"Because Riyad got a tip." That's why the spook had called Admiral Kettering and flown back from Peshawar.
From their expressions, her statement had surprised both men. John, because he had no idea what she was talking about, since she hadn't yet mentioned her budding suspicion, let alone her texted request to Jelly. And Riyad, because the spook knew exactly what she meant and was more than a bit bemused that she'd sussed it out.
Bully for her.
Her instincts might turn out to be off regarding Embassy Islamabad's deputy chief of mission, but they were dead on regarding the former SEAL that Warren Jeffers worshipped. At least about this.
All that rage Riyad had been channeling since she'd met him? His dogged suspicions regarding John, and his even more dogged determination to put him away for murder? Once John had filled her in on that SDV and the fiasco of a mission around it, she'd realized the rest. And then there was that wariness that was currently deepening Riyad's stare almost to black.
That was her proof.
"Senior Chief Zakaria Webber. You got a tip about him, didn't you, Agent Riyad? Today. You also knew Webber was dirty—before that final SDV mission went down." She held up a hand as the spook tensed and stepped toward her. Mostly because Riyad's instinctive movement had caused John to shift his body as well, so he could cut the spook off if need be. Physically. "Correction. You suspected it. I'm guessing whatever you had at the time on the senior chief wasn't solid enough to pull NCIS in."
Ironic really, since NCIS was precisely what Riyad had gotten out of the teams to become—solely so that he'd have the legal authority to track his nemesis down.
John took another step toward the spook. "She's right, isn't she?"
Riyad's nod was stiff. "He's been sighted. In Islamabad. Three hours ago."
John's laugh was short, and anything but amused. "And you really thought I'd be holed up here at the Serena with that bastard?"
The black stare narrowed. "Not here. But you haven't been here all day, have you? Much less on the grid, since you gave my guy the slip in Abbottabad."
"Well, I hate to be the bearer of unwelcome news, but I haven't seen hide nor hair of Webber for fourteen months—since the day I left Fort Bragg as a matter of fact. Don't believe me? Head down a few floors. Tulle's crashing here tonight too. He can vouch for today, at least. But for two personal stops, the staff sergeant's been with me since we boarded that bird at Islamabad International. And, hell, come to think of it, Tulle was watching the storefronts and guarding my back while I was inside during those personal stops, so I'm guessing he can account for those minutes too."
John took another step toward the spook, using his looming, gray-suited bulk to underscore what his voice hadn't. "How about you, Riyad?"
"What the fuck? I just told you where I was. I was in Pesh—"
John shook his head. "Not today. Sixteen months ago. September the second. Roughly zero three hundred in the morning. I was standing in the CID parking lot on Hohenfels, having a private conversation with Special Agent Chase. Where were you?"
"Stateside."
John glanced at her. "He telling the truth?"
As flattered as she was with his faith in her skills—not to mention his willingness to use them operationally—it wasn't that simple.
Like John and her, blood was still clipping through the spook's veins at an elevated pace, the man's adrenaline still surging. There were too many conflicting micro-expressions flitting through those dusky, pretty-boy features, the majority of which were still feeding off, and complicated by, emotions and thoughts left over from when Riyad had entered the room.
Fortunately, Jelly and his digital sleuthing skills were already on the job. Because there was also the reality that no investigator ever wanted to accept.
If someone truly believed what they were saying—suspected burglar or outright jihadi terrorist alike—it threw the whole game into the suspect's favor.
It was why she was even better at spinning bald-faced lies than she was at discerning them. All the shit she'd been through as a kid had merged with the fantasy escapes that had kept her sane, training her exceptionally well. In short, she was usually able to believe what she said. For as long as it took to say it, anyway.
As for Riyad?
She shrugged, and gave both men the unvarnished truth. "I don't know."
The satisfaction that curved those full lips gave her pause. John, too. Because he refused to back down, much less away from the spook.
"Don't look so smug, asshole. I'll check."
"Feel free. Meanwhile, speaking of locations, where'd you go in Abbottabad? Because I'm still not convinced you weren't hooking up with Webber. Hell, Tulle might have been there, too. The staff sergeant's usually glued to your ass when you're doing something off the books. Why were you both so determined to evade your tail?"
"Gee, I don't know. Think about it. What's in Abbottabad?"
"You've got a source in their army?"
"I do. And, no, I am not trusting you with his name. And I sure as hell wasn't about to let your bumbling associate crash our meeting."
"Then how do I know you're not lying about who you met?"
"As a matter of fact, that's exactly what I was doing in Abbottabad. Lying. Mostly about the fact that I'm not German, much less in their army. So, unless that incompetent shadow of yours is fluent or could've faked a damned good accent like Tulle—"
The spook brandished a conciliatory palm. "Okay. I get it. Did you learn anything from your contact?"
"Yeah, I did. And I already gave the intel to your partner. Now I want to know why you're so convinced I'm tight with that salt-water-soaked bastard. Because I didn't even hang out with Webber at Bragg. Hell, I was only there for eight weeks before I pinned on major and was sent to Campbell, most of which,
