb squad is on the way.”
“You’ll keep me updated?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
The moment Kelsey hung up, Eli asked, “Well?”
Kelsey repeated the information.
“How much time is left?”
She looked at the clock. “Five minutes.”
“I hope the bomb squad is close.”
“Me too.” Kelsey’s gaze remained on the clock face. She sent up a silent prayer, frustrated that she was powerless to do anything besides watch the seconds go by and hope her husband stayed out of harm’s way.
Chapter 2
Hadley dabbed at the mascara pooling beneath her eyes, grateful the restroom was empty. She had been so certain this time would be different. Spencer moved in the inner circle of DC society and had an exciting job with a Capitol Hill PR firm. His manners were impeccable, not to mention he looked amazing in a tux.
When Spencer had first asked her out, she had been delighted to discover he shared her old-fashioned values, as well as her active lifestyle. How could she have known he didn’t care for children—something she loved so dearly?
For that matter, how had Spencer missed her desire to have a family of her own someday? She was a third-grade teacher, for heaven’s sake. And to break up with her in front of a table full of strangers . . . Apparently his PR skills needed some honing when it came to his personal life.
Hadley reached for another tissue only to find the dispenser on the bathroom counter empty. She pressed her lips together and dropped her black-streaked Kleenex into the trash can before turning toward one of the bathroom stalls.
She had been so excited about this dinner. Hadley had even suspected that after six months together, Spencer had been ready to explore a more permanent future. But instead of contemplating whether she wanted to someday have him put a ring on her finger, she was now left to pick up the shards of her heart after yet another breakup.
Drawing a deep breath, she straightened her shoulders and willed the tears to stop.
She hated crying. It wasn’t going to solve anything. Besides, it was better to know sooner than later that Spencer wasn’t the man of her future.
She retrieved a piece of toilet paper and dabbed her eyes again. The bathroom door opened, and she stayed where she was, opting to hide rather than face the new arrival.
“Anyone in here?” a woman’s voice called out over the sound of someone’s car alarm.
Hadley opened her mouth to answer, but no sound came out. She took a breath and tried to speak again, but before she could, the door closed, and she was left alone. The irritating shrill of the alarm continued, and Hadley tried to block it out.
She used the toilet paper to wipe the last of the mascara from her eyes before digging through her purse for her makeup. If she was going to walk back into that room full of strangers, she was determined to face them with her head held high.
* * *
JD watched the timer count down as the bomb techs took their first look at the device in the back of the van. 4:23. 4:22. 4:21.
Casey, the junior of the two bomb techs, pointed at a cluster of wires near the wheel well. “Am I seeing this right?”
“Yeah.” Leo turned to JD and Noah. “We’ve got a problem. This bomb has a dead man’s switch. We go to disarm it, and it explodes.”
“Then we need to move it away from the hotel.”
“Negative. It’s wired into the wheel well. If the tire turns, it goes off,” Leo said. “Best thing we can do is clear everything out of the blast radius and make sure the hotel is evacuated.”
“I’ll move the dumpsters,” Noah said.
“I’ll double-check the hotel.” JD glanced at the timer and hit the stopwatch function on his cell.
“The police are out front to make sure everyone stays in the front parking area where it’s safe,” Noah said.
