“Zachary captured Ballantine. And in the process, he killed his brother.”
“Do you think Ballantine’s out for revenge?” she asked.
“Makes sense. I know how I would feel if I could ever find the man who killed Zachary,” he whispered.
Matt stared out of the hayloft. A diminishing moon hung in the frame of the loft like a piece of children’s art.
“How would you feel?” she asked.
“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”
“One sister. We’re not close,” she said, looking away.
“I was close to Zachary. The emotions I have wrestled with since his death have consumed me. Sometimes I just want to kill anyone who might have had anything to do with Zachary’s death.”
“Do you really think that would make a difference?”
“Nothing else has.”
“Seems you have no problem killing people,” Peyton said, remembering the last several hours.
Matt turned to look directly into her eyes. “It’s not about the killing.”
Peyton felt a chill as his eyes locked onto her like a laser. A fine mist escaped his mouth as he breathed the fresh Vermont air.
“Besides, you put your heel through that man’s windpipe as if you’ve done it before,” Matt said. “Obviously not your first.”
She paused and looked away, stiffening. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Actually, yes.”
When Peyton didn’t respond, Matt let the question go but logged it away in the back of his mind. He had noticed a tough streak since their first encounter, but now he was beginning to believe there was much more to her, a certain nefarious depth that he couldn’t quite place.
“Why don’t you tell me about those Predators?” she asked.
After a long pause, he responded. “Okay. I know some stuff. You’re right. It’s probably time to talk about it.”
Peyton looked up at him, remaining silent, not wanting to interrupt.
“Roger Webb, another member of my organization, and I worked on this thing together, this Predator project. When we learned that the previous administration had given the go-ahead to release the unmanned aerial vehicle technology — technology that enabled us to arm the Predator with Hellfire missiles and other payloads — to China, we were pissed. We got involved, against CIA orders. Of course, the CIA director was in the president’s pocket. Anyway, this technology is very sensitive.”
“So…” she prodded.
“So I followed some leads from China to the Philippines, where things got pretty ugly.”
“How so?”
“Well, in China, the director figured out I was chasing this stuff down and turned Chinese intelligence onto me,” Matt said.
“Can you prove that?”
Matt chuckled at her naiveté. “Of course not. It’s just one of those things you know. When you’re half way across the world with a perfect cover and suddenly you have ten operatives following you, including one American you recognize, you get suspicious.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, I managed to avoid the Chinese palace guards and find a contact who could give me the information on who had this technology and what they were doing with it.”
“Was it just a computer disk, or was it the actual stuff?” Peyton asked.
“It was sixteen or eighteen Predators, which they could probably have built, or at least come close. But the ground control stations that use satellite technology for guidance are the key. That’s what I was looking for.”
“How did eighteen Predators get away from the United States?”
“Remember that big campaign-cash-for-technology scandal?” Matt asked. “What I found was that, to avoid our satellite tracking, the Chinese had actually built a small test facility on a remote island in the Philippine chain.”
“So where are the Predators and these stations now?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here,” he admitted. “The question is,” he said, staring directly at her, “what do you know about these Predators?”
“Only what you tell me,” she lied.
“Bullshit.”
“The only information I may have,” she whispered, “deals with some F-117 stealth fighters that we had shot down over Kosovo and Afghanistan.”
“Stealth Predators?”
“Maybe,” she said, looking away.
A long moment of silence passed between them. Matt looked skyward, staring at the wide planks in the ceiling of the barn.
“Rumor has it that you had the shot,” Peyton said, deflecting the conversation back toward Matt.
“I did. I think about it every day. Haunts me. They denied my kill chain.”
“You don’t seem like the higher headquarters-approval type of guy,” Peyton said.
Matt turned his head toward Peyton, taking in a bit of her beauty, finding solace in that for some reason.
“I should have taken the shot,” Matt sighed.
He paused a moment and decided to reverse the conversation toward her.
“Apparently you know all about me. So what about you?”
“Nothing unusual. Just a normal Irish girl born in Boston to over-achievers. Went to a small parochial school and then got the hell away from home.”
“Ever been to Ireland?” he asked.
She turned her eyes away again.
“Something I said?”
“No. No. Yes, I’ve been to Ireland. Spent some time there during my college days.”
“Some kind of exchange program while you were at Harvard?”
“Yes, exactly. University of Belfast,” she said.
“Why did you do that?”
“Wanted to learn everything I could about the issues between Ireland and Britain. It was a fascinating period of my life.”
“I’m sure. So what was it like?” he asked.
“I wrote my dissertation on some of the darker factions of the Irish Republican Army. I allowed myself to be blindfolded and taken to places to meet leaders and terrorists. Usually they were hidden from sight, sort of like a confession booth.”
“Why did they let you do that? I mean, talk to them?”
“They wanted their point of view to be heard. The press was so biased against them that when they had an opportunity to be heard through a legitimate forum, they took it. Of course, all of that has changed now.” She paused. “After Nine-eleven, I mean.”
“Weren’t you ever concerned that you might be in danger?”
“All of us are in danger every day, Matt.”
“True. But you have to admit that hanging out with IRA terrorists back then was on the far end of the scale.”
“They are just like you and me, Matt. They have beliefs and hopes and dreams.”
“You mean ‘were,’ right?”
“Say that again?” Peyton asked.
“You said, ‘They are just like you and me.’”
“Right, I mean were,” she said, looking away. “Just like my parents were gunned down by British paratroopers in the streets of Belfast.”
Matt shifted in the hay toward Peyton, caught off guard by the information. “I’m sorry.”
“They were on vacation. Their bodies were shipped home, and I had to bury them. You’ve buried a brother, so you know what I’m talking about. My sister ran away right after that. She was sixteen. I get an occasional postcard or phone call, but she never stays in one place. And so I’ve got no family to speak of — only demons, I guess.”
“We’ve all got demons, Peyton.”
She paused before responding, unsure why she had shared her most personal information with him. “You asked what I learned. I learned that no one can conquer the human spirit. That no one can oppress the will of a people. I especially learned that no matter how strong or powerful a nation, it has weaknesses that can be attacked. And that’s how the IRA operated against Britain.”
He had detected a slight accent, and having learned that she had lived in Ireland for a short while, he figured she had picked up a minor inflection in Belfast. He decided to change the subject and lighten the conversation.