“Gotta love politics,” quipped Jackson.
Mitchell took a sip of his coffee. He set his cup down and looked over at Donaldson. “Enough conspiracy theories for one day. What have the Argentine authorities told you is going to happen today?”
“Maria’s remains are being released to me later today. I’ll be flying home with her on a flight leaving at nine o’clock tonight.”
“And us?” asked Jackson.
“A police car will be here at ten to take you to police headquarters in downtown Buenos Aires. I was assured that the interviews shouldn’t take more than four or five hours; after that, one of Houston’s private jets is waiting at the international airport to fly you back home.”
“Going home in style, I like that,” said Jackson.
“I thought he’d be pissed that we lost his probe,” mused Mitchell.
“No, in fact, he’s been quite supportive ever since he learned of Maria’s death. He paid for me to come down and is picking up all of our bills down here,” explained Donaldson.
Mitchell sat back in his chair and looked out the window. Gray clouds covered the sky. It was going to rain today. Something didn’t add up. He couldn’t put his finger on it; however, something in the back of his mind told him to be wary. A couple of moments later, their waiter returned with their breakfast. The conversation ended as they dug into their hearty meals. Mitchell hoped that things would go as smoothly as Donaldson had predicted; he couldn’t wait to get back home. The instant he landed, he wanted to know what Fahimah and Jen had been able to learn from their respective investigations. As far as he was concerned, their assignment hadn’t ended with the loss of the probe; the real work had yet to begin.
15
Mitchell stood with his hands behind his back while he stared out the window onto the snow-covered field behind the headquarters complex. His thoughts took him back to his childhood when he and his brother would spend hours outside building snowmen on their parents’ farm in Minnesota. Life had been so much simpler back then. Now, he waited to learn when Maria was going to be buried so he could fly down to Baton Rouge and attend the funeral. Donaldson had accompanied Maria’s remains back to the States and was helping her brother with the funeral arrangements. Mitchell expected a call from him sometime today, letting him know when and where the service would take place.
Jen had picked Mitchell up at the airport. They drove to the small cottage a few kilometers from downtown Albany that they called home during the week. After almost a month apart, Jen and Mitchell fell into each other’s arms with a hunger for each other that burned well into the early hours of the morning.
Mitchell was so deep in thought that he didn’t hear Jen enter the room and slide over beside him.
“Penny for your thoughts?” said Jen as she set a hand on Mitchell’s shoulder.
Mitchell turned his head, looked deep into Jen’s alluring brown eyes, and smiled. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You’re losing your touch,” she replied playfully. “What if I had been a bad guy?”
“Then I would have taken you out,” said Jackson as he walked into the conference room, carrying a paper tray holding four cups of coffee. In his other hand was a box of donuts. He set them down on the table and flipped open the lid on the donut box. He grabbed a jelly-filled pastry. “Help yourself, Ryan.”
Mitchell shook his head. He wasn’t hungry, at least not for one of Jackson’s treats. He grabbed a coffee, his fourth this morning.
Jen dug through the box, picked out an unglazed donut, and helped herself to one of the coffees.
“So when does the hot wash start?” asked Jackson, referring to the debriefing they were about to go through with General O’Reilly and Fahimah, currently the acting intelligence section head.
“In a couple of minutes,” answered Jen.
Mitchell took a seat. He could feel himself growing anxious. He had been through dozens of debriefings in the past; however, this one was different, because for the first time in a long time someone had died under his command. He was no stranger to death, but he always felt a pang of guilt when he made it back alive while others did not.
On time, O’Reilly walked into the room accompanied by Fahimah. He was dressed in a somber-looking, dark-gray suit while Fahimah wore a long black outfit with matching headscarf.
As per their ingrained military training, Mitchell and Jackson stood up and waited for O’Reilly to take a seat before they sat down again.
O’Reilly looked over at Mitchell and could see the weight of Maria’s death hanging over his protégé.
He helped himself to one of Jackson’s coffees. “Before we begin this morning’s debriefing, I’m happy to see the two of you back here in one piece. What happened out there was not your fault; neither of you could have known that an assassin had infiltrated our organization. Fahimah will address how that occurred in a couple of minutes. First off, Mike called and said that Maria’s funeral is this Sunday at ten in the morning. I’ll be attending on behalf of the company. If anyone else wants to go, please just let me know, and we’ll arrange your flight details for you.”
“Jen and I would like to go,” said Mitchell.
“As would I,” added Jackson. “Unfortunately, the rest of the family has prior commitments, or they’d be coming, too.”
O’Reilly nodded his head. “I expected you would, so I’ve asked Tammy to start booking the flights. Ryan and Nate, you’ll be meeting us there.”
Mitchell was about to ask what was going on when O’Reilly raised his hand to cut him off. “Gents, I’ll explain what’s going on in due course. First, let’s hear what happened from the time you left until the time you came home.”
For the next two hours, Mitchell and Jackson went over everything while O’Reilly and Fahimah took copious notes and asked dozens of questions about the mission. No detail, no matter how small, was left unexamined. When they were done, O’Reilly called for a ten-minute break before Fahimah and Jen gave their presentations.
Mitchell had completely forgotten to ask Jen about what she had learned about the probe when they arrived home last night, not that it would have mattered, as their minds were on something else than work.
Fahimah waited for everyone to return from the break before she began. She stood behind a lectern at the front of the room and opened up her laptop. A moment later, an image of McMasters flashed up on a screen on the wall.
Looking into the eyes of the people of the room, Fahimah began. “Chief Petty Officer Eric McMasters retired from the United States Navy on the first of June and took a position in Polaris on the ninth of August. His service career saw him deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan. He was a member of Seal Team Two and was awarded the Silver Star for his actions during a deadly firefight with Somali pirates late last year. His service record is exemplary. On several occasions, his superiors tried to convince him to become an officer. In short, there were no red flags on his file. Eric McMasters was the ideal candidate for this organization.”
Mitchell leaned forward and stared up at the picture on the screen. Turning his head, he looked over at Fahimah. “Are you one-hundred-percent positive this is a real file and not one made up to look genuine?”
“Ryan, you can trust me on this. I even interviewed several of his former teammates, and they all vouched for him. To a man, they said that they would all trust their lives to McMasters.”
“Any known affiliations with questionable groups outside of the military?” asked Jackson.