“It doesn’t matter what you were told,” Bridger interrupted. “The target wasn’t in the vehicle and you knew it…but you ordered the kill anyway.” He fought the urge to swear. “Whose order was it to follow through?”
Matt shook his head, his face puzzled. “I don’t follow you.”
“Were you obeying the agency’s order or the cartel’s?”
Matt’s eyes widened and he came to his feet. A vein in his forehead popped out and his face began to redden. “You’re over the line, Bridger!”
Bobby snorted and gave him a sardonic smile. “This is Colombia, Matt. There are no lines except what people snort.”
Matt set his jaw and squared his shoulders. “Pack your shit, cowboy. You’re history.”
Bobby slowly nodded. “Good luck finding another operator willing to work with you.” He reached out and slapped at Mauk’s shoulder. “Grab your gear. We’re out of here.”
Mauk growled at the CIA station chief as he scooped up his duffle. “I will catch you later.”
Lisa shook her head as she spun and fell into step behind the men. Matt stiffened. “Where the hell are you going?”
She spun and flipped him the bird. “I go where they go.”
Gregg sighed and shut the lid on his Fieldworks FW-7500 computer. “You coming?” he asked Rob.
Wolcott slid off of the cooler he was sitting on and held the door for DJ. “Something tells me we’re going to play hell filing for unemployment.”
“Where do you think you’re going?” Matt barked.
Rob spun and gave him a shrug. “What can I say? We’re a team.”
Matt marched to the door and jerked it open. “You’ll never work in intelligence again, Bridger! You hear me? You’ll never…” his voice trailed off as he watched the last of them climb into the helicopter.
“Fuck me.” He slammed the door. “That’s my chopper.”
1
Present Day, Wood County, TX
“Have a seat.” Sheriff Scott Evans pointed to the chair and set his coffee cup down on the table. “You acknowledge that you’re here of your own volition, correct?”
Bobby Bridger pulled the metal chair out and sat in it slowly, his eyes taking in the video camera mounted near the ceiling. “Is this really necessary Scott? You know—”
“That was a yes or no question.” Scott dropped the folder on the table and stared at Bobby stoically.
Bridger inhaled deeply and blew it out slowly. “Yes, I acknowledge that I came in of my own volition.” He returned the stare and watched as Scott sat down across from him. He noted that he didn’t leave his sidearm outside of the interrogation room and wasn’t sure how to read that fact. Was Scott comfortable enough with him that he knew he could skip protocol or did he honestly feel that he was a threat and that he might need the weapon?
Bobby decided not to test him to find out.
Scott went through the documents in the folder and slowly shook his head. “You left a heap of bodies in your wake, son.” He looked up at Bridger and leaned back in the chair. “You mind telling me just what in the living hell happened out there?”
Bobby sighed and lowered his eyes. “That’s why I’m here, Scott.”
“Then you might want to get to it.” He reached across the table and clicked the recorder on. “Let’s start at the beginning.”
North Texas, Six Weeks Prior
It had been like any other Tuesday. The winter winds were blowing, the sun was shining, the birds were doing bird things and Bobby Bridger was enjoying being back in civilization.
He had accepted a position with Baba Yaga International, working with old friends and making new ones. He was actually happy to be out in the world again, instead of hiding in a hole in the ground and being paranoid.
He had every right to be paranoid. The work he had done in the past had painted a bright red target on his back and he knew that there were more than a few entities out there with the same far reaching grip as the very government he had worked for. He had done his best to keep his head down and stay hidden. Out of sight meant out of mind.
Until it didn’t.
He had been talked into doing some internet recon work on various patriot groups. His actions online brought him back to center stage, and he got pulled into a mess that he almost couldn’t get out of. Thank god for friends…no. That wasn’t quite right. Thank god for brothers.
But here he was. Back in the suck. Doing the jobs that nobody wanted because they needed to be done. And being paid handsomely for it.
Bridger stepped into the main room of the earth-bermed bunker he had inherited from a teammate and walked around the table saw still standing in the middle of the room. He placed his coffee cup on a sawhorse and swiped dirt from the lone chair. Since the compound had come under fire, he had a list of repairs as long as his arm to bring the place up to his standards, but work kept pulling him away. The needed remodel was a perfect excuse to take a couple of weeks off and get the job finished.
He sighed as he sat back and opened a newspaper. He scanned the headlines then jumped to the back pages and the funnies. He had just started reading Garfield when his phone chirped.
Bobby snapped the paper shut and glared at the small black device. “Who the hell?” He snatched it up and checked the number.
Punching the green button, he scowled as he answered. “What do you want, Slip?”
“You got an urgent call here, bro. Want me to patch it through?”
Bobby sighed. How urgent could it be? “Sure.” He leaned back in the chair and waited while Gregg did Slippy stuff. He wasn’t expecting the voice that came across the line.
“Bridger? Is that you?”
Bobby sat up and blinked, his mind unsure he was hearing correctly. “Mauk?”
“Thank god.” David sighed heavily and Bobby could feel his anxiety through the line.
“What’s going on?”
Mauk hesitated and Bobby
