8
Regan met her so-called fellow agent's murky stare and held it, waiting for the answer. Not that she needed it. She'd worked it out all by herself.
She'd just wanted him to admit it.
"Agent Riyad, I'm waiting. When did you plan on telling me that you believe Garrison has turned traitor?"
The spook mirrored her stance, folding his own arms over his chest and locking them down. "Never."
"Congratulations. That's the first true statement that's come out of your mouth since I boarded this ship. Care to try for another?"
The man's stare grew murkier. "Brandt told you."
"Nope." But she now had confirmation that not only had the staff sergeant known about the treason investigation into John, he'd also been ordered to keep his mouth shut by the asshole squared off in front of her.
Based on that exchange of body language she'd witnessed, especially between Riyad and Brandt outside the conference room earlier, the staff sergeant hadn't been in sync with the order to keep his trap shut either, much less the rationale behind it.
Score one for the Marines—and those hidden smarts.
Not that she wanted those smarts, much less Brandt's integrity, questioned by this man. "Relax. No one said squat about your misguided suspicions. There was no need." She offered up her first genuine smile since she'd met the spook. It came out a smirk. "It turns out you're as good at concealing classified information as you are at fucking up critical interrogations with recently arrested terrorists and processing crime scenes. Now, I have another question for you. And, once again, you will cough up the truth." Or she'd pull it out of the man with her bare hands. "Does General Palisade know about this little side show you've got going on aboard this vessel?"
"Yes."
"And what is the general's position on the matter?" Though she'd figured that out on her own too.
The thin scar cutting down through the spook's left brow puckered as he scowled, marring that pretty-boy visage of his. "He was pissed."
Well, well. Yet another truth.
It seemed Riyad was capable of stringing three together, at least when cornered. She went for a fourth. "But he was overruled."
That one came in the form of a curt nod.
She scooped it up regardless and added it to the others. Quite the revealing picture was beginning to take shape. After all, Palisade might be a three-star general and in charge of the Army's Special Operations Command at Fort Bragg, but he and the entire Army Special Forces community were hard lined beneath the authority of the overall US Special Operations Command out of MacDill. And, lo and behold, at the moment USSOCOM was headed up by a Navy admiral.
"General Palisade drew a line in the sand, didn't he?" With Palisade on one side and Admiral Kettering on the other. "That's why I was flown here."
She was the concession, at least for Palisade's cooperation—and silence—regarding the spook's investigation into John.
Hell, Palisade had probably convinced his Navy boss that her presence was critical. That with her knowing John so well, along with her connection to both Durrani and Hachemi, she was their best bet at picking up on any clues the two Afghan terrorists might accidentally intimate regarding John.
Riyad was right. With Admiral Kettering covering his back, she'd have been removed from the Griffith the second her interview with Durrani was over. Only now, with the translator dead, both Riyad and the admiral were stuck with her.
It seemed nearly losing her life to that psycho-toxin had accomplished one thing. It had shoved her investigative skills above reproach.
At least with the spook's current boss.
Unfortunately, John's instinctive actions that morning had complicated everything and, quite possibly, condemned him. At least in the admiral's eyes. Not that this entire scenario hadn't been a quagmire from the start. "Let me guess; both you and Admiral Kettering believe Palisade was taken in by John—for years, possibly."
Could they really think Palisade was that stupid?
The spook's shrug was grudging at best. "The general's judgment has been clouded by his personal feelings for the major. As have yours."
At least Riyad hadn't branded a giant "T" on her forehead, too.
Yet.
As for Palisade and his feelings, she knew better. The general had proven he could keep one of his Chosen Ones out of the loop when necessary. Take those shadow duties Palisade had tasked Staff Sergeant Tulle with back at Fort Campbell.
Tulle hadn't been reporting back on her alone. Tulle had been reporting back on John's dealings with her too…without John's knowledge.
That was the real reason she still hadn't told John about Tulle shadowing her. She wasn't sure John's relationship with Palisade would survive the violation of his own trust.
Then again, depending on how the next few hours played out, she was no longer certain she wanted that trust to survive—at least on John's part.
As for the cloud-ability of her feelings, she had no illusions about John, much less about what John was and was not capable of. Frankly, she preferred it that way.
"What exactly do you think you have on the man?"
That thin scar rose along with the surrounding brow. "Garrison?"
"Yes, Garrison. Try and keep up, Agent. You just might learn something." And she might succeed in maintaining her tenuous hold on her temper.
That murky stare darkened again, this time all the way down to black, matching Riyad's polo, cargo pants and boots as he continued to look at her.
Judging, weighing. For the first time, wary too.
But most of all, the spook was livid.
Good.
She was pushing it deliberately. Pushing him.
She was also fairly certain Riyad had no idea as to why, at least not yet. She wanted the spook as pissed as Palisade would've been when he'd heard that John had been labeled a potential traitor. That anger would let more of the truth Riyad was holding onto so damned tightly
