"I can't answer that with certainty, sir. It's definitely a strong possibility. I have a contact I'm going to get in touch with who might be able to shed some light on the matter."
"For argument's sake, if it wasn't the CIA who was responsible for Ali, then who was?"
"That is the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question, sir. At first glance, certainly the CIA jumps to the head of the list, but I've got a feeling there might have been someone else involved."
"And that would be?"
"Again, don't know, sir. We're working 24-7 on this. I've had the forensics team out there nonstop. We've recovered brass in 5.56 from an AR-15, 7.62×39 from an AK-47, by far the most, and some .40-caliber Smith & Wesson found inside the house. The bodies inside the house were killed with the handgun; the guards outside and in the campground were all shot with 5.56. Someone carved the word terrorist in Ali's forehead."
"What?"
"It appears whoever killed Ali carved the word terrorist into his forehead. Does that mean something I don't know about?"
"Yes, but I can't get into it now. How much longer will you be on-site?"
"I'm planning on returning tomorrow. I'll leave the team in place. I want that place gone over with a microscope."
"When you get back, I'll explain the terrorist in the forehead."
"Yes, sir. I'll be in touch."
Sanderson ended the phone call and sat at his desk thinking. He'd heard rumors about similar occurrences that had taken place over in the Middle East. He decided to call Elliott Ragar of the NSA. After Sanderson had waited on hold for two minutes, Ragar's voice came on.
"Matt, what can I do for you?"
"Elliott, I have a question. Have you ever heard of the word terrorist being carved into the foreheads of terrorists killed over in the Middle East?"
Silence.
"Actually, I have. At least, I've heard the rumors, though I've never actually seen it myself or talked to someone who has."
"What else can you tell me about that? My guy in charge of the Ryyaki Ali assassination just told me that's what he found. I've heard rumors too, but I wanted to double-check."
"Matt, that makes me believe we've got a new player in the mix."
"That's what I think too. Any idea of who it might be?"
"No. The closest thing I know is it might have been a sniper who was referred to as the Ghost. I've never heard a name put to it. Again, this is only what I've heard, and it's all unconfirmed."
"I think it's time we start doing some digging. I have someone over at the Department of Defense who might be able to help."
"So do I. I'll get hold of my guy and get back with you. We can compare notes."
"Do we let the others in on this?"
"Hell no. Especially that damned Backersley. Until we have some solid evidence, let's keep this between us."
"My thought exactly. I'll be in touch."
"Hey, guys, we're about an hour out of Atlanta," Christman announced.
"Thanks, J. C. I'll give Olivia Watson a call and set up a meeting!" Phillips hollered back.
Styles walked up to Phillips and asked, "Can you give me a report on everything you've been able to find out about the assassination of President Williams? Sometimes I think better reading information off paper than listening to it."
Phillips opened up a desk drawer and handed him a blue folder. "This about covers it. I had a feeling you might want it," she replied, trying to hide the fact that she was close to choking up.
Styles reached down and gently held her shoulder.
"You're not the only one in pain over this, Darlene. I'm hurting too. He was a good man in a world full of lying assholes."
Phillips reached up and cautiously squeezed his hand. "Thanks."
"Anytime, Darlene, anytime." He took the folder and stretched out on a sofa with a coffee table in front of it. He'd been working out on the plane for almost three hours and was ready to tackle the information that he would use to formulate his next move.
Starr, who had witnessed the exchange but had stayed silent, sat down across from Styles. "Want any help?"
"Sure," Styles tossed half the paperwork on the coffee table. "When we're through, we'll compare notes."
"Can I get a friggin' water?" Christman yelled.
Six seconds later, a bottled water came flying into the cockpit. "Hey, careful. You might hurt something up here."
"Next time, catch it," Starr replied, laughing.
"Starr, there's something bothering me a bit," admitted Styles.
"What's that?"
"Carving into Ali's and Ellhad's foreheads. The more I think about it, the more I think it was a major fuckup."
"Why? President Williams wanted us to send a message."
"Yeah, he did, but that is going to be a link to what happened in Europe, over in the sand, and eventually traced back to the marines if someone wants to dig deep enough."
"I didn't think about that," agreed Starr.
"Obviously, I didn't either."
Both looked up as Phillips joined them. "The digging has already begun. Sanderson of the FBI is asking questions over at the DOD. He has a contact there — don't have a name yet — but I intercepted an e-mail. The name Ghost has surfaced, tracing back over twelve years. I take it that is what the enemy called you?"
Styles looked up at the ceiling and muttered, "How could I have been so damned stupid?"
Starr, trying to reassure him, said, "Marv, no one can foresee everything."
"I know, but that was one major dumb-ass mistake."
Phillips interjected, "I don't mean to keep bringing this up, but the obvious is that we have to go dark like we've talked about. I mean completely. If we agree, then I'm going to start eliminating all digital footprints of us anywhere I can. I'm pretty sure I can make it appear as though we disappeared."
"What about people who know us?" Starr asked.
"I can't do anything about that, but as I've already been doing, I can change all photographs of us anywhere I find one. That will disrupt any facial recognition programs. If someone possesses a photograph of us, that could be a problem, but it's one we'll have to deal with as it comes up."
"All right," stated Styles. "Let's take care of getting rid of this damned toxin, and then we go after the president's killer and talk. Glad we don't have much to do!" he exclaimed sarcastically.
"I'll go fill J. C. in," Starr said, walking toward the cockpit.
"How many photographs are there of you?" Phillips asked Styles. "Any idea?"
"Actually, not very many. My father has a few, probably a couple from high school, military ID, that's about it."
"Same for me. I've never liked having my picture taken. As far as this disappearing issue, I have to visit my mother first. After that, I'm all for it."
"Yeah, I have to see my dad. As far as I know, I don't believe Starr has any close family left. No clue as far as J. C. goes except for his sister."
"I already have a program in place to find all photographs of us anywhere. I won't delete until we officially decide."
"Go ahead and start with me."
Phillips smiled at him. "Already have. Started that a while ago, but now I'm really getting on it. I knew you would want me to. Even the Marine Corps no longer has a photograph of you."
Styles looked at her. "You are getting to know me pretty well."
"Yes, I am, and I have to admit I am enjoying that."
Styles just nodded at her.
Phillips got up and started to return to her workstation but stopped and said, "That was smart taking out Ellhad back there. It saved time and any possible manner of him contaminating anything. In my opinion, that far outweighs the carving issue."
Styles just nodded at her again. "Hold up a second. When you contact Watson, give us an hour to survey the area and maybe set up surveillance. We don't need any surprises."