Bailey spoke for the first time from his position standing by the door. “Doctor Golden was the psychological screener for Special Operations Command for the past four years.”
That explained her knowing Colonel Cranston, Gant thought, although it didn’t explain her seeing the daughter’s photo on a nightstand. “Was?”
“Doctor Golden resigned her position three months ago,” Bailey said, as usual not explaining a damn thing. Gant noted that Golden’s hands were gripping the arms of her chair and at Bailey’s last words her knuckles had gone white.
“And what expertise does Ms. Masterson bring?” Gant asked.
Nero’s head turned slightly and there was no obvious difference in the metallic voice, but nonetheless, Gant picked up the tone as the old man spoke. “I hand-picked Ms. Masterson and she underwent a rather strenuous screening process. If you question her, Mister Gant, you are questioning my judgment.”
The room was silent once more for several moments. Then, surprisingly, Golden cut in. “You believe that whoever kidnapped Emily Cranston is a government employee?”
“Given the circumstances, it is probable,” Nero said. “There’s not enough data yet.”
“You mean not enough bodies,” Gant said.
Nero held up a copy of the second cache report. “Ms. Masterson believes we will receive the rest of this report shortly.”
“That won’t be good,” Gant said. He wondered who Masterson really was and why she had been glancing at him so strangely ever since he entered. He’d known Nero was getting on in years and his health was failing, but Masterson truly seemed a strange choice to replace him.
“Rarely do we receive good news here,” Nero said.
Golden nodded at the partial report. “It would make sense to send the rest of it. To make the point about Emily.”
“And that point would be?” Gant asked.
Golden shrugged. “We’ll find that out when we find the first cache that he wants us to find.”
“He?” Masterson asked.
“My data almost insures it would be a man,” Golden answered. She looked at Masterson. “You said first cache?”
Masterson nodded. “There are two cache reports. One most likely refers to wherever the target is locating Emily Cranston. The other, though, probably refers to a cache already in place. These partial reports were left with more than just a taunt in mind. I suspect we will get the rest of the first report shortly and find what Emily’s fate will be.”
Gant wanted to ask the old man about his brother, but he didn’t want to do it in front of the others in the room. Also, he doubted Nero would tell him anything more than he’d been told by Bailey, which was little. Gant closed his eyes, blocking out the three lights shining down on him. He thought briefly of his brother’s ex-wife, Jesse, but the woman behind the desk interrupted his thoughts.
“Barring new information,” Masterson said, “it might be good to review Colonel Cranston’s background.”
“You think it’s an act of revenge?” Golden asked.
“It is possible,” Nero said.
The psychologist leaned forward, her voice harsh. “Did you do this for Jimmy when he was kidnapped?”
Gant was surprised at the sudden outburst from Golden.
A beeping noise cut off any reply Nero was going to make. The old man picked up his phone and listened for several moments, then put it down without a word.
“There’s been a killing,” he finally said. “This morning.” He tilted his head toward Masterson. “All available data is being transferred by Mrs. Smith on-line. Please bring it up.”
Hannah Masterson studied the scant data scrolling up on the screen built into the desktop. “Enterprise, Alabama. Twenty-four year old female, named Cathy Svoboda. Throat slashed at approximately zero-nine-ten. Dead at the site, which was the day care facility where she was working. Crime scene is sterile, no suspects, and the cut was smooth and clean, not a butcher job. Sterile except for one thing.”
“The rest of the first cache report,” Golden said.
“Yes,” Masterson said. “Given to a young boy at the scene. All he can recall given his shock is that the man’s face was scarred.”
“In what way?” Gant asked.
“That data is not available yet,” Masterson said. She held up a hand as she typed into the computer. “She was engaged. Her fiancée, Chief Warrant Office Mark Lankin, is a helicopter pilot in the reserves. When he is on active duty he flies for the Night Stalkers, the Army’s classified helicopter unit.”
“The timing isn’t coincidence,” Gant said, remembering what Golden had said about the taunting. “This girl was killed so that we’d get this report now. Today.” He stood. “Do you have a copy of the rest of the report?”
Masterson nodded. “Yes. The lake in the partial is Reelfoot Lake in Kentucky.”
“We’re on our way,” Gant turned for the door.
Nero nodded, even though Gant was already moving. “Mrs. Masterson, please start running background on Lankin and Cranston. We need to find the link.”
Gant paused at the door. “It won’t be in the computer.” He glanced at Golden, who was still in her seat. “You coming?”
CHAPTER SIX
Emily looked once more at her abductor’s face and was disappointed by what she saw there. He was so ordinary. He looked like anyone else you’d find wandering the aisles of a library, picking up some milk on the way home, or walking out of a barbershop. There was nothing overtly evil about him. Nothing was even interesting about him. That was her initial impression.
A closer look at his eyes though, and she saw how he was like no one else she had ever been around. Emily was used to being noticed. Whether it was because she was young, or female, or simply because she was another human being; Emily, like most people, was conscious of other people seeing her. This man did not notice her. He was three feet away and staring at her, as he had been now for almost a half hour but he did not notice her. She realized that so far this was the most horrifying moment of this ordeal. To this man, to this person who controlled everything about her down to the moment of her death, she was of no interest. She was not even human to him. She was nothing, just a means to an end. What the end was, though, she had no idea.
Emily returned his stare. Only hers was not blank: it was filled with judgment and loathing. Then she saw the scar. It was mostly hidden by his short dark hair. But on the left side of his head there was a furrow that ran from just behind his temple to the rear of the skull. She tried to imagine what could cause such damage but drew a blank, not being aware of the vagaries of bullet trajectories once they encountered flesh and bone.
“I’m not going to kill you.” He repeated it as if the statement negated all that came before it.
“Why me? What did I ever do to you? Why did you pick me?” Emily was determined not to cry one more time for this asshole.
He looked at her with genuine puzzlement. “I know you didn’t do anything to me. I didn’t pick you. You picked me.”
“You’re kidding right? How the hell did I do that?” Emily liked getting angry. It felt much better than being terrified.
“To be more exact, your father brought you to me.” He had a look of sincere truthfulness on his ordinary face.
“My father?” Emily felt a cold chill settle over her. She only had the roughest idea of what her father did in the Army, but she knew he was involved in a lot of secret stuff. He’d been gone most of her life, off to some corner of the world doing things he could never talk about. “How is my father involved? How did he bring me to you?”
The man folded his arms, not answering.
“Will you let me go? I won’t tell anyone about you. You’d be safe. We could pretend this never happened.” Emily saw the futility immediately. For him this was already over. “How can I believe you’re not going to kill me? You’ve kidnapped me, drugged me and marched me to this godforsaken place. Why shouldn’t I think that killing me is the whole idea here?”