Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,124

even. Had Walker known this Jordanian prince and his family? Was that why he seemed ready to explode out of his chair? Or did he think everyone gathered here today would turn on him, accuse him of murdering those children? Betray him like the rest of the world had?

Once again, Persia forced her attention back to the clip, where nothing, as yet, looked out of place. But it was akin to watching the Titanic. She knew how this movie would end.

At last, the marriage procession arrived at the far side of the wedding tent. A quiet, pleasant murmur rippled through the audience when both the bride’s and groom’s parents and grandparents stepped onto the lavish Persian rug. This was an important day in their lives too. Rather, it would have been.

Next, the smiling bride and handsome groom entered their wedding tent. Her highness, Princess Mari Hajjar, and Prince Jamalud Khalid. Instead of a traditional Muslim wedding, this one was thoroughly modern European. All the men in the wedding party wore tuxedos; the women wore long gowns. The bride’s beaded gown looked to be straight out of Paris.

Three little girls in long flowing, pink gowns danced around the group, twirling like ballerinas, as they tossed flower petals over their heads. The camera panned quickly to the right, then just as quickly back to the wedding tent. People were smiling. The music was perfect—

Until an explosive shock wave shook the scene.

Interestingly, where most amateurs would’ve dropped their cameras and run for their lives, whoever was behind this lens zoomed in on the fire and carnage. Where once a regal wedding tent had stood, now thick black smoke filled the air. The cameraman, or woman, panned out and captured the entire scene of mayhem. Then zoomed back in, onto the charred, bloodied faces of those screaming and crying and dying.

“Who filmed this mess?” Walker asked.

“No one knows,” Persia replied. She’d reviewed this clip briefly when he’d been sleeping, but it still turned her stomach. Those poor people. Those dear sweet little ballerinas—all gone. “Admiral Pickering claims he received the video from an anonymous source. There was no name or note with it when it arrived, no fingerprints.” Or so he said…

“Did NCIS investigate this, too? They should have. Do you know? Did they go to Jordan? Did they perform autopsies?”

She nodded, wishing there was a way to calm his rising panic. “That’s what Pickering said, yes.”

“But you don’t believe him.” Walker’s vehemence rippled through his words. His lips were pinched and his jaw tight, as if he were biting back the words he didn’t dare speak. If eyes truly were the windows to a man’s soul, he was in Hell right now. Struggling to make sense of terrorist acts.

She heard the question he’d really asked. So she gave him the answer he needed. “To be honest, LT, I don’t believe or trust anything Admiral Pickering or NCIS said or did during your trial.” She nodded at the images frozen on the wall. “This was a despicable act of terror. If NCIS suspected any American was involved… if they lied and said they investigated the deaths of these poor people when they didn’t—”

“I’ll have their asses,” Alex spat. “Senator Sullivan is already backtracking everything they said they did.”

Walker’s head snapped to Alex. “Sullivan?”

“Sullivan’s one of the good guys,” Alex replied. “You oughta know that.”

Interestingly, Alex stretched one long arm along the back of Walker’s chair. Which Walker had instantly sensed. He was on the balls of his feet, once again ready to run or fight.

Until then, Persia hadn’t fully realized how deeply he’d suffered from the betrayal and lies, how much he distrusted others. How utterly devastating to know you’d been falsely accused by the command you’d fought for and were prepared to die for, the leaders who should’ve had your back. Then convicted and disavowed? She already knew that the decision to flee the country he loved had devastated him.

At last, the tight cords in his neck relaxed. He swallowed and told Alex, “I do know that. He set me up inside Fort Campbell. Gave me clearance to fly and a sound way forward.”

And suddenly, whatever war Walker thought he was fighting, was over. His Adam’s apple bobbed with relief. He licked his bottom lip and sent her the tiniest nod.

The compulsion to run to him, to run her fingers through his hair, to hold him close, and kiss him and tell him that she’d always have his back, nearly swamped Persia’s common