than anything else, those scratches brought home the vast difference between the spit-and-polish sergeant she’d once loved and the man in the other room. Her throat tight, Ellie turned to gather her purse and keys.
Jack flipped open the palm-size phone and punched a single key. One short beep indicated instant connection to OMEGA’s control center.
“Control, this is Renegade.”
OMEGA’s chief of communications responded with a cheerful, “Go ahead, Renegade.”
As little as a year ago, operatives at the headquarters stood by twenty-four hours a day to act as controllers for agents in the field. Mackenzie Blair’s improvements in field communications allowed for instant contact with headquarters and eliminated the need for controllers. Instead, Mackenzie and her communications techs monitored operations around the clock.
Mostly Mackenzie, Jack amended. The woman spent almost all her waking hours at OMEGA. She needed a life. Like Jack himself, he thought wryly.
“I’ve made contact with the subject.”
The terse report no doubt raised Mackenzie’s brows. After all, the background dossier she’d compiled had included a summation of Elena Maria Alazar’s affair with Sergeant Jack Carstairs.
“Tell Lightning I’m working the preliminary threat assessment. I’ll report back when I have a better feel for the situation.”
“Roger that, Renegade.”
After signing off, Jack slid the small, flat phone into his shirt pocket and hiked his foot up on a handy footstool. His movements were sure and smooth as he drew a blue steel short-barreled automatic from its ankle holster. He made sure the safety was on, released the magazine, checked the load and pushed the magazine back in place. A tug on the slide chambered a round. With the 9 mm tucked in its leather nest, he shook his pant leg over his boot and rapped on the door to Ellie’s room.
“Ready?”
Pulling on a ball cap in the same chili-pepper red as her top, she hooked a bag over her shoulder.
“Yes.”
Chapter 3
Outside, the July sun blazed down with cheerful brutality. Exiting the hotel, Ellie turned right toward Alamo Plaza. Jack walked beside her, his eyes narrowed against the glare as he scanned the crowd.
It included the usual assortment of vendors and tourists, with a heavy sprinkling of men and women in Air Force blue. They were basic trainees, released for a few precious hours from the nearby Lackland Air Force Base. With their buzz-cut hair and slick sleeves, they looked so young, so proud of their uniform. So unprepared for the crises that world events could plunge them into at any moment.
What they didn’t look like were riled-up patriots seeking vengeance on a historian who dared to question the courage of a local legend. Nonetheless, Jack didn’t relax his vigilance.
“What do you know about the Alamo?” Ellie asked as they approached the mission.
“Not much more than what I absorbed from the John Wayne movie of the same name.”
And in the data Mackenzie had pulled off the computers. Jack kept silent about the background file. Right now, he was more interested in Ellie’s version of the Alamo’s history.
“It’s one of a string of five missions located along the San Antonio River, founded in the early 1700s,” she informed him. “Originally designated Mission Antonio de Valero, it didn’t become known as the Alamo until much later.”
With a sweep of her arm, she gestured to the adobe structure dominating the wide plaza ahead.
“There it is. The shrine of Texas liberty.”
The distinctive building stirred an unexpected dart of pride in Jack. As a symbol of independence, its image had been seared into his consciousness. Of course, all those John Wayne movies might have had something to do with the sensation.
“Originally the mission compound sat by itself, well across the river from the settlement of San Antonio de Bexar,” Ellie related. “Now, of course, the city’s grown up all around it.”
They wove a path through sightseers snapping photo after photo. A red-faced, grossly overweight candidate for a stroke backed up to frame a shot, banging into several fellow tourists in the process. Swiftly, Jack took Ellie’s elbow to steer her around the obstacle.
Just as swiftly, he released her.
Well, hell! Here it was, going on nine years since he’d last touched this woman. Yet one glide of his fingers along her smooth, warm skin set off a chain reaction that started in his arm and ended about six inches below his belt.
For the first time since Lightning’s call some hours ago, Jack conceded maybe Eduardo Alazar had reason to be concerned. The fires weren’t out. Not entirely.
Jack had been so certain the embarrassment he’d caused Ellie and himself had doused any residual sparks. The sudden flare of heat in his gut screamed otherwise. Clenching his jaw against the unwelcome sensation, he tried to concentrate on Ellie’s recitation.
“A series of droughts and epidemics decimated the mission’s religious population,” she related. “In 1793 the structure was turned over to civil authorities. At that point, Spanish cavalry from Alamo de Parras in Mexico took occupancy, and the fort became known at the Pueblo del Alamo. When the Spanish were driven out of Mexico, Mexican troops moved in. About the same time, the Mexican government opened the province of Texas to foreign settlers.”
“Foreign meaning Americans?”
“Americans and anyone else who would put down roots and, hopefully, help stem attacks on settlements by the Commanches and Apaches. Given the proximity to the States, though, it’s only natural that most immigrants were Americans. Led by Stephen Austin, they flooded in and soon outnumbered the Mexican population five to one. It was only a matter of time until they decided they wanted out from under Mexican rule.”
“Those pesky Texans,” Jack drawled.
“Actually,” she replied with a smile, “they called themselves Texians then. Or Tejanos. But they were pretty pesky. Tensions escalated, particularly after General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna seized control of the Mexican government and abrogated the constitution. In the process, he also abrogated most of the rights of the troublesome immigrants. There were uprisings all over Mexico—and outright rebellion here in Texas.
“After several small skirmishes, the Americans declared their independence and sent a small force to seize the Alamo. When Santa Anna vowed to march his entire army north and crush the rebellion, the tiny garrison sent out a plea for reinforcements. William Travis, Jim Bowie and Davy Crockett, among others, answered the call.”
The names sounded like a roll call of America’s heroes. Jim Bowie, the reckless adventurer as quick with his wit as with his knife. Davy Crockett, legendary marksman and two-term member of Congress from Tennessee. William Barrett Travis, commander of the Texas militia who drew a line in the sand with his saber and asked every Alamo defender willing to stand to the end to cross it. Supposedly, all but one did so.
Those who did met the fate Ellie related in a historian’s
