“The one who had brokered the deal with the village,” Gant said, starting to see the pieces falling into place.
“Yes. Except we didn’t know about that deal. We just knew this guy was working an op against the Cartel, mid-level, but he was also taking bribe money. He was giving up who the Cartel told him to give up. Essentially getting rid of their competitors.
“We were working very high-level. So we were taken by surprise when we finally got wind of what was planned. Mike had already tipped off the Cartel about the agent. Mike and a couple of Cartel guys picked him up. Besides, it was a stupid plan, as you pointed out.”
Roberts licked his lips and his eyes were downcast. “They took him to a place — a place where the Cartel extracted information from people. And punished those who got in their way. They tortured him. That’s when they found out about the deal. But even the agent didn’t know that the team had been scheduled to go in and take out the warlord. That was being generated by the higher-ups in the DEA in Panama City. Who, of course, didn’t know about our op.”
Roberts voice went up slightly. “We couldn’t tell them. It was too dangerous. So the left hand didn’t know what the right hand was doing. The Cartel decided to punish the village. And they wanted it to be known that the DEA could not be trusted. So they wanted someone to go in there with a badge, standing with the warlord. Mike said he could take care of that. And he sent a message to me. Along with the kidnapped DEA agent’s badge. So I went.”
“What happened to the agent?” Golden asked.
Stupid question, Gant thought but didn’t voice.
“He disappeared and we assume they killed him. Which would have actually been merciful after the damage they probably had done to him during torture. I’ve seen what they do to people. Same as they sent a message by what they did in that village.”
“Which was?” Golden pushed.
Roberts eyes got distant as he remembered. “They killed pretty much everyone. Let a couple of old women go free so they could spread the story that the DEA was not to be trusted.”
“How many people killed?” Golden demanded.
“Fifty. Sixty. I didn’t count.”
Golden sat back as if she had been punched in the sternum. Gant ignored her.
“And the Special Forces team?” Gant asked.
“When they spotted me they called it in to Task Force Six which bounced the query to the Embassy. The duty officer knew I was down there. He didn’t know why or what for, but he called me on my satellite phone. I ordered the mission to be aborted. If those God-damn guys had just followed orders, everything would have been all right.”
“Except for the dead DEA agent and villagers,” Golden said.
“It’s a war,” Roberts said. “Sometimes there are casualties.”
“So Caleigh was a casualty of war?” Golden asked.
Gant could see the question strike home as Roberts flinched.
“Why are they going after family members and not the people directly responsible?” Gant asked.
Roberts shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“To cause emotional pain,” Golden said. She was staring hard at Roberts. “It’s working, right?”
“It’s working,” Roberts admitted.
Gant tried working through all the pieces. “Did your brother get the Cartel leader?”
Roberts let out a deep breath. “No.”
“So it was all a waste,” Golden said.
“Is your brother still under cover?” Gant asked.
“No. The whole thing fell apart. He got pulled out and is working here at Langley now.”
“And the warlord?” Gant asked.
Roberts looked startled. “What about him?”
“What happened to him?”
Roberts hesitated and Gant felt a surge of anger. “Just God-damn tell me,” he snapped, surprising Golden with his anger.
“I tried to use him as another angle of attack on the Cartel leader,” Roberts said. “It didn’t work so we pulled him out into protective custody.”
Gant rubbed a hand against his temple. What a cluster-fuck. “So he’s safe. Where?”
“We have a secure compound where we keep people like him.”
Gant slapped the top of the desk. “Where?”
“Maine.” Roberts frowned. “Why?”
“Our targets are Special Forces. Don’t you think they’re going to finish their original mission?”
CHAPTER TWENTY
It was her fourth night of captivity. It took Emily several minutes to figure out the exact number. One night in the van being taken to the forest. Two nights in the forest. And her first night here. She no longer felt hungry. There were no more rumbles of protest from her stomach. She didn’t understand why that was and did not take it as a positive development. Even her mental gymnastics to view her growing weight loss in a positive light had faded to nothing. Skinny and dead wasn’t a good combination.
Thirst was another matter, a constant that was steadily growing worse. Her mouth was beyond parched. Her skin felt dry and tight. Her hands and feet were swollen. But the largest tell on her level of dehydration was the lack of tears. She realized she had not produced tears when she cried in many hours. The crying jags would come on her unexpectedly and were becoming more and more frequent.
Another train had come by just after the sunset and she had been able to see the glow of the train’s lights over the lip of the cistern. She couldn’t help the surge of frustration as she futilely screamed for help as the train rattled by.
The silence that descended after the train passed was absolute, once more making her miss the noise of the forest although not the animals. She realized from both the lack of sound and the lack of humidity that she had to be in an almost desert environment, which meant she had most likely been moved west from her previous location.
Emily lay on her back, staring up at the stars. She had made no progress on the lock using the wire from her bra. Remembering her earlier failure she had been loath to put much pressure on the wire, but she also knew that to turn the tumbler would take a strong effort, a Catch-22 gamble that she was not ready to take. She had the wire in her left hand, a piece of security and there was a part of her that felt if it broke, she would break.
The wire was to be a last resort now, when she reached a critical point. People had to be looking for her. Perhaps a helicopter or plane would fly overhead and someone would spot her. Perhaps she was being held for ransom, although she knew her father was not a rich man, and it would be paid and then she would be rescued.
There was a constellation almost directly overhead but Emily had never studied the stars so she had no idea which one it was. She imagined her father would know and then be able to pinpoint where she was on the ground from the alignment of the stars but that skill, along with others he had possessed, she had never had much of a desire to learn.
She realized she had not thought of her father or mother much at all since she’d been kidnapped. Their divorce had created a chasm between all three of them that had not begun to heal. She knew they would be frantic about her being missing. A small, selfish part of her relished the thought that they would finally be focused on her and not their own situation.
Not that it did her any good.
Something fluttered by overhead, startling her out of her emotional musings. She cocked her head, trying to hear the beat of wings again. And it came, closer and then something landed on the lip of the cistern.
A large bird. A black figure against the dark sky. Emily wearily got to her feet to see it more clearly. If she could catch it, then she could drink its blood. Eat whatever meat was on its bones. It could—