In a way, the men were all the same, their faces and ethnicities blending into one archetype of aggression and effectiveness. And if these assignments listed were true, she’d read about the deaths, some of which had been defined to the international public as “natural causes” or “accidents” or “counter-insurgent attacks.” Other targets she thought were still alive…but perhaps that was just a case of the worldwide news machine not yet catching up with reality?
Was it possible this was legit?
Sitting back, she took a drink from her now room-temperature Snapple, and tried on for size the concept that maybe, just maybe, this was real.
Okay, assuming it was, Matthias’s paranoia didn’t seem unjustified…and it would also explain why he’d been on the run the night she’d hit him with her car. Also might explain why the identity he’d had was someone else’s— and the reason that even with his amnesia, he’d had sensed that the house at the address on his driver’s license hadn’t been his own.
And maybe this was what was behind him killing that man down in the basement of the Marriott. If Matthias had been part of this organization—and this level of access seemed to suggest he most certainly was—then it made sense if he were on his way out of it that someone would be sent to kill him.
And he’d have to defend himself…
Going through the dossiers a third time, she noted that each one had a red, green, or orange check by the name—
Jim Heron was among the men. Which somehow wasn’t a surprise.
And he had an orange marking. Which, assuming the traffic-light connection was correct, meant he wasn’t alive, but he wasn’t dead either.
Interesting.
Continuing on through the listings, she gasped. About seven men down, she found a red-marked name with the notation,
It was the dead guy. From the Marriott.
Who Matthias had shot.
And look…here was another. An orange mark by the name, last contact in Caldwell, New York, twenty-four hours ago.
What did she want to bet that he was a second man sent for Matthias?
Mels took another hit of the Snapple and grimaced at the sickly sweet taste. As her heart started to beat hard, she knew it wasn’t from the caffeine.
What if it had been real, she thought again. All of it…
Going back to the directory, she carefully reviewed the other files again and started to piece together the structure of the organization, including its recruiting strategy and the way its funds flow worked. There was nothing about where its headquarters were, or what kind of administrative support they had, or exactly how its “clients” knew to contact them.
Was this organization affiliated with the government? Was it private sector?
She grabbed a pen and scribbled some notes on a pad.
Given the identities of the targets that had been effectively eliminated, she was struck with a chilling sense that this shadow organization—which had no logo, no title even, on any of the documents—went very high up. Those who had been taken out were largely political figures overseas, suggesting an international agenda far too broad-based to be generated by a private citizen, a common-interest group, or even a large, multi-national corporation.
This was the business of a whole nation.
And with her knowledge of current events over the last three years, it was pretty clear that the exterminations forwarded America’s position across the globe.
Tapping her pen on the desk, she thought of other special ops groups, like the Navy SEALs, for example—or the Rangers. Those men were heroes, legitimate soldiers who functioned within rules of engagement.
This network of killers was completely outside of that.
The final spreadsheet was probably the most chilling one: a list of all the missions over the previous decade —and the dead, including a column for collateral damage.
Not a lot of that. Not much at all. And no women or children—at least, not that were listed.
Considering how this operation worked, she had a feeling the latter was not the result of any moral objection, but rather out of a directive to stay under the radar.
And again, for the men who had been killed…she knew ninety percent of the names, and they were evil…pure evil, the kind who slaughtered their own citizens or headed up brutal regimes or set in motion events of horrific proportions.
She imagined that the few she didn’t recognize were of the same ilk.
This group of exterminators had done good work in a bad way, she supposed: Hard to argue that their efforts weren’t justified, given the résumés of the targets.
It was like her father’s ethos on a global scale…
Mels returned once more to the dossiers.
Matthias was nowhere to be found in the pictures or the names.
But she had a chilling suspicion as to the why.
He was the basis of it all, the driver. Wasn’t he.
Rubbing her face, she cursed into her palms.
He had given her this to prove himself—and as much as she wanted to find some lie in and among the files, some fiction that revealed itself in contradictions among the nitty-gritty, too much of it was verifiable when it came to current events. She’d seen the articles, the newscasts, the commentaries around these deaths for herself over the years.
This was real….
This
Chapter Fifty-one
Across the street from Mels’s house, Matthias stood in the lee of a large maple, arms crossed over his chest, feet planted a hip’s distance apart.
He could see her in the upstairs dormer, at her desk, her head bent, her brows down hard in the light shining from the ceiling above her. From time to time she eased back in whatever chair she was sitting in and stared straight ahead—then she returned to her laptop.
She was going through everything.
His job was done.
So why didn’t he feel at peace? Surely this was his prove-it-or-lose-it crossroads, this confession through her that was going to go out to the world? On that single flashdrive, he’d undone his years of work, sending his organization into a free fall that was going to wipe it out: The operatives would scatter for cover. The politicians would go ultra-earnest and disavow all knowledge. A congressional or senatorial special committee would be convened. And at the end of countless taxpayer dollars and months of inquiry, the matter would be closed.
And then another arm of the operation would be started by someone else: Dirty work was still going to be sought by this otherwise lawful nation, because sometimes you had to sink to the lower level of your enemies and play ball in their sewer.
That was reality.
So why the hell was he not, at this very moment, dragging himself to Manhattan, getting his cache, and hitting the road for parts and countries unknown?
It wasn’t Mels.
Leaving her was the death of him in a lot of ways, but he was okay with that. His disappearing was the right
