“You mean these.” Kyle pulled a stack of documents from his attaché case and waved them at Hunter.
Hunter reached out for the papers and quickly glanced through them. “Yeah, these are the ones. And that’s my signature on the bottom of each of them. Proof they got them.”
“Zapata confirmed that these aren’t their documents and the man in the photo has never worked for them.”
“Then who the hell was I handing the arms caches over to?”
“You tell us.”
“Zapata.”
“Do you have any idea how much those arms are worth?”
“I’m a shooter, not a businessman.”
“Can you explain this?”
Ashland’s aide handed Hunter a statement from a savings account at Bank of America.
“Let me see that. I don’t bank there.” Hunter studied the statements. The cover name, fake social security number and the faux Mrs. were the ones that Force Zulu had created for him as part of the cover identity used to infiltrate Rubicon, but they had not gone this far.
“This is your account-Greg Bolton and Julia Lewis-Bolton with your social security number-and it has some big deposits every month. Twenty-six thousand, thirty-two thousand. There’s even one for over forty-k. They start a few weeks after you became deputy project manager at Rubicon and got command of your own team.”
“Where’s the money coming from?” Hunter said, still holding the statements.
“All of the deposits are from a business registered in the Bahamas that’s tied to an Islamic charity. And guess who that charity happens to be charitable to-al-Zahrani and his al Qaeda faction.”
“This is total bullshit. Someone’s trying to set me up and you know it.” Hunter took a deep breath and wondered if his cover had been blown, if they knew the Pentagon had infiltrated their operation and if the accusation of theft and arms trafficking were Rubicon’s attempt at getting him out of the picture without tipping their hand, but that still didn’t explain what Ashland was doing in the insurgent safe house or what he was doing working for Rubicon, for that matter. Hunter suddenly considered that maybe Ashland was doing both Rubicon and the Agency. Ever since Rumsfeld created Force Zulu, a cold war had been raging between the two clandestine services. It wouldn’t be the first time that the CIA had sent someone to spy on a Zulu operator to make sure that the Pentagon didn’t beat them to any significant intel prize. “Sir, I need to talk to you privately about something.”
“Anything you have to say you can say in front of my aide, Mr. Kyle.”
“Not this.”
“I said anything.”
“Suit yourself.” It was time to go on the offensive. “What were you doing dressed up as a muj in the insurgent’s compound tonight?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ashland said with a smile. “You must have mistaken me for someone else.”
“Right. Add a scruffy beard, ratty moustache and some smelly rags and everyone here starts to look alike. And the same goes for Afghanistan where I saw you last. You were dressed up like one of the Taliban goat fuckers.”
“You’re in serious trouble.”
“Why is a Rubicon exec hanging out with tangos? And not with just any tangos, but some with a lot of serious toys.” Hunter glanced at Kyle’s face. He displayed no signs of astonishment, so whatever his boss had been up to in the safe house, he was also involved.
“Ridiculous accusations will get you nowhere.”
“So did you really go private with Rubicon or are you still spying for the Agency?” Hunter said as he stood to leave, inching his hand toward his SIG Sauer.
“I think this conversation is over.” Ashland stood as well. “Mr. Kyle will escort you to our detention facility and see that you’re on the next transfer shuttle to our Abu Ghraib facility.”
Hunter drew his pistol just as Ashland and Kyle reached for theirs. Kyle blocked the door.
“I have another matter I need to attend to,” Ashland said as he moved toward the door. “Mr. Kyle will see you to the facility. I’m sure we can clear this misunderstanding up in the morning.” Ashland forced a crooked smile and made brief eye contact with Hunter as he left the room.
Hunter recognized the icy gaze of a man who had just ordered an execution.
Kyle pointed a HK.45 at Hunter. It looked ridiculously oversized in Kyle’s petite hand.
“I’m not going to cause you any trouble,” Hunter said, pretending to slowly lower his weapon. His training as a spook told him it was best to let Rubicon play things out-at least until they were outside of the building in the darkness-but, more than anything, Hunter was a warrior and this part of him wanted to fight his way out.
Suddenly, the door burst open. Kyle shifted his aim toward the intruder.
Stella stomped into the room, glaring at Kyle. She had removed her Kevlar vest and the bulky ceramic plates. Her sidearm was still holstered to her leg, her knife strapped to her ankle. Her brunette hair was pulled back into a pony tail and her Under Armour T-shirt clung to her, accentuating her curves. She glanced at Hunter without acknowledging him.
She kept moving toward Kyle, who still pointed the gun at her. “What the hell does Rubicon think it’s doing stealing my jobs? And put that gun away now,” Stella said in a commanding voice a drill sergeant would envy.
“I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, madame.” Kyle lowered his aim, but kept the weapon pointed at her hip.
“Lower your weapon.”
Stella still ignored Hunter as she focused on Kyle. Hunter took it as a hopeful sign that she didn’t feel the need to protect her flank from him, then he realized how desperate his thoughts were.
As she held Kyle’s gaze, she took a deliberate step toward him and he inched closer to the plywood wall. Hunter knew better than to interfere. He would much rather be facing Kyle’s pistol than Stella’s temper. For a moment, he pitied Kyle. He knew the fool believed he had the advantage because she hadn’t drawn a weapon. The poor bastard didn’t understand that he was facing the force majeure that was Stella.
“Rubicon is not going to fuck with me anymore. Put it down now,” Stella said, pushing into his personal space. Kyle stared at Stella’s perky breasts as she backed him against the wall. Now he was having second thoughts about trading places with Kyle.
“Don’t come any closer.”
“You afraid of an unarmed girl? Oh, I get it. You don’t like girls.” Stella turned her upper body as if moving away, then without warning she pivoted, clearing herself from the line of fire. In a single flow of movement, she put her hand on the gun, twisted his wrist backwards, then used her other hand to shove his wrist into further pain until he let go. She snatched the weapon and sprang backwards like a cat.
Hunter fought back a grin. Watching Stella in action was like watching a prima ballerina; no matter how highly choreographed, her movements flowed so naturally. Although she appeared delicate, she was steel.
Stella was a weapon.
Stella was hot.
He only wished he were watching her in a girl fight.
“I take it that you’re Camille Black,” Kyle said, rubbing his wrist.
“And I take it that you’re the Rubicon exec around here.” She inspected the impounded HK.45, pulling out the magazine to check if it was loaded, then shoved it back into the gun. “I know that Rubicon is racing me to job sites to seize huge weapons caches. And I suspect you’re selling them right back to the insurgents.”
“You can’t prove anything.”
“I’m not a cop-I don’t give a damn about proving anything. I’m a businesswoman-all I care about is making money and eliminating the enemy, preferably both at the same time. And as I see it right now, Rubicon is the enemy.”
She tossed Hunter the.45 and slammed the door behind her as she left.
Stella, you tease. Hunter laughed to himself as he caught the gun with his left hand. He stuck it away and kept his own weapon aimed at Kyle’s chest.