After entering the building, his first act was to grab SSgt. John Carter, the team's lone commo man. "Did you get the message off?"
Carter grinned. "Roger that, chief. Went into the woods, out of range of the cameras on the roof, to send. I imagine that old Sergeant Major Powers was back there copying my manual code to check on it."
Riley smiled back. "Yeah, I'm sure he was. Makes him feel useful. All right. Make sure you get our receive tomorrow morning, and don't let these people know."
"No problem."
Riley tapped him on the shoulder as he passed by. "Good job, John."
Riley rolled off his camping pad and slipped on his boots. The noise of his team members sleeping on the floor of the large office produced a low rumble of mingled snores. Riley carefully stepped over bodies and made his way out the door into the main floor hallway.
He glanced to his left. The elevator leading to the basement was unguarded, but Riley also knew that a DIA man was on duty at the front security console, which monitored this hallway. He was tempted to flip the bird to the camera perched above the far door, but refrained. Riley didn't trust any of the DIA men, and Lewis probably wouldn't see the humor in it.
Riley turned right to make his way to the men's room. As he did so, a door opened almost directly across from him and Doctor Merrit stepped out. She looked surprised at his presence in the hallway.
"Excuse me, I hope I didn't startle you," Riley told her softly.
She shook her head and then, with a quick look down the hallway, gestured for Riley to follow her back into her office. Curious, Riley obliged, shutting the door behind him. He wasn't sure if the guard had seen the brief encounter on the monitor, whether he'd been looking at that particular screen at that particular time. Riley had a feeling that Colonel Lewis wouldn't approve of him talking to either Ward or Merrit without his presence.
As soon as he stepped into Merrit's office, Riley realized that it really didn't matter if they had been seen on the hallway monitor; there was also a camera in this room.
"What's up, ma'am?" Riley inquired. He estimated that it would take the DIA man at the console about half a minute, maybe less, to get someone down here.
Merrit grabbed his arm and looked up into his eyes. For the first time Riley noticed that she had dark green eyes behind those thick glasses. Those eyes were open wide now and had a wild look. Her voice shook and the skin under one eye jerked with a tic. "There's some things that Ward and Lewis didn't tell you about this lab and about what you're doing."
No shit, Riley was tempted to say. Let's go, let's go, Riley thought, watching the doorway out of the corner of his eye. "Like what?"
"You need to be very careful when you're going after the so-called monkeys. They're much, much more than that. They're — "
The door swung open and Freeman, the black DIA agent, stood there. "I'm sorry. You two are not to be talking without supervision. Doctor Merrit, you should know better. You were instructed not to interact with any personnel here without permission. Mister Riley, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
Riley nodded good-naturedly, although inside he was seething. Fucking spooks and their goddamn games. People got killed because of their little secrets. He wondered who the real enemy was here.
Riley headed toward the door. As he brushed by Freeman, he turned and looked back over his shoulder at Merrit. "Good night, Doctor. Hope you sleep well."
As Freeman pulled the door shut, Riley turned and faced him. "With all due respect, sir — and to be quite honest the only respect I hold for you or your partners right now is based purely on rank — what is going on?"
Freeman looked uncomfortable. "What do you mean?"
Riley let out a low incredulous laugh. "Come on, sir! What's the big secret? Why don't you want us talking to Ward and Merrit? A blind man could tell that you all aren't leveling with us. Why don't you trust us? I've been on more classified missions than you've read about."
Freeman shook his head. "There's nothing more that you have a need to know."
Riley leaned toward Freeman, his short, lean body causing even the hulking ex-football player to back up slightly. Riley's amiable appearance was gone, replaced by the intense fury of a man poised on the edge of violence. "Just between you and me, Major, I want you to understand something. If one of my men gets hurt because you all didn't fill us in on what's going on here, I'm going to have your ass. I don't give a shit about your fucking rank or the fucking DIA. That isn't a threat. That's a promise written in blood."
Riley stared hard at Freeman until the bigger man dropped his gaze.
"There's nothing more you need to know," Freeman muttered.
Riley nodded. "Just as long as you know where we stand."
Chapter 8
Pete McClanahan threw the rusty Ford Bronco into neutral, turned off the ignition, and rolled to a halt as the engine sputtered into silence. The eastern sky was just beginning to acquire a dull gray tinge, heralding the coming of dawn. To the west, the horizon was an ominous pitch-black wall, threatening nasty weather. McClanahan eased himself out the door of the truck. After stretching his old aching back, the head wrangler slowly made his way over to the stables, gingerly sipping on a plastic cupful of hot coffee.
Halfway to the one-story wood barn, he stopped and looked around, sensing that something wasn't quite normal. McClanahan slowly scanned the entire Wrangler compound, looking for anything strange.
The horses that had been left out in pasture overnight were all gathered together in the center of the fenced-in field. McClanahan couldn't remember ever seeing them standing that tightly bunched. His forty-three years of horse experience told him that something had spooked them bad.
Better not be those damn kids coming out with their pellet guns again, McClanahan thought angrily. Some teenagers had driven out here a couple of months ago and fired shots into the pasture, hitting two of the horses. McClanahan had seen them from the Wrangler Camp shack and chased them, but their hopped-up road car had outrun his old four-wheel-drive truck.
McClanahan was still shaking his head over the memory when he saw Angel. The mare was standing in the shadows next to the stable doors. McClanahan hurried over. The horse was covered with dried sweat, indicating that she'd made a hard run sometime during the night. But there was no saddle or bridle. McClanahan peered about. No lights were on in the two-room shack that served as headquarters for the Wrangler Camp. Hapscomb's Dodge truck and the Werners' Volvo were still sitting in the parking lot, the only other vehicles there except his truck.
McClanahan's first thought was that Angel had broken the picket line last night and returned home. But that didn't explain why the horse had been in one hell of a hurry. Shit, he hoped nothing had happened to Hapscomb. The young son of a bitch drank too much, but he was one of only two men whom McClanahan could count on to work weekdays during the off season, and he needed Hapscomb to guide a private school group coming in next week. The damn fool better not have gotten drunk and had an accident.
"Guess I better return you to your man, girl," McClanahan whispered as he scratched Angel's neck.
It took him ten minutes to get his own horse saddled and ready to go, and a few more minutes to let Angel finish some hay and water. Then he put a halter on her and tied her off on the horn of his saddle. McClanahan knew that Hapscomb liked taking campers up to a clearing on a knoll above Lick Creek, about three miles away. McClanahan glanced at his watch and estimated. He set off at a gentle amble to meet them there for breakfast, or at least before the storm broke.