“Stop. Subject is likely military or ex-military. Possibly law enforcement.”
“There is one instance of a Joseph Edwin Ledger with the Baltimore Police Department in the state of Maryland. There is also one instance of a Joseph Edwin Ledger with the United States Army Rangers. Personal identification numbers and Social Security numbers match.”
“Open a file on him. I want everything. Ledger’s background. Service record, awards, citations, reprimands, psych profiles, his politics. Anything you have.”
“There is already an active Arklight file on this subject.”
“When was the file opened and who opened it?”
The computer gave an open date from July of the previous year. “The file has an L1 code.”
L1. Lilith.
“My mother opened that file?”
“Yes.”
“Summarize the content of that file.”
Oracle began reading out information regarding several matters of grave international importance. The Seif al Din plague, which coincided with the opening of Ledger’s file. There were others, all high profile. The shutdown of the ultrasecret vault in the Pocono Mountains of Pennsylvania; the famous Jakoby-Mengele file; and others, leading up to the Seven Kings event last December. The records were spotty and included more speculation and unofficial information than hard evidence. As the Italian woman well knew it was virtually impossible to prove anything about the DMS. Very often files of this kind suddenly vanished from even encrypted hard drives. There were rumors of a DMS supercomputer called MindReader that had an aggressive search and destroy subroutine for ferreting out this kind of information.
“Oracle,” she said, “have you been attacked in any way since this file was opened?”
“No.”
“Isn’t that unusual?”
“There is a note in the file stating that any questions of this kind be directed to Lilith herself. Your mother does not permit additional speculative notes to be added to the file. Would you like me to pass along a request to your mother?”
“God no,” said the sniper before she could stop herself. “No,” she corrected.
“Shall I continue reading the subject’s service record?”
“Yes.”
Ledger reached out and pulled his dog toward him, wrapping his arms around the animal and laying his head on the dog’s shoulder. What an odd thing for a man like him to do, she thought. A strangely human act, totally at odds with the things Oracle was saying: that he was emotionally fractured, that he was utterly ruthless in a fight, that he had killed people with guns, knives, explosives, his hands. However, the way he held his dog and stroked the animal’s fur and spoke to it-even though she could not hear his words-made her smile.
“Oracle, stop report,” she said. “How did my mother obtain the information for her file on Ledger?”
“That information is in a subfolder marked eyes-only. Would you like to request temporary clearance to read that report?”
The sniper took a breath, then let it out slowly. “Yes.”
“That request has been forwarded to the Mothers.”
“Continue report.”
Oracle moved from the bland details of an unremarkable military record, through a moderately interesting though short police career. The sniper found nothing of real note there, however, except that Ledger had been scheduled for enrollment in the FBI academy. There were no records of his having actually entered the academy. What really caught her interest, however, were Ledger’s psychotherapy reports and transcripts of sessions with Dr. Rudolfo Ernesto Sanchez y Martinez. Ledger was a deeply damaged individual who had a minimum of three and possibly as many as nine separate personality subtypes living in his head. Dr. Sanchez’s records indicated that Ledger had found a way to balance these personalities and even put them to work, like a committee, within his fractured mind. It was not a unique occurrence, but it was very rare; and rarer still for such a man to be accepted into the police department and, apparently, the Department of Military Sciences.
“Stop. Who recruited Ledger into the DMS?”
“Unknown, though there is a high probability that he was recruited directly by St. Germaine.”
The sniper’s pulse quickened as it did every time she heard that name.
St. Germaine.
That was one of the many names for a man currently using the name Church. St. Germaine was the name her mother used for the man. The sniper had never met him, but other Arklight agents told wild stories. She doubted most of them were true, but all of them were fascinating.
“Oracle,” she said, “why might St. Germaine risk using a field operative with Ledger’s psychological profile?”
“Unknown.”
“Speculate. Access all known data on St. Germaine and cross-reference.”
“There are one hundred and three separate field reports that include the man code-named St. Germaine under twenty-eight aliases. Twenty-six of those reports indicate a tendency to use agents with unpredictable or unstable personality types. Four of the six analysis reports uploaded by senior Arklight operators postulate that Mr. Church uses said unpredictable personalities to introduce random elements to missions.”
“An X factor?”
“That is the theory most commonly postulated.”
“What is the probability that Mr. Church sent Ledger to Iran knowing that he would become involved in my current mission?”
“There is insufficient data to calculate a complete probability model.”
“Fuck.”
“I am unable to perform that function, as you well know,” said Oracle in her mother’s dry voice. It was one of the messages Mama had added to the database. An attempt at humor.
“What is the likelihood that Rasouli knew my team was associated with Arklight?”
“Unknown, however the mission for which your team was originally contracted has multiple connection points to the Mothers of the Fallen and-”
“What is Rasouli’s connection with Joseph Ledger?”
“Unknown.”
She processed that as she made some minor adjustments to her rifle.
Why had Rasouli wanted to meet this man? Was he an intermediary? Or, more likely, was Rasouli trying to recruit him as a double agent? Despite the poverty most of the people in this country endured, the government was very rich, with pockets deep enough to tempt saints and angels. The sniper had seen that firsthand in the absurd amount of money Rasouli had paid to have her team provide security for half an hour in a coffee shop.
“Oracle, give me a probability estimate on Ledger’s loyalty.”
“That question lacks specificity.”
“Based on Joseph Ledger’s psych profiles, can he be bought? Could Rasouli buy him away from the DMS?
“Unknown.”
“But we can’t discount it?”
“That would be unwise.”
She peered through the scope. Ledger was still sitting on the floor with his dog. Was he crying? The blowing curtains on Ledger’s window made it impossible to tell, but the American looked like he had something on his cheeks. Tears or dog slobber?
“How dangerous is this man?”
“To others or to himself?”
The question did not surprise the sniper. She was more than half-convinced the marks on Ledger’s cheeks were not there because of his dog.
“As a fighter and field agent,” she said.
“According to psych profiles and all other available data, Captain Joseph Edwin Ledger should be considered a
