“We don’t know for sure. Apparently, introductions were finished before the device went active. I have to assume, though, that it’s Gail Bonneville, the private investigator who visited Frank Schuler in prison. It doesn’t appear as if they were friends.”
Leger laughed. “Hardly. It looks like the husband was ready to throw her out on her ass.” He glanced through the pages one more time with an expression of mild amusement. “All these years of stonewalling, and it all comes down to one stranger promising to save a life. I’ll be damned.”
“The level of knowledge shown by the visitor is concerning,” Brandy said.
Leger’s look of amusement continued. “Concerning,” he repeated. “How about damned troubling? The population of knowledgeable parties is multiplying like rabbits.” Something arrived in his face behind the amusement. Fear, maybe? His eyes bored through Brandy as he waved the sheaf of papers. “Who else knows about this?”
“From me? No one. Just you.”
He continued to stare, gauging her. Then he started through the papers again.
“There’s more, sir,” she said.
“From the look on your face, I was guessing there might be.” He continued to read.
“It’s about the investigator, sir.”
“The one who works for the company that somehow continues to get the better of us.”
“Yes, sir.”
Finally, his eyes rocked up to see her. “Despite the fact that we have access to some of the best talent in the world.”
Brandy’s stomach flipped. “I suppose so, sir.” If she layered the “sirs” on thickly enough maybe he wouldn’t explode in his chair.
Leger waited for it.
“Well, Mr. Secretary, at first we thought she was a nobody, you know? A retired sheriff from somewhere in the boonies of Indiana. Well, then we looked a little deeper and we found some disturbing facts. For example, she’s retired FBI. And she was tangentially involved in that big terrorist raid last year in Pennsylvania. You know, the one that involved the chemical weapons?”
The secretary’s shoulder sagged a little. He recovered quickly, but not in time for Brandy to miss it. “What does ‘tangentially involved’ mean? And we both know that that incident had nothing to do with terrorism.”
Brandy felt herself blushing. “Yes, sir,” she said. That incident had occurred during the early days of the transition between the past administration and the current one, and it had exposed the Department of Defense to huge embarrassment. “By tangentially involved, I mean that she was there at the farm in Pennsylvania. The original terrorist raid-excuse me, you know what I mean-happened in her jurisdiction.”
Leger’s face formed a giant question mark. “That’s tangential? What does direct involvement look like in your world?”
Brandy pretended that she didn’t hear. “Well, the firm she works for in Fisherman’s Cove is solely owned by a man named Jonathan Grave, who himself is former Special Forces. Frankly, I was unable to obtain any records on him, which leads me to believe that whatever he did was very, very black.”
Now Leger seemed stunned. “I’m the Secretary of Defense, for God’s sake. What records are sealed from me?”
“Jonathan Grave’s, apparently.” She heard the bite in her tone, and on a different day it would have bothered her. But today, when Jacques Leger was being a certified asshole, she didn’t much care. She continued, “When Gail Bonneville was with the FBI, she was part of the Hostage Rescue Team. There were some career difficulties along the way, and some job-hopping, but the fact that she landed at a company run by somebody who I assume was a Delta Force operator-or maybe something even blacker, although I don’t know what that might be-raises some major flags with me.”
Leger looked tolerant at best. “And what might those flags be?”
Brandy couldn’t believe that the secretary hadn’t already pulled ahead of her. “What do HRT and Delta have in common?” She actually waited for an answer, but only for a couple of seconds, before she realized that SecDef probably did not like being quizzed. “Hostage rescue,” she said, answering her own question.
She waited for him to connect the dots, but when he didn’t, she pressed harder. “The church that owns the school where Ponder’s men snatched the children is literally next door to Jonathan Grave’s home. He spent a career rescuing people, and Gail Bonneville now works for him. Isn’t it obvious that they’re planning to rescue the Guinn boy?”
As she watched Secretary Leger decode it for himself for the first time, she saw the physical burden consume him. He pushed some papers around on his desk, then cleared his throat. “My, but you are full of news, aren’t you?” he said.
He thought for a moment. “Well, clearly we have some things to do,” he said after clearing his throat again. “The Guinn boy is not our concern. We’ll pass along what we know about him to the right people, and that will be the end of our involvement there. I want to concentrate on this Navarro business.” He avoided eye contact as he said, “Talk to your friend from New England. Tell him he now has the green light to do whatever he needs to do, to whomever it needs to be done in order to eliminate Bruce Navarro and the investigator woman.”
Brandy felt her skin go cold. “Eliminate, sir?”
A beat. Leger made a show of sitting up straight and crossing his arms. “That’s not too big a word for you, is it, Brandy?”
She gaped back at him. No, there was nothing big about the word. The word was easy. It was the murders that came with it that were difficult to comprehend. She squirmed in her seat. “Sir, if you’re talking about killing people…” She let her words trail off.
Leger laughed. “Oh, for God’s sake, Brandy, grow up. This has been about killing from the very beginning. Welcome to the big leagues. Only at this level, we don’t think of it as killing. We think of it as problem solving.”
She felt sick to her stomach. First the child and now this. “I, uh, I don’t think I can do that.”
“Of course you can’t. That’s why I would never ask you to. I never have asked you to. We have people who do that for us. Tell our Boston friend what we need, and he’ll take care of the rest. You never even have to mention the K — word, if you don’t want.”
Brandy felt somehow heavier as she sat there. Would this never end? She found herself nodding in agreement before she’d even thought it all the way through.
“Good,” he said. “And on the other thing, I want you to be my messenger. Go home and pack for a warm climate.”
“Sir?”
“Someone will contact you with the details in a couple of hours.”
It felt as if she’d slept through a part of the movie of her own life. “I don’t understand.”
Leger gave her a little wave. Of course she didn’t understand. “We’re going to get you down to Colombia,” he said.
Evan Guinn had fallen asleep in the back of the SUV, lulled by the never-ending bouncing and rolling along the trails that doubled for jungle roads. When the jostling stopped, he awoke, confused about where he was. The nap had allowed him to forget. Now reality returned.
They’d reached a small clearing, about a quarter of the size of a football field, where the trees had somehow been removed, leaving only a green ocean of low-growing ferns and bushes. A few bore flowers, but most did not. On a different day, it would have been beautiful. As it was, Evan was overrun with the sense that he was going to die out here and no one would ever find his body.
As a lump grew in his throat, he refused to let himself cry again. He’d already been a pussy for running after the car. And what had that gotten him? If this was where they were going to drop him off, it had bought him nothing. Maybe less than nothing.
“Stay here,” Mitch commanded. Without waiting for an answer, he pulled open his door and stepped out. He crossed in front of the vehicle and strode to the center of the clearing, where he stopped. With his arms outstretched and his legs spread to shoulder width, he slowly pivoted 360 degrees, and then stopped.
“What’s he doing?” Evan asked the driver. He craved someone talking to him, but he wasn’t surprised when the driver remained silent. He probably didn’t even understand.
After maybe thirty seconds had passed, the surrounding jungle squeezed out four dark-skinned men armed
