Shadow Agenda: An Action Suspense Thriller Read Online Free Page A

chapel was small and plain, a long aisle from the door separating the eighteen rows of nearly empty wooden pews; it had whitewashed walls and a terracotta tile floor, beams of light streaming in from a pair of stained glass windows on the west wall as the attendees listened to the pastor at the pulpit.
    Two dozen people in mourning divided themselves between the first three rows on each side of the aisle, a mixture of men and women, one child, a boy of about ten.
    Joe Brennan had been quiet throughout the short service, not meeting with the widow and son when he arrived or offering condolences; he knew they didn’t want to hear from another former SEAL. He rocked on his heels slightly, hands held together uncomfortably in front him as the pastor spoke.
    If it hadn’t been for his time in the service, they probably would state, Bobby would still be alive. It had been his widow Bea’s mantra since Bobby’s suicide ten days earlier, and it was probably true. Brennan turned his head perhaps five degrees, searching her out with his peripheral vision. She wasn’t crying, but her bottom lip pouted out slightly and her eyes were dark, bottomless wells of sorrow. He looked away quickly and took a sharp breath, surprised after so many years and so many missions at how upset he felt.
    It wasn’t that Brennan felt guilty; when they’d served together in Iraq, he recognized right away that there was something a little different about Bobby, that the stress of being over there longer than the rest had unhinged him a little. He took chances he shouldn’t have, played the hero when it meant endangering others. He’d barely made it through the nerve-shattering Al Basrah assignment. Bobby always had a look, too, a certain nervous tension, a clench-jawed attempt at looking gung ho that shouldn’t have fooled anyone.
    But it did.
    Brennan was never certain when it happened, or how a SEAL with a half-dozen years of experience suddenly lost his nerve. It was before Al Basrah, he knew that. It had just been the straw that broke the camel’s back. But while others had missed the signs and always put their confidence in their teammate, Brennan had spent many dangerous days in the Gulf watching Bobby out of the corner of his eye.
    Knowing something was wrong and being able to do basically nothing to help had worn on him; so no amount of reminiscing could make Brennan feel any less remorseful, any less sad that a good man had died young, taken away by the impact of the Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder that had plagued him for the better part of a decade.
    The priest was saying something about God’s plan and how Bobby’s decision was surely part of it that mere mortals just couldn’t understand. Brennan tuned it out again and stared at his shoes for a few moments. It might have been comforting to his family, who were devout, but it wasn’t what Brennan wanted to hear. God hadn’t taken Bobby for any purpose; Bobby’s death was a product of the selfish detachment that came with leadership, sent into places to see and do things no good man should ever see or do. Brennan clung to the knowledge that at least they’d made a difference; at least, he knew, Bobby’s legacy wasn’t lacking.
    “You okay?”
    He turned his head slightly and looked up. Callum McLean had spoken softly, tactfully. He was a large man with a blond crewcut. McLean was a good five inches taller than Brennan, six-five in his bare feet, a huge-chested, broad shouldered tank. They’d served together for nearly twenty years; McLean was the kind of team member who kept people alive with his mere presence. Brennan had always tried to tell himself that if Callum was the most talented and strongest guy he knew, he at least had the advantage of speed… but the truth was, Callum was faster than him, too.
    “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay,” Brennan said.
    “You don’t sound it. Or look it. You know we couldn’t have done anything about this, right?”
    “Huh? Sure, yeah.” But