“First,” Neeley said, staring him straight in the eyes, “it was a bullshit mission sending me to the cache site. Bailey was there and filed a report. I could have helped you in Maine.”
Gant took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled and nodded. “All right. I accept that.”
Neeley and Golden took seats flanking him. Gant waited. Golden was the next to speak. “We think the ultimate goal of our targets is to kill those men they feel are responsible for what happened to them. They’ve already killed Foley. That leaves Caulkins, Cranston, Roberts and Lankin. Four men in four different places. Places where our targets knows they will be, even though they do have guards. We suggest we bring them together in one place, a location that our targets will not have planned for.”
Gant considered that. As he was thinking, Neeley spoke up. “If the targets can’t find the four, they can’t kill them.”
“Maybe they don’t want to kill them,” Gant said. “Maybe the targets want those men to suffer the rest of their lives.”
“Then why did they take out Foley?” Neeley asked.
Gant shrugged. “I think we messed up whatever they had planned for Foley or his wife. You’ve seen these men,” he said to Golden. “They’re suffering. Death might well be a relief for them.”
Golden shook her head. “They’re suffering but I don’t think that’s going to be enough for our targets. They went to Maine to finish off the warlord. I think they’re going to finish off these men.”
“Where do you suggest moving them?” Gant asked.
“Fort Bragg,” Neeley said. “The Delta Force compound. It’s about as secure a place as you can find.”
It was Gant’s turn to shake his head. “Bragg is where our targets trained. They know that place and they know people there. Not a good idea.”
Mrs. Smith cleared her throat. “Mister Nero and Ms. Masterson are waiting for you.”
Gant stood. “Let’s ask Ms. Masterson what she thinks since she’s now the brains of this operation.”
The three made their way through the security checks into the Cellar’s inner sanctum. Masterson was behind the desk, Nero on the couch to the side. An IV was hooked up to the old man and he didn’t raise his head as they came in.
“I understand you have a proposal,” Masterson said.
Gant wasn’t surprised — he had no doubt the outer office was under constant surveillance and Nero and Masterson had heard every word.
Golden stepped forward. “We think we should consolidate the four men our targets are after. Put them in a secure place.”
“And that would achieve?” Masterson asked.
“Hopefully it might save their lives,” Golden said.
Masterson looked to Neeley. “You agree?”
Neeley nodded.
Then Masterson turned her attention to Gant. “And you?”
“Hiding those people isn’t going to get us any closer to the targets. Or Emily Cranston.”
Masterson considered for a few moments. “But it might indeed save their lives. We’ll do it. And I agree that Fort Bragg is not a good idea. I suggest we bring them here to Fort Meade. We have a safe house out in the range area that we can have secured.”
Gant stared at the woman behind the desk, trying to get a read on her. He thought she was agreeing much too quickly to this plan, but didn’t say anything.
Masterson switched her attention once more, this time back to Golden. “I read your report on the interview with Egan. We can see where Forten’s penchant for chaining living things out in the woods began. But do you have anything that can help us predict what he’ll do next?”
“Not from the interview,” Golden said. “We’ll get the rest of Emily’s cache report. The question is where and when.”
“If we wait until they give it to us,” Gant said, “it will be too late for her.”
Nero’s metallic voice cut across the room. “A question, if I may?”
Everyone turned to him. Nero’s head was turned to the side, solidly resting on a pillow. His voice machine was resting on the pillow in front of his throat. “These men have targeted the families of those they feel betrayed them. Do any of them have families of their own?”
Gant wanted to kick himself for missing such an obvious avenue of approach. Masterson’s fingers flew over her keyboard as Golden opened up her briefcase and pulled out the personnel folders of the three targets. “Lutz was single. As was Forten. But Payne had a wife.”
“I’ve got the address,” Masterson said. “Fayetteville, just outside Fort Bragg. According to my data, Payne’s wife claimed his death benefits and remarried less than six months after he was reported killed in the supposed helicopter accident.”
Gant felt a cold knot in his stomach. “I’d get the locals on it but it’s probably too late.”
Golden looked at him. “What do you mean it’s—“ she paused as she realized what he meant. “You think they’re dead?”
“Most likely dead and the bodies well hidden,” Gant said. “Probably the first order of business the targets did when they got back to the States. They wouldn’t want to leave bodies around because that would have brought focus too soon.”
Masterson was typing as she spoke. “I’ll have the local police check out her last known location.”
“What else have we missed?” Nero asked, the artificial voice without inflection but Gant felt an implied rebuke.
“According to the CIA,” Gant said, “our targets were captured by the drug cartel in Columbia. Held for eight months. Tortured. I’ve got two questions: why didn’t we make an attempt to get them back? And two, how did they escape?”
“I’ve checked into that,” Masterson said. “No attempt was made to get the men back because they were officially reported killed in an accident by Southern Command.”
“By Colonel Cranston, right?” Gant asked.
“Correct. So no one was looking for them because no one knew they were alive,” Masterson said.
“So Cranston did fuck them over,” Gant said, earning a sharp look from Golden. He ignored her. “But why did the Cartel keep them alive? And why didn’t the Cartel try to make a deal? Use the three as leverage against the United States or at the very least a political statement?” When there was no answer, Gant pushed his second question. “And how did they escape?”
“The DEA agent,” Golden suddenly said.
“What?” Gant was confused by the sudden switch.
“The CIA guy — Roberts. He said they gave up a DEA agent in order to get his brother who was undercover closer to the head of one of the Cartels, right?”
Gant nodded. “Yes.”
“Who was this agent?” Golden asked.
Masterson looked down at the computer screen set into the desk-top and typed on the slim keyboard. “I’m checking. Why do you want to know?”
“Because,” Gant said before Golden could explain, “Roberts told us the DEA agent was presumed dead. Just like our targets. And he was a prisoner of the same Cartel group our targets were held by.”
“So he might not be dead,” Nero said. He shifted his head between Gant and Golden, the raw skin where his eyes had once been, almost seeming to see them. It was as if he were measuring the two of them in some manner.
Gant could also tell that Golden was staring at him but he couldn’t determine her mood — whether she was angry at him for stepping on her line of reasoning or happy that he had quickly seen where she was going. She was back in therapist mode, hiding her emotions.
“Robert Finley,” Masterson said, reading her screen. “He’d been with the DEA for eight years. Reported as killed in the line of duty last year, body never recovered.”