The Monroe Decision Read online

  * * *

  Sarah faced Aaron and she leaned away with her back against the bulkhead.

  “Aaron, what did you do in Trieste today?” Sarah asked cautiously.

  “Nothing. I already told you not to get too concerned about what I do on the job. It’s not a big deal.”

  Sarah’s suspicions raged. He keeps me in the dark about what he does for the government. Sometimes he disappears and he won’t tell me where he’s been. He won’t let me come with him when he is ‘working.’ And he was in Trieste when this thing happened. It all added up. “Oh my god, Aaron. Was that you? Did you do that?” Her lips trembled.

  “Did I do what?”

  “Did you kill those people?”

  Aaron averted his gaze. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said.

  “Aaron, look at me.” She leaned toward him and touched his arm. “What did you do today when you were in Trieste?”

  He turned back to face her. “Sarah, c’mon honey. I just met with someone there.”

  “Who did you meet with and what was the meeting about?” she asked. Her lips still quivered.

  “Okay. If it will make you feel better, I’ll tell you, but it’s no big deal.” He placed his hand on the back of his neck and massaged it, then pursed his lips and exhaled. “I met with a man who works for the Italian Department of State and he just gave me some information about a treaty with a nation that I can’t name. I’m reviewing it for specific security concerns and I cannot tell you what that is about, either.” Aaron turned his gaze away from her again.

  He’s lying to me! She felt a tear in her eye and wiped it away with the back of her hand. Shit! He’s lying to me. He killed those people. She faced Aaron. “You’re lying!” she blurted.

  * * *

  Aaron puffed up his cheeks and let out a long blast of air as he unbuckled his seat belt and stood. He stepped up to the cabin door and said to the crew, “We need to have some privacy back here for a little while. Do you mind if I close the door to the cockpit?”

  “Not a problem, sir. If we need to come back there, I’ll announce something over the cabin speakers and give you two a few moments.”

  Aaron returned to his seat and reached to hold Sarah’s hand. She pulled away.

  Dammit! If I don’t tell her, I’m going to lose her. If I do tell her, she may leave me anyway. So, this is it. This is the point of no return. He leaned closer to her with his hands clasped together and his elbows leaned on his lap.

  “Honey, there was always going to be a day that I would have to tell you this so it might as well be now.” He took a deep breath. “Yes. I killed those people.” He paused. Sarah’s eyebrows slanted upward and her eyes glistened. “This is what I do.”

  Sarah inched closer to the bulkhead, as far away from him as she could get. “What are you? Some kind of assassin?”

  “Sarah. Please don’t be afraid of me. It’s not what you think.”

  Sarah’s lower lip trembled. “Then what is it, Aaron? You just admitted that you killed those people. What should I think?”

  Aaron inched closer. “Sarah, I work for a covert government organization. I’m not a murderer, honey. I’m a soldier. I only do what missions my superiors assign to me and nothing I do is illegal.”

  Sarah’s gaze was fixed on him but she remained silent.

  “Honey, say something, please,” pleaded Aaron.

  “I don’t know what to say. This is all a little overwhelming.” She wiped a tear from her eye and sniffled. “I thought I knew you.”

  “You do know me.” Aaron reached over and took hold of Sarah’s hand.

  She pulled away again. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Honey, I’m the same person I was an hour ago, and I’m still in love with you. You have to trust me.”

  Sarah crossed her arms and scrunched up her forehead. “I need some time to process this, Aaron. I can’t believe you killed those people.” She turned away from Aaron and stared out the window.

  Sarah sat quietly with her arms and legs crossed during the remaining ninety minutes that it took for the Citation to reach the Azores. Aaron often glanced at her and thought that she looked contemplative.

  “Is there anything I can say to make you feel better?” Aaron asked as he felt the plane begin to descend.

  “I just need to think,” she replied.

  After a two-hour stop at Joao Paulo airport in Ponta Delgado in the Azores islands for refueling, the Citation continued its transatlantic flight. Aaron sat next to her with his arm around Sarah, who rested her head on his shoulder. He slept for the entire flight, only waking as the pilot started the descent into Newark Liberty International Airport in New Jersey. As he opened his eyes, Aaron asked, “Did you sleep well?”

  “Not a single minute,” replied Sarah.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CENTREVILLE, VIRGINIA

  MONDAY, JUNE 6TH

  4:20 P.M.

  David Singer, CEO of Coleman-Brown Industries, hopped out of the passenger door of the black Cadillac Escalade and stiffened his collar to the wind and rain. He was thin and of average height with a full head of gray hair kept dry under an umbrella held by his driver. They entered the main door of the eight story shaded-glass building that was headquarters of his global defense industry.

  Singer had just returned to Washington-Dulles International Airport on the company’s private Gulfstream from a meeting with his West Coast managers in the Los Angeles office. Merideth Utley, his thirty-year-old executive assistant, met him at the door. “Good afternoon, Mr. Singer. How was your flight today, sir?”

  “In this weather? Hell, it was a nightmare. Then add to that rush hour traffic. Shit, sixty-six is gridlocked and Lee Highway was no better.” He handed his briefcase to Merideth and brushed a few droplets of rainwater off his slacks. “Unfortunately, the road delay gave me enough time to read The Washington Post all the way through to the sports section and the Nationals pitching situation. What a disaster. If I owned that team I’d be cleaning house on the coaching staff.”

  “Yes, sir,” replied the aide as she punched the elevator call button. “Somebody needs to be held accountable.”

  They stepped into the executive elevator and the doors closed.

  “Dave, there’s a breaking story on CNN that I know you would be interested in.” Merideth pressed the call button for the top floor. “Apparently, several terrorists were killed in Italy, including one of ISIS’s field leaders. And it seems as though there were a lot of children somehow involved in it. It’s all pretty odd. The news said something about it being a face-off between two rival terrorist groups.”

  “I’m not sure I buy into that explanation. The rival groups have been cooperating lately. What would cause that to change?”

  Singer and Merideth stepped quickly through the elevator doors and through an outer office to a chorus of “Good afternoon, Mr. Singer.” His private office had a stunning view of the sun setting over the Blue Ridge Mountains to the west.

  Singer walked directly to his desk. Before his arrival, Merideth had turned on the large flat-screen television and dialed up CNN. Anchor Amy Winston reported the same information Merideth had described with additional information about the children taken into custody. She handed off the report to the on-scene reporter in Italy.

  An attractive blonde wearing a network-embroidered top made by North Face stood in front of the municipal police station in Trieste. It was dark there and the scene was lit up with bright lights. “We have just learned that the children have been talking to authorities. According to my source inside the Italian Carabinieri, those young girls are all runaways, and they were all on their way to Syria. They have been recruited by ISIS to join the terrorist group as, in their words, brides for the brave fighters for Islam. And the young boys, well, they have been recruited to join ISIS as fighters. Amy, some of the children are as young as eight years old.”

  The anchor asked, “What will happen to the children now?”

  “Y
es, well, the children will be returned to their homes, but the question is will they return and try again to join ISIS,” replied the blonde reporter.

  “Well, that’s one question. The other question is what will happen now if this is a growing civil war between rival terrorist factions,” stated Amy.

  Singer picked up the remote and turned off the television. “Dammit!” He tossed the remote on the desk.

  “Well, this is a little disconcerting,” Merideth said as she took a seat on the other side of his desk from where Singer was seated.

  “No kidding, Sherlock. This is more than disconcerting! This could completely screw up plans that have been in the works for several years.” Singer drummed his fingers on the desk. “We need to determine if what’s happening in Italy right now will have any impact on our business plan. We’ve spent a lot of time and resources positioning ourselves to be one of the prime government contractors in this fight against terrorism. Like I said, I’m not sure I agree with this idea of a rift within ISIS, but if there is, we need to be ready to respond with a business strategy.”

  “Yes, Dave.”

  “Merideth, schedule a meeting and send an e-mail to the board of directors and tell them that we need to discuss this development. I also our want Europe account manager to put together a team to gather intelligence, plan a strategy and, if necessary, develop an action plan with assignments and accountability to include who in the government we need to talk to and what will be our message.”

  “I’ll get right on it.” Merideth stood and closed the door to his office.

  “How much time do we have?” asked Singer.

  “You have to leave in about thirty minutes to join your wife at your son’s baseball game.”

  “That’s all?”

  “Afraid so.” She drew the blinds closed and unbuttoned her blouse.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  LIBERTY INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT

  NEWARK, NEW JERSEY

  TUESDAY, JUNE 7TH

  12:20 A.M.

  The Citation landed and taxied to the Signature Flight Support facility for private aircraft. Aaron and Sarah cleared customs as employees of the facility unloaded their baggage and delivered it to the lobby. They strolled through the lobby to meet their Uber driver and found him near the front door holding a sign that read Monroe. Aaron looked around the terminal and chuckled; other than a skeleton crew of Signature employees, they were the only ones in the lobby. Aaron made eye contact with Sarah. She smiled and placed two fingers over her mouth.

  “I’m Aaron Monroe.” He shook the hand of the Uber driver.

  “Welcome back to America. Let me help you with your bags.”

  Aaron took hold of Sarah’s hand. That’s progress. She didn’t pull back.

  They followed their driver to his silver Ford Escape parked just outside the lobby door and he loaded their luggage. In the middle of the night, traffic was very light on the Pulaski Highway and through the Holland Tunnel. It took less than thirty minutes to reach Sarah’s condominium on the West Side Highway in the Tribeca neighborhood of New York City.

  As the Uber driver slowed to a stop on Laight Street, Aaron peered out the window at the black marble façade with subdued lighting that was the entrance to Sarah’s New York property. Once a home to a worldwide advertising agency, the twelve-story building had been vacated after the World Trade Center was attacked in 2001 and converted into eighteen luxury condominiums.

  The driver stepped out and opened the back hatch and unloaded the baggage and placed them on the curb. Aaron gave the driver his credit card and watched as he swiped his payment. Then he turned to face Sarah who was facing the entrance. She turned toward Aaron and her upwardly slanted eyebrows and slight frown changed to a smile.

  “It’s good to be home,” she said.

  The doorman, Roger, wore a conservative blue suit and hurried out to meet them. He had a genuine smile with brilliant white teeth. “Good evening, Ms. Nejem. Did you enjoy your trip?” he asked as he took hold of her roller bags.

  “Yes, Roger, thank you. We had a wonderful and,” she turned her gaze away from Aaron, “a very interesting trip.”

  Aaron pulled his bags as the trio walked through the doorway and into the spacious, dark mahogany, wood-decorated atrium together.

  “’Spectin’ some hot weather next few days, ma’am. Hoping we get us a cool breeze off the Hudson to keep us comfortable.”

  They stopped at the elevator. Roger pressed the call button and the doors opened immediately.

  “Well, welcome home, Ms. Nejem,” said the doorman.

  “Thank you, Roger. It is good to be home.” Sarah smiled as her gaze wandered toward the floor.

  Aaron and Sarah stepped into the elevator, and after the doors closed and the elevator started moving to the ninth floor, Sarah turned toward Aaron. Her eyes were watery.

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about you, and what you do, and it makes me uncomfortable. But I also know that I love you very much and I want to be with you. So I hope that you can understand this is a lot to handle.”

  Aaron put his arms around Sarah and held her as tight as he could without hurting her. He kissed her, then said, “I’ve been thinking, too. I’ll quit if that’s what you want me to do.”

  The door opened to the ninth floor.

  Sarah replied, “I would never ask you to do that.”

  They stepped off the elevator and walked a short distance down the lush, carpeted hallway to her apartment. The door to the apartment opened to a sitting area with the kitchen on the left. Sarah’s decorating style was best described as modern: clean lines, chrome and glass tables, leather chairs, and a square walnut table in the center of the room where an iMac sat. The eighteen-foot-high walls were painted a rose-colored off-white and the floors were solid mahogany.

  Aaron rolled their bags inside the door and placed them next to a coat closet. He placed the box of glassware Sarah had purchased in Venice on the walnut table and set his backpack next to it. He stepped into the living area and collapsed into a black leather chair. Sarah faced Aaron seated in a chair next to him with her elbow on the armrest and her head rested in her palm. She pulled one leg under the other and exhaled.

  “Well, we have about four hours until the sun comes up. What would you like to do?” asked Aaron.

  “I’m tired. Are you?” replied Sarah.

  “Not at all. I slept for almost the entire flight.”

  “I suppose the best way to deal the jet lag is to power through the day and not go to sleep ’til tonight.”

  “That’s my plan,” Aaron answered.

  “I’m feeling pretty grungy,” Sarah stood. “I think I’ll shower first, then unpack.”

  “Sounds like a great idea. Can I join you?” Aaron asked.

  Sarah smiled and walked toward the master bedroom suite, undressing as she walked.

  * * *

  After their extended shower together, Aaron put on gray jersey knit shorts and a worn University of Wisconsin football training jersey, a leftover from the days when he played wide receiver there. Aaron watched Sarah as she pulled on black yoga shorts and a purple, laced-up halter top. They unpacked their suitcases and placed a large pile of clothes that needed to be washed on the floor in the utility room, then met in the kitchen.

  Aaron picked up his backpack from the walnut table as Sarah walked past and patted him on his backside. As she did so she said, “I’m going to brew a pot of regular coffee. I imagine we’ll be drinking a lot of it today.”

  Aaron turned toward her, nodded, and smiled as he placed the contents of his backpack on the table: two Sig Sauer M11 pistols with sound suppressors and clips, back holsters, a road map of Italy, a half empty bottle of water, and the leather pouch he had taken from Fadi Asadel.

  “Do the handguns make you nervous?” Aaron asked. “If they do, I’ll get them out of sight.”

  She bit her lip and hesitated before she answered, “No, not really. I’ve just never held a gun and, w
ell, I just thought about what you just did with those and, well, I guess I don’t know what to think.”

  “I’ll put them away.”

  “No. Don’t.” Sarah started the grinder on the coffee maker and the motor roared for a few seconds as she walked over to where Aaron stood. “Are they loaded?”

  “No. That wouldn’t be safe. I only load the clips when I need to use them.” Aaron watched as Sarah studied the two pistols. She’s very curious. That’s interesting.

  Aaron opened the leather pouch.

  “What’s that?” asked Sarah as she leaned into him.

  He put his arm around her and drew her closer to him. “This was carried by one of my targets in Trieste.”

  “Targets,” replied Sarah. She paused and turned to face him. “You depersonalize them by calling them targets.”

  “It’s not personal.” Aaron reached in the pouch and pulled out a binder and a computer thumb drive and placed them on the table. “It can never be personal.”

  Aaron went to the kitchen for coffee and Sarah picked up the binder. “Can I look at this?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen what’s in there yet.” He returned with two cups and set them on the table.

  Sarah handed the binder to Aaron and he opened it up. “Shit, it’s all in Arabic.”

  “Well isn’t it convenient for you that I just happen to be able to read Arabic.” She picked up her cup of coffee and edged closer to him.

  Aaron set the binder on the table and inserted a thumb drive into the iMac. “Let’s see what this is first.” The computer came to life and a few documents opened up and they too were in Arabic.

  Sarah looked over his shoulder and studied one document for a few minutes. “Let me have the mouse.” She moved her hand over the mouse and Aaron stepped aside.

  “Hm. This looks like some sort of military order from someone in a high ISIS leadership position.” She scrolled a little further down the document. “This is disgusting.” She turned her head and Aaron made eye contact with her.