Golden noticed that Gant had begun using the plural — we. He probably wasn’t even aware of it, but she noted the verbal cue anyway. She focused on Sam. His head was down, his shoulders slumped. Not anything like the commanding figure she’d met here two years ago. Children could do that to you, she knew.
Sam raised his head and looked from Gant to her, searching for some sympathy. Golden steeled her face to remain passive. The way she had learned through graduate school in training and in her early practice when she’d worked with patients.
“All right,” Sam finally said. “It wasn’t a chopper accident. They were on a mission into Colombia just over the border from Panama. It got all fucked up. It wasn’t my fault. I tried to help them. But they did get killed.”
Gant was silent and Golden continued to follow his lead, waiting.
“It was a direct action mission,” Sam finally continued. “They were a sniper team seconded out of Seventh Group. Forten was the team leader and sniper. Payne was his spotter and Lutz his security. They were infiltrated into Colombia from Panamanian airspace via HAHO — high altitude, high opening parachute,” he explained with a glance at Golden— “near a village that was a key way-point in moving cocaine over the border. The villagers had contacted both the Colombian government and the DEA that they were willing to accept the substantial aid package offered if they stopped allowing the free trafficking — but part of the deal was taking out the local warlord who ran the drug net. So Forten’s team went in to do that. We knew the warlord was going to strike back at the village once they no longer gave sanctuary to his couriers and we got intelligence when that was going to happen. So the team went in forty-eight hours before that. We figured if we cut off the head, the rest of the organization would fall apart.”
Sam fell silent for a moment and they all could hear the hum of the parking lot lights overhead.
He picked up his story. “They were on site and everything was good. I was on the exfil chopper. We were waiting just over the border. The team reported the warlord and his men coming in to the village as scheduled. I gave them the green light to take out the warlord. Then Forten also reported seeing an American among them. Someone they thought might be a DEA agent from a badge on the man’s belt.
“So per SOP I called it in to the Embassy. Found out that the DEA and the Agency had come up with something new. The DEA had gotten one of their agents to make the warlord think he was playing both sides. And they hoped to use this connection to go further up the food chain and take down a major player, someone much bigger than the warlord.”
“So fuck the villagers,” Gant said and Golden was surprised at the venom in his voice.
Sam wearily nodded. “Yeah. The deal was off. God-damn bureaucratic fuck up. The left hand didn’t know what the right hand was doing. I radioed Forten to abort. Ordered him to abort.” Sam shook his head. “He ignored me. Ignored a direct order. He fired, took out some of the warlord’s men. Their position was compromised and over-run. The word we got back eventually via the CIA was that all three were killed.”
“And you didn’t even try to go in to extract them?”
Sam’s face hardened. “I had my orders. We were not to cross the border. They had their orders. If Forten hadn’t fired, they’d have been able to get out with no trouble. Hell, they could have walked over the damn border.”
“Borders.” Gant nodded. “They killed Caleigh Roberts right on the Alabama-Florida border. I don’t think that was coincidence. They were making a point.”
“They could have walked out if Forten hadn’t fired,” Cranston repeated.
Gant shook his head in obvious disgust. “Who else was involved? They’ve hit you, Caulkins — he was the DEA agent in the camp?”
“I don’t know. Probably.”
“Roberts was the CIA liaison, right?”
Sam nodded.
“Lankin was your pilot?” Gant asked.
“I suppose so,” Sam said.
“Who made the decision to abort? Roberts?”
“I talked to Roberts,” Sam said, “but he was relaying a command from the man who was in charge of all counter-drug operations in theater.”
“And who was that?” Gant pressed.
“A State Department official named Foley. Lewis Foley.”
“Fuck,” Gant said. “Would have been nice to know that earlier.”
“I thought they were all dead,” Sam protested. “It didn’t even occur to me it could be them.”
“Because you took the CIA’s word?”
“Yes, but we lost radio contact with them. And if they’d been captured, it stands to reason the warlord would have used them as bargaining chips. Or executed them. What the hell did happen to them?”
“Good question,” Gant said. He had his Satphone out. “Anyone else who might be targeted?” he asked as he punched in a speed dial.
Sam held his hands up helplessly. “If it’s them, I don’t know. Foley gave the order to abort because I assume Caulkins was working the warlord. I relayed the order. I guess Lankin was flying the exfil chopper, which I was on. Why would they target him? He was just following orders.”
Gant held up his hand, silencing Sam. “Seems like everyone was just following orders but no one was taking responsibility.” Gant talked into the Satphone when it was answered. “I need to locate Lewis Foley. State Department. A-S-A-P. And the make-up of his immediate family.”
The three stood in silence as they waited on the answer. Golden was surprised to suddenly feel very tired, as the adrenaline rush of the past thirty-some-odd hours wore off. It bothered her to see Sam broken and defeated, but even more so to realize he had been part of this whole mess and that he had lied from the very beginning. And worse, she could sense he still wasn’t telling them the complete truth. And she was uncertain whether she should tell Gant that or if he already knew it as he had known it from the beginning, obviously.
Gant cocked his head listening. Then he spoke: “We need security on Foley and his immediate family ASAP. That is most likely the next target. Who do you have close by, Mister Nero?”
Gant looked surprised at the answer. “Neeley is there?” He listened for a few seconds longer then snapped the phone shut. “Let’s go,” he said to her.
“Wait—“ Sam said
“There’s no more time to stand around talking,” Gant said. He paused. “Unless there’s something else we should know?”
Sam shook his head. “I’ve told you everything. I thought they were dead. I was told they were dead.”
Gant turned to Golden. “We have to get to DC to see Foley. He’s the only one we know that was involved in this whose family hasn’t been hit yet, so there’s a good chance his is next.”
Nero turned to Hannah Masterson as he put the phone down. As he expected, she spoke before he had a chance to.
“You can’t commit Neeley to doing a damn thing.”
“Ms. Neeley committed herself a long time ago,” Nero said. “She just hasn’t accepted the reality of her current situation. What is she going to do? Take up knitting?”
Masterson sat still and just stared at Nero, knowing, of course, that any non-verbal effort was wasted on him. “She has a choice.”
“Really?” Nero asked. “You believe in free will?”
“Yes, I do,” Masterson said.
“Good,” Nero said. “So do I. But you only have a choice when you have options. What are Neeley’s options?” Nero asked. When no answer was forthcoming, he pressed on. “She is what her life made her. What Anthony Gant made her. And what her own choices made her.”