Emily froze as she realized it was a buzzard.
And it was waiting for her meat.
Gant was glad to be on his own. On the way to the airfield Golden had suggested she do more research on the two surviving targets while Gant went to Maine to try to figure out exactly what they were up to. It was a plan, albeit a half-ass one in Gant’s opinion. As the jet carrying her raced west, Gant was on board an Air Force Combat Talon that he had specifically requested be put on standby for his use after the debacle in Virginia. Gant was dressed in black combat fatigues and the rear half of the aircraft was full of gear on several pallets that he had put in as a standing packing list for the aircraft, allowing him to be prepared for numerous contingencies. The front quarter of the aircraft cargo bay was separated from the rest by a thick black curtain and was lined with computer and imaging consoles, manned by Air Force specialists.
The Talon was the Special Operations version of the venerable C-130 Hercules cargo plane. It was equipped with terrain-following, and more importantly, terrain-avoidance radars, which allowed it to fly at operational speeds as low as two hundred and fifty feet above ground level in adverse weather conditions.
Sitting in the back of the specially equipped cargo plane, he used one of the secure satellite communications consoles and dialed Nero’s special satellite secure number. Even though it was nine in the evening, he felt reasonably confident he would get the old man.
He was surprised when a woman answered on the second ring. “This is Ms. Masterson. What can I do for you, Mister Gant?”
“Is Mister Nero there?” Gant asked, realizing his mistake right away.
“Mister Nero is indisposed at the moment,” Masterson said.
A silence played out, then her voice came back, sharper. “I assume you called for a reason. I received your situation report an hour ago. You’re on a flight to Maine and Doctor Golden is on her way to interview Sergeant Forten’s adoptive mother. One of his adoptive mothers that is, the one she felt was critical in the formation of what he is now. At least according to her predictive behavior model. Is there something else I need to know? Or that you need to know?”
Gant held back his sigh. “Do you have any suggestions as to a course of action?”
“That was hard, wasn’t it, Mister Gant? This is the first time since you’ve started on this Sanction that you’ve asked my opinion.”
“You have all the data,” Gant said.
“It’s about more than data.”
Gant forced himself to relax his grip on the phone. “There’s a pattern to what they’re doing. I don’t quite see it yet, but I’m guessing they’re taking out the warlord next, then they’ll start going after the primary players whose families they’ve already hurt.”
“You’re guessing?”
“Based on my experience, yes.”
“I concur with your guess,” Masterson said. “The initiating event was the kidnapping of Tracy Caulkins over three weeks ago. By itself, that raised no alarms. They chained her to that tree in Tennessee and kept her alive, barely alive, while they waited to do their next step and she grew weaker and weaker.
“The next step, of course, was the kidnapping of Emily Cranston and the leaving of the two partial caches,” Masterson continued. “They must have known that would start the clock ticking. Not the kidnapping, but the cache reports. A very clear indicator of who the perpetrators were and their background. And they also must have known the connection between Cranston and Caulkins would be made relatively quickly. So they moved faster. They took out Kathy Svoboda and Caleigh Roberts within twenty-four hours. By doing that, they let us know this wasn’t the work of one individual. These were not random acts done in a random order.”
Gant was following her reasoning, which was in line with what he had already figured out. What she said next though, he had not thought of. “They left the rest of Caulkins cache report with Svoboda’s body. That was to misdirect us while they moved forward. In essence, we were moving backwards. Three weeks back. A smart ploy, but one you must have sensed.”
Gant couldn’t tell if she was being serious or if she was pointing out his failure.
“It was your initiative,” Masterson said, “that got you to the farm in Virginia in time to interdict Lutz. They must have considered that a possibility, but not one with a high probability. So score one for the good guys.”
“But they still got Foley and his wife,” Gant said, still trying to figure out what Masterson was really saying.
“And we got Lutz. They were collateral damage.”
Gant thought Masterson should have a long talk with Roberts about collateral damage. “So what about Emily Cranston?”
“She’s still alive,” Masterson said. “She has a role to play beyond that of simply tormenting the good colonel.”
“What role?”
“Well, she already played a role in the ambush that killed two of the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team members. That ambush was meant for you. Those who operate in the covert world, such as our targets, must have heard whispers of the Cellar, so they wanted to use that cache ambush as a counter-action against us. But again, we out-maneuvered them. Since they gave us a partial on her new location, I foresee her having another role to play. So there will soon be an event where we get the rest of the cache report.”
“Taking out the warlord in Maine?”
“I think that is the next action but I don’t think they will leave the rest of the report there,” Masterson said. “It doesn’t fit what they’ve done before. I just talked to Doctor Golden reference this matter and she believes they will act in pattern.”
Gant silently cursed. She’d just talked to Golden. First, before talking to him. Just great. “What pattern?”
“According to Golden they will recreate the original mission with regard to the warlord.”
“Sniper.”
“Correct. I concur with her belief in this matter.”
Gant glanced down at the pile of gear on the pallet at his feet, already deciding what he needed and what could remain on the plane. He gestured toward one the pallets, getting the load-master’s attention. He indicated for the man to begin rigging what he needed with a parachute. Then he considered whether he should radio ahead to the CIA compound and warn the guards.
“Who else is left for them to leave the rest of Emily’s new cache report with?” Gant asked even as he decided against the warning until he was sure of his guess. The guards’ priority would be protecting the compound and its inhabitants, not taking down the attackers. A reaction in the guard force could scare off the targets.
“A good question,” Masterson said. “And frankly, I don’t know. I believe there’s a piece to this entire thing we haven’t yet seen.”
“Maybe more than one piece,” Gant said.
“Quite possibly. They have had quite a bit of time to plan this.”
“Not much else to do when you’re imprisoned and being tortured for months on end,” Gant said.
“Correct.” Masterson’s voice was dry, unemotional. “And we have only had three days to react. I think you’ve done quite well.”
Gant was surprised. Nero had never praised or complimented him in all the years and over all the missions he had run. He didn’t know what to say.
“And my friend Neeley?” Masterson asked.
Friend? “What about her?”
“Has she been helpful?”
“Yes.”
“And Doctor Golden?”
“Uh—“
“You feel she has not been of assistance?”
“She’s trying,” Gant allowed.
“It is a steep learning curve to suddenly be thrust into this world,” Masterson said and Gant read something into that statement.