As a Green Beret, Freeman had seen his share of terrorists and lowlifes. He’d seen well-trained officers and raw recruits. The man in front of him was none of those things. For reasons he couldn’t quantify, he felt like he was staring at an alien. He said nothing for a time, and managed to keep his fists in check. He searched the strong young face, the steady gaze for … For what?
A threat?
An explanation?
“Who?” Freeman finally growled. “Who the hell are you?”
When DeBolt finally saw his interrogator’s face, it confirmed the voice association he’d made — in front of him was the man he’d last seen on the floor of the lodge in Calais. Same square jaw, same military haircut. The primary difference now was in the eyes. In Calais, DeBolt had seen a soldier’s steady gaze. The man had been on the defensive then, but continuously acquiring information, searching for a tactical advantage. The man he was looking at now was positively befuddled, as if the sun had risen in the west. DeBolt thought he might have overplayed his hand.
“Your family is in no danger,” he said. “I was only making a point.”
The officer’s eyes went narrow and tilted upward. He was wondering about the lights.
“This home has a computerized system to manage everything electrical,” DeBolt explained. “Heating, lights, CO2 sensors, ceiling fans. All of it can be monitored and controlled remotely — good for saving energy. All you need is the right codes and a connection.”
“Connection? You don’t have a phone — no way. You’ve been thoroughly searched three times, once by me personally.”
Once again, DeBolt considered how to say the unsayable.
He knew that at least one dynamic had changed — this team was no longer trying to kill him. With reaching optimism, he thought the colonel might even be persuaded to help him. But first he would have to earn the man’s trust. In measured words he presented it much as he had yesterday to Lund. As he talked, DeBolt saw a range of emotions play across Freeman’s face. Disinterest was not among them. On finishing his story, he turned and showed Freeman the scars on his scalp, exactly as he’d done with Lund. The physical badge to reinforce his otherwise wildly implausible story.
“At this point, I’m sure I at least have your attention,” said DeBolt. “So let’s clear up a few things. Before today, you wanted me dead. Now we’re standing here talking. What changed?”
“My wife,” the colonel said, as if not hearing the question, “how did you know about her?”
“It was simple phone play. Call logs, a triangulated location. I sent her a text in your name. It’s not hard to do — not if you have the right backing.”
“You can do all that with…”—he hesitated and pointed to DeBolt’s head—“with whatever you’ve got in there?”
DeBolt nodded. “And a lot more.”
Freeman was still skeptical. “No — you’d need more than a connection to the internet. Information like that, following someone’s phone and hijacking call logs? That requires access. Some people might even call it hacking. I know because my unit gets exactly that kind of help, only we have a dedicated tech team, dozens of specialists who make it happen.”
“Exactly — so you know it’s operationally feasible. Now take the next step. Allow that I have access to something similar.”
“Who does it go through?” Freeman asked, order slowly returning to his upended world. “Who’s the provider?”
“That’s the million-dollar question. I really don’t know. A couple of months ago I had a pretty normal life. Then I was injured in a helicopter accident — the rest of my crew didn’t make it, and I almost died. I woke up at a beach house having no idea how I got there, or what had been done to me. I spent weeks rehabbing, getting back on my feet — until you and your team came in with guns blazing. That’s all I know. I’m figuring out what I can do, day by day, but if you ask me who’s behind it? I have no idea. I’d really like to find out though.” DeBolt held his breath, then added, “Maybe you can help me.”
“Help you? Yesterday I was trying to kill you.”
“But not today. Why?”
Freeman almost said something, then shook his head. “I need to bring the rest of my team in on this.”
“No problem,” said DeBolt. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”
36
The house was nicely furnished, from top to bottom a cut above any place DeBolt had ever lived. There were wood floors, burnt brown and rich, and a smooth stone fireplace the color of an iron winter sky. High-end steel dominated the kitchen, marble the bathrooms. More telling was what was missing. He saw no pictures on the walls, no travel keepsakes, no letters on the kitchen counter. Altogether, a scrupulously warm place, but without the soul of a home.
The shackles came off, and DeBolt rubbed his wrists and ankles as he sat on the plush living room couch. He was unbound, but it was hardly freedom. Not when I’m surrounded by five of the world’s most thoroughly trained killers.
He’d already downloaded their names and service affiliations, but now, with Unit 9 presented in person, DeBolt could make a more palpable study. There were slight variations in height and build, but the similarities were more pronounced. The sinewy necks and athletic postures, the way they stretched to unwind coiled muscles. Their shared facial expression must have been standard issue: a stare that was in equal measure resolute and impassive. As individual soldiers they were intelligent and capable. As a unit they exuded bravado. At that moment every bit of it was directed at the lone newcomer. A pack of alpha dogs working together, deciding how to deal with an encircled quarry.
They denied his request to see Lund, but assured him she was reasonably comfortable in the basement. For the sake of the others, DeBolt repeated what he’d told Freeman. His description of META was met by a sea of blank faces, suggesting none of them knew their recent missions were derived from a deep-black DARPA project. He then performed an abbreviated version of the act he’d been using to demonstrate his abilities. Any remaining skepticism was soon crushed.
In turn, Freeman gave DeBolt a condensed briefing on his team, enough for him to understand their unit mission, along with a measured description of the orders they’d received to hunt him down. With all the facts laid bare, it was this final point, the kill order against DeBolt, that clearly perplexed everyone. The central lie was apparent, but not the reasons behind it, and confusion reigned on both sides of the room.
DeBolt was sure Freeman was holding back certain elements, gaps and details left unsaid. Possibly because they were classified, but more likely because they were incriminating. He didn’t care — he was desperate for anything to help him understand his situation. At the end, Freeman explained that Unit 9’s provisional commander, a brigadier general, had been murdered the day before in Austria. It was another unimaginable complication. And far too much of a coincidence to ignore.
Freeman cleared his team in hot to ask questions of DeBolt.
Major Piasecki was first in line. “The woman we killed at the cabin … you’re sure she was only a nurse?”
DeBolt said, “I can tell you she had medical training, and I found records of her job history. She also had personal issues, drank more than she should have. But in my personal opinion — there’s no way on God’s earth she was any kind of terrorist.”
“The place where she worked — we were ordered to take that out as well. It was supposedly a lab set up by a terrorist cell for manufacturing biological agents.”
Here DeBolt was less sure. “I don’t know anything about that. I remember being in a hospital of some kind, and that could have been the building. I did find evidence that Joan Chandler spent a lot of time there in the weeks before I ended up at her cabin. The few details I have suggest my surgery was performed there, but it’s all circumstantial — I don’t have any evidence to prove it. I also can’t tell you what else might have gone on in the place.” As they all chewed on it, DeBolt asked, “Was I supposedly part of this terrorist cell? Was that the justification for the kill order on me?”