Looking at the carnage, he could tell that the target had indeed had more than just a grenade in the vest he’d been wearing and Gant knew he was only alive because he’d been able to get below the blast. Pure, damn luck. Gant reached into his pocket and pulled out the three photos. Despite the damage from the bomb and the scars on the face, he was able to ID the target he’d seen before it was blown to smithereens: Sergeant Lutz, the Security on the three-man team.
Gant went to the back of the truck and pulled open the door. He saw the motorcycle strapped in the rear and nodded. Good idea. Bad execution. He climbed in turned off the engine to the motorcycle and a blessed silence descended except for the ringing in his ears, which he knew from experience would last for a while.
Then he looked up and saw the piece of paper taped to the ceiling of the truck.
“Golden?” Gant called out.
“Yes?” She came around the corner of the truck, her hands bloody and Gant knew she had checked everyone for signs of life. She obviously didn’t have enough experience seeing dead people. Hope, Gant thought. She’d hoped someone was still alive.
“I think we might have more of Emily’s cache report.” Gant stepped between the bike and the Kevlar blankets on one side, and then leaned over so he could read what was on the paper.
AREA: Talladega National Forest
FRP: Intersection Routes 219 and 183
“That forest is in Alabama,” Gant said as Golden came into the back on the other side of the motorcycle and looked at the report.
Golden was pulling her cell phone out. “Do you have the number for Ms. Masterson?”
“Wait a second,” Gant said.
“’Wait’?” Golden was shocked. “Emily’s chained to a damn tree and you want to wait?”
Gant looked from the report to her. “It’s only been three days. So if she is cached like the other girl, she’s all right. Plus we don’t have the azimuth and distance from the FRP to the IRP, which if I remember rightly is a stone chimney. So basically the search would have to cover the entire National Forest. I don’t know how big that one is, but I bet it’s big enough to take some time to search.”
“Still, the Cellar can get people moving and—“
“Let’s think before we act,” Gant said.
Neeley appeared in the back door shaking her head. “Fucking mess,” she said.
Gant agreed. “Yeah. No info from the target and no info from the Foley’s. He didn’t seem to have a clue why he was being attacked. Reminded me a bit of Cranston’s reaction. We underestimated the target.”
“But we got him,” Neeley noted. She tapped the motorcycle. “This wasn’t supposed to be a suicide mission. He also underestimated us.”
“’A fucking mess’?” Golden repeated. “Those people are dead.”
“We didn’t kill them,” Gant said.
“We didn’t save them either,” Golden snapped.
Gant and Neeley exchanged a look.
“Listen, Doctor,” Neeley said, “our job wasn’t to save them. They had their own security. It failed them. They should have never come out of the house. That was stupid, so they failed themselves. And he—“ Neeley nodded toward the bodies on the porch—“Foley, did something in the past that contributed to this.”
“Are you saying he deserved to die?” Golden demanded.
“We’re all going to die, deserving of it or not,” Neeley said. “His and his wife’s came sooner rather than later, but they also were stupid.”
“So people should die for being stupid?” Golden was adamant, her face flushed.
“What the hell is your problem?” Neeley asked. “We didn’t kill them. The bad guy did. And he’d have escaped to do it again to someone else if we weren’t here to stop him. It’s a tough world. Suck it up.”
“And the wife?” Golden pushed. “What did she do to deserve to die?”
“Hooked up with the wrong guy,” Neeley said. “Happens sometimes. You pick the wrong person and bad things happen to you. And, yes, stupidity is as good a reason to die as any other. Better than most. There’s people getting diagnosed with cancer every day that are going to die and they did nothing to deserve it.”
Gant opened his mouth to say something, to try to calm the two women down, but he knew they were coming from such different places, both dark in their own rights, that he wasn’t sure what to say.
Then Neeley saw the note. “What’s that?”
Gant quickly explained, sensing Golden vibrating more and more out of place on the other side of the bike.
“So he was going to take out the Foley’s and leave this partial report,” Neeley summed it up.
“But why?” Gant asked.
Both women stared at him so he explained. “Why would they give us Emily’s location? Not exact location, but a searchable area?”
“Because they’re bull-shitting us?” Neeley suggested. “Want us to waste resources on misdirection?”
“Could be,” Gant said. “Could also be an ambush.”
“Or could be Emily is already dead and they’re continuing the taunt,” Golden threw in. “But no matter what, we should inform the Cellar and get the search started.”
Gant didn’t like it. “This is the first time we’ve gotten even slightly ahead of them. Scar-face — Sergeant Lutz— expected the State Department guards and took them out easily enough, but he didn’t expect us. At least not us being here before he hit. He expected us to show up after and see this after he was gone,” he said tapping the piece of paper. “Projecting forward, they would now expect us to put all our resources into trying to find Emily’s cache.”
“And?” Golden demanded, the exasperation clear in her voice.
“Doing that will put us back behind them because it would follow their plan,” Gant said as he pulled out his Satphone and hit the speed dial for the Cellar. He quickly relayed to Mrs. Smith the cache information, and then hung up. “They’ll get locals and Feds to check out the National Park,” he told Golden and Neeley. “Bailey will head there also. He’s good at that sort of thing.”
“And what are we going to do?” Golden snapped.
“Want to waste your time walking in the woods or do something constructive?” Gant asked.
Gant walked to the rear of the truck and hopped out. Golden followed him. The bodies — and parts— littered about underscored the severity of the situation. Gant knew they had probably fifteen minutes or so before the police arrived. Mrs. Smith had told him that the helicopter was on its way and would land in ten. It would take them to the nearest airport where the jet would be waiting. Where to from there, was the key decision he knew he had to make.
Neeley had her sniper rifle in one hand, held loosely, her pack slung over one shoulder. She appeared calm and patient. Gant knew if his brother had chosen to spend almost a decade with her and had trained her, she could be counted on — plus she had taken out Racine. Golden looked a bit lost and definitely out of place. The learning curve on this mission was steep and she was either going to make it or fall out along the way. At this point, Gant really didn’t care either way.
“Going to Alabama is a waste of our time,” Gant said. He held up a hand as Golden started to protest. “The Feds and locals can get more than enough people to search. Mrs. Smith said Mister Bailey is en route there to oversee the search for the Cellar there. But I don’t think finding Emily is going to be so straight-forward. They’ve thrown us curves all along and there’s no reason to believe this will be any different.
“What I’m wondering,” Gant continued, “is what their ultimate goal is? This has not been a series of random events and I think it’s leading up to something. But what?” He looked at Golden. “What do you think Doctor?”
Golden seemed a bit surprised to be asked so bluntly. She opened her mouth to speak, then paused as she collected her thoughts. When she did speak, her voice was calmer. “I agree that this is part of a larger plan and not a series of random events. I also agree it’s critical we figure out what the end play is.” She gestured, taking in the surrounding area. “The problem is while we’re figuring that out, the body count keeps getting higher and higher.”