“Irish was just informing us we should’ve cleared Benjamin’s arrival through him,” said Saint.
Doc turned to me. “That’s my fault. They cleared it with me. I apologize, Irish.”
I was livid but nodded. “Is there anyone else you cleared?”
The man looked contrite, which made me feel like an asshole.
“Negative.” He turned to the other two men. “Lynx, Saint, would you please excuse us?”
They went inside, leaving me alone with Doc.
“Look, I’m sorry I snapped about Benjamin. The truth is, I hadn’t expected the two of them, either.”
“Understood. Is there a problem you need to make me aware of?”
“Negative.”
“Irish, are you sure?”
I had nothing to go on but my gut, and it could very well be that my reaction to Lynx, Saint, and Dr. Benjamin was a direct result of the part of the op that took place in Cambridge. Even my thinking Benjamin was one of the men I thought I saw in Hong Kong nine years ago could’ve been clouded by my experience with Lynx and Emme as well as the prejudice I’d felt against Saint since I’d first heard he was the agent being sent in by MI6.
“I’m sure.”
“If that changes, let me know.”
I followed Doc inside. Before I could get much past the entrance, Cope intercepted me. “What is Dr. Benjamin doing here?” he asked.
“I asked the same thing. Apparently, Lynx ran it past Doc, who approved him joining us.”
“Why?”
Before I could respond, Decker joined us and motioned back outside.
“According to Doc, Saint believes Dr. Benjamin may be able to assist with our investigation—enough that it warranted bringing him here.”
“Why didn’t either of them say that?” I didn’t expect an answer to my rhetorical question and didn’t get one.
“What do you want to do?” Decker asked.
“For now, he stays. If at any time I believe he shouldn’t, he’s gone. Same with Saint.”
“Roger that,” said Decker.
“Tell him about Hong Kong,” said Cope, nudging me.
“That first mission, the one when Dingo, 337, and Julius were taken out. I saw two men right before the hit was carried out. It was from a distance, but I believe Dr. Benjamin was one of those men.”
Decker nodded his head slowly. “In that case, perhaps the doctor is exactly where we want him.”
38
Irish
We broke into four teams, each with a task list.
Stella, Buck, and Rile focused on sorting through the stockpile of evidence her aunt had left her in a vault, in Tiffany’s no less.
Burns, Doc, Gunner, and Razor centered their attention on Ming Shen-Lin and Nicholas Kerr along with Stanley Donofrio and Antoine Moreau, the two men who’d served on Interpol’s executive committee years ago when Kerr was president. Up until two days ago, Kerr had been the sole survivor of the four.
Decker led a team made up of Lynx, Emme, Saint, and Dr. Benjamin. Their area of concentration was the current executive committee—Daniel Byrne, also recently deceased, Boris Antonov, and Chen Wang-Su aka Kim Ha-joon.
My team—including Cope, Ali, and Money—concentrated our efforts on the man the Chinese government had recently granted permanent asylum, William “Xander” Harris.
With the evidence Money was able to gather, we had a clear picture of the level and amount of intelligence he’d systematically released over the course of ten years. Just in sheer documentation, it numbered in the tens of thousands.
Figuring out his motive wasn’t difficult. The boy who’d watched his father go off to two wars grew into a man whose father committed suicide outside a VA hospital after allegedly being denied treatment for a combination of Gulf War Syndrome and PTSD.
That suicide took place one year before I first met Sumner Copeland at The Farm.
Like with the deaths of the agents I’d been tracking, I sat back in my chair, closed my eyes, and offered a moment of reverent silence for the man, the soldier, the patriot—Herbert Harris. He’d proudly served his country, not once but twice, and his country let him down in his time of need. When tears leaked from the corners of my eyes, I didn’t try to hide them. Mr. Harris’ death was a tragedy like every other we were investigating.
Ali reached over and put her hand on my arm. “Irish, are you okay?”
I shook my head. “I just need a minute.” When I opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Flynn walking from the dining hall to another entrance that led into the main house. “Excuse me.”
I pushed back my chair, stood, and went outside, hoping I’d catch her.
“Hey, Paxon,” she said, turning to look when I approached.
“Hi, Flynn. How was breakfast?”
She studied me. “It was nice. Rough morning?”
I nodded, unable to speak. When I reached for her, she wrapped her arms around my waist and gave me the hug I so desperately needed—not just today, but hundreds of times over the course of the last few years. She held me so tight, as though she knew exactly how to comfort me, even without knowing why I needed it. I lost track of how long we embraced, outside where it could be witnessed by everyone meeting in the main room of the house as well as anyone going in and out of the barn or dining hall. When I looked into her eyes, she didn’t seem embarrassed or uncomfortable as I feared she might.
“Thank you.” I leaned forward and brushed her lips with mine.
“Anytime, Paxon. It brings me as much comfort as it does you.”
I rested my forehead against hers. “So wise beyond your years.”
“I don’t know if it’s wisdom or instinct.”
“Both.” I kissed her one more time. “I hate to say this, but I should get back in there.”
“If you need another one of those, you have my number.”
“Yeah, if I call, you’ll come just to give me a hug?”
“Every time.”
No one looked up when I came inside, not even Ali. When I pulled my chair out and sat beside her, she glanced
