He let the dig slide. But that brow and its owner were adamant about the rest. "McCord and Garrison are Special Forces. I don't think you understand how tight that bond is. And then there's what happened to you."
That was all true. It just didn't mean anything.
At least not what Riyad wanted it all to mean.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, but John Garrison wouldn't murder for me, any more than he would for McCord. Would he kill to defend me? You bet, and in a heartbeat. Believe it or not, Agent, he'd kill to defend you too. Even now. But murder? It's just not in the man's nature." She shook her head, seriously stumped. "As for the rest, you need to cycle back through your training course. Your logic sucks. You've offered two conflicting motives here: treason and loyalty. Not only is it impossible for both to be true, you don't have enough to support either one. 'Questionable associations', or not."
That last caused the man's brow and tic to react in tandem, giving her serious pause. There was something else. Something the spook was actively refusing to put on the table. What on earth was it?
Who was it?
Because the questionable association currently searing through Riyad's brain went to the crux of why the agent really believed John had been turned.
And then, it was gone.
But that righteous fury wasn't.
And this batch was directed solely at her. "As you've surmised, you're here aboard this vessel against my wishes—and my instincts. So prove me wrong, Agent Chase. Do your job and wrap up the investigation into Hachemi's death. And while you're at it, keep your mouth shut about this conversation. Especially around Major Garrison. And that order's not mine; it comes directly from Admiral Kettering. Understood?"
"Absolutely." Nor did she have a problem with it. John had enough to worry about at the moment. Hell, so did she. "What about you?"
That scarred brow inched back up. "What about me?"
"You plan on doing your job? Because you haven't been. Not effectively. Or was that the plan all along?"
The spook lurched all the way in. The toes of their boots were actually touching.
She stood her ground.
"What the fuck are you getting at, woman?"
She ignored the "woman", especially since it served to tell her just how pissed he was. "Where were you this morning when that interview went down?"
"With the captain."
"Why? You were about to leave the ship. Anything you had to say to the captain should've been long since said. So why did you leave the major alone?"
"I'm not his goddamned keeper."
"Normally, no. But aboard this ship, for these past eight days, you were. You had one job. You were supposed to keep an eye on Garrison—no matter what. Eight days. That's how long you two spent in that conference room together. Most likely, morning, noon and all hours of the night. You had to have known that Garrison wanted one last crack at Hachemi—without you there, breathing down his neck."
After all, the spook had been sitting right next to John during those interrogations, soaking up the frustration even John wouldn't have been able to contain. Not since he'd entered that cave and found those women. And not with everything that had happened to his men and their wives after. Not with what had happened to her.
"You told Brandt about your true suspicions regarding the major's loyalties—and you ordered the staff sergeant to keep me in the dark. You also forbade Brandt from telling me that he'd originally come aboard the Griffith with that diplomatic contingent. You warned Corporal Vetter off too, at least about the latter." Otherwise, the embassy assignments would've come out in Vetter's statement too. "But you didn't tell Chief Yrle about your suspicions regarding the major. A much more senior sailor who, for all intents and purposes, is the sheriff aboard this ship. Why?"
"I—"
"Don't bother punting another lie my way. I already know the truth. That charming dressing down you gave the chief outside this very stateroom this morning was an act to cover your ass after the fact. You didn't tell Yrle because you wanted that final one-on-one between Garrison and Hachemi to go down." She'd wager the SIG strapped to her thigh that if she pressed Brandt under oath, the Marine would admit that the real reason he hadn't been as quick on his feet when Hachemi had hit that wall, was because he'd been busy scribbling down notes for the spook.
The spook who suddenly looked as though he'd swallowed a bucketful of seawater churned up by this ship. "That doesn't excuse what Garrison did."
"You're right. It doesn't." But it did condemn the man standing in front of her, right along with him.
At least John had admitted his culpability.
As for this man? The spook could choke on his for all she cared.
Because she'd identified his game, and she wasn't playing it. Not with her open death investigation, and not with her coming showdown with Durrani.
"You go ahead and deny your own responsibility all you want, Agent Riyad. It might even help you sleep better at night. But it's a fantasy, and deep down you know it. You glued yourself to Major Garrison's ass for over a week. And in the process you hindered the results our entire country needs. Garrison was in the wrong this morning. But so were you. If you'd let the major do what he came here to do—what he was ordered to do—he wouldn't have had to go in there alone. Even Chief Yrle could see it. And, no, I haven't spoken to her either. At least not yet. But she must have known or she wouldn't have believed the major needed to try one last time without you there, much less assisted and run interference for him. Major Garrison has to live with what he did—but so do you. If you hadn't obstructed
