pants.” Casey couldn’t help but smile. “It wouldn’t be the first time you’ve gotten that response from a suspect.”
“True.” Marc sounded more matter-of-fact than amused. “So what’s on tap for you?”
“Hutch is leaving in the morning.” Casey stated it as a fact. She knew that Marc wouldn’t ask for, nor require, any further explanation. “As soon as he takes off, I’m heading over to the hospital to check on Amanda. She didn’t take Patrick’s news too well. And, after what you just told me, it’s even more important that she not confront her uncle. She could screw up everything.”
“She can’t,” Marc agreed. “We’re right on the brink.”
It was pouring-a bone-chilling, miserable day.
Rain was a common occurrence in this portion of Iraq in December. As a rule, if you got off lucky, the precipitation was light and spotty. Not so today. It was coming down in sheets, the heavy winds blowing the palm trees around. Unlike back home, the ground here didn’t absorb the water, so it turned the sand into deep, thick mud, making the ground you walked on feel like a vat of peanut butter. In an attempt to deal with the water, the military spread stones over acres of land. It did a decent job, but, between the stones and the mud, walking became next to impossible. And he could forget about his daily five-mile run. That sure as hell wasn’t happening.
He was trudging toward his barracks, drenched and ankle-deep in muck, when the military transport drove by. It stopped, deposited its sole passenger and his bag, and then continued on its way.
The two men saw and recognized each other right away. They’d both served in the same U.S. Army infantry squad fifteen years ago.
“Hey, Paul.” Gus Ludlock yelled out and waved his arm.
Paul stopped, dragging the hood of his rain slicker higher on his head to block out the rain. “Gus, hey,” he called back. “I didn’t know you were out here.”
“Me, either.” His Army Reserves friend grinned. “Do we ever?” He shielded his face against the elements. “We’ll talk later. Oh, apparently, you’re famous.”
“What?” Paul gave a puzzled shrug.
“Famous,” Gus repeated. “I saw you on a YouTube video at the NEC. Couldn’t catch the audio because I was headed out. But some hot brunette was holding up your picture. You must’ve done something heroic you don’t know about-the video has over a million hits.”
The wind chose that moment to pick up, nearly blowing down both men.
“Let me check in,” Gus shouted. “We’ll catch up later.”
Paul stood there for a long moment after his friend had headed off. Oblivious to the pelting rain and the sludge that was oozing up his legs like quicksand, he stared off into space, plagued by a growing sense of unease. This whole trip had felt wrong from the start. Now it was beginning to feel like one ugly, well-planned manipulation. Being sent out to this godforsaken place with a line of bullshit justifying the training he was instructed to provide. Being at a Forward Operating Base in a high-threat situation. Being allowed no internet access, given the three soldiers who’d recently been killed nearby, and whose families had to be notified. Being in an area that just happened to have little to no cell phone reception-effectively cutting off all communication with the outside world.
There were way too many coincidences.
And now this odd piece of news.
Whatever charade he was being forced to live was over.
As a military veteran who knew how the system worked, Paul had no trouble calling in a few favors. When the bad weather temporarily subsided, a military buddy of his picked him and his bags up in a crummy Humvee and drove him to the helipad located on the FOB. The sergeant responsible for the flights was stationed in a tent right on-site. He was expecting Paul and arranged to put him on the first flight out. Someone would be pissed off at being bumped.
Paul didn’t give a damn.
It was a fifty-mile trip. A little over an hour later, Paul was back in Baghdad.
He waited awhile, the sergeant having made arrangements for a trusted buddy stationed at the New Embassy Compound to pick him up. A beat-up SUV eventually arrived, driven by Private Kenny Robinson. Fifteen minutes after that, Paul was back at the Embassy.
He didn’t waste time. He went into Kenny’s office cubicle and used his computer to log on to YouTube. He searched for the name Paul Everett, and the video popped up.
He watched it three times before the impact of what he was viewing fully sank in. He went from shocked to numb to livid in rapid succession.
Culminating in an urgency he’d never before possessed.
Everything that happened next was a frenzied blur.
He grabbed his BlackBerry and tried to call out. The storms in the area refused to make that possible. Well, they weren’t going to stop him from getting home.
He used Private Robinson’s computer one more time-to send an internal email. He knew that the message would furiously keep trying to leave the local email server, waiting until the storms let up. But eventually it would find its mark.
His boss would cringe. Not at his profanity. Nor at his threats. But rather at the thought of who had been CC’d: the head of the Review Committee.
The email was clear and straight to the point:
I’m done being jerked around. I now know everything. I’ve seen the video and I’m flying back to the U.S. When I land, I’m going straight to Sloane Kettering to see Amanda and try to save my son. If anything happens to him, I hold you and every other fucking bureaucrat responsible. STAY OUT OF MY WAY!
Paul knew he was racing the clock, not only to get to his son, but to thwart any efforts to prevent him from getting home. He turned to Kenny, asked for his help in getting to Baghdad International Airport. From there, he’d talk himself onto the next military flight to Kuwait. He’d get from the airbase to the airport. There’d be waiting time-a lot of it. But he’d wait for days if he had to. He was heading home.
To Justin.
The emergency meeting took place in a small, nondescript conference room.
The group-and the subject matter-were classified: the head of the entire office, the team leader and the Assistant U.S. Attorney were all there.
“He left the Forward Operating Base,” the team leader reported. “No one at the New Embassy Compound has seen him.”
The Assistant U.S. Attorney scowled. “Which means you have no idea where he is.”
“We’ve got key personnel searching the whole embassy. We’ll find him.”
As they spoke, the phone in the conference room rang. The team leader picked it up. “Yes?”
A long moment of silence, and then the team leader hung up.
“He left the embassy. He’s already on a flight to Kuwait.”
“Shit.” The AUSA slammed his fist on the table. “We can’t let this happen. We’ve
The phone rang again.
“Yes?” was the impatient response. Then a pause. “Thank you.” A few quick clicks on the team leader’s laptop. “He emailed us.”
Everyone listened as the email was read aloud.
“He’s not coming to D.C.,” the AUSA realized aloud. “He’s going straight to JFK.”
“Then we’ll have him detained there.” The office head paused. “In the meantime, we’ve got to wrap up this investigation. One day. That’s all we’ve got.”
