“I haven’t had a whole lot of time to piece it together, Karen, but look at the range of this campaign. It’s too big, too well-planned, too well-executed, to be just one guy pulling all of this together.”
“What else could there be?”
“I’ve got a few things rattling around in the back of my head. I mean, listen to this: Meredith called me when I was in Vermont.”
“You mean when you were with this new girl, Peyton?”
“How did you know about that?” Matt asked.
“I have my ways,” she said.
“Meredith called you, didn’t she? She’s the only one who knew about Peyton.”
“So tell me about her,” Karen said.
“There’s nothing to tell. We were on assignment together. That’s it.”
“Where is she now?”
“She’s in D.C.”
“Really?” Karen fought back the smirk growing on her lips as she looked through the kitchen window at a blue SUV moving slowly along the gravel drive that cut between the house and the barn.
Matt followed her gaze. “What’s that all about?”
“At least she’s prompt,” Karen said looking at her watch.
“Who’s prompt? What are you talking about?” Matt asked.
The footsteps on the front porch provided the final clue that Peyton was actually here and not in Washington, D.C. He walked to the door, opening it as Peyton’s hand was about to knock. He smiled at the awkward pose in which he had captured her, small fist stretched outward, as if shaking it in rage.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“That’s a hell of a welcome for an Irish lass who’s traveled so far.”
“Right. Sorry. Please come in.”
“Thank you.”
He watched Peyton slide through the doorway, cat-like, and step into the foyer. She was wearing a tight pink angora sweater and light blue denim jeans. Her hair fell loosely on her shoulders, providing a backdrop to simple diamond earrings that seemed, oddly, to fit the ensemble. Country elegant, he thought.
“You look nice,” he said without thinking.
“Well that’s more like it.” Peyton smiled, leaning up to give him a quick peck on the cheek.
Where did that come from? he wondered.
“Glad you’re okay,” she whispered.
“Back at you. Ducati in the shop?”
“Weatherman predicted rain.” She smiled.
“Hi, Peyton. I’m Karen.”
“Hey, Karen,” Peyton said, giving Matt’s sister a quick hug. “Great directions, by the way. Drove here like I’ve lived here all my life.”
They walked into the den and sat on the sofa.
“You did great the other night. We all have hope that we’re going to find Zachary soon and that he’s going to be okay,” Peyton said, looking at Matt.
“I hope so,” Karen said, standing. “Listen, can I get you anything? Water, coffee, Coke?”
“Whiskey?” Matt said.
“Actually, it’s been a tough week, and a Bailey’s and coffee would be nice. Help me unwind from the drive.”
“Coming right up,” Karen said.
Matt’s dutiful sister went about the business of playing hostess, a task she had honed over the past year since their mother’s death. Karen delivered the coffee, then excused herself.
“I’ll let you two talk. Matt, I’m going into town. Do either of you need anything?”
“No, thanks, sis. See you when you get back.”
Karen pulled a set of keys from a hook on the hall stand and the screen door slapped the wood frame of the house as she crunched across the gravel.
“Nice sister you have there,” Peyton said.
“Thanks. How’s your arm healing?”
Peyton looked down at her left shoulder. “No biggie.”
“Your sister okay?”
“She’s fine. Thanks. Had decided to take the Saturday train, thank God. She’s still at my place.”
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Matt asked. “Or is this truly a social visit?”
“Mostly social.”
“Figures. Who sent you?” he asked.
“I sent myself but told Hellerman. When he found out I was coming, he wanted an ‘official’ report on you and for me to tell you that we are going to find Zachary very quickly,” she said.
She used her hands to form quotation marks when she said “official”—a move he normally disliked, but one that somehow made her appear sexy. It might have been the sweater.
“I see. He doesn’t expect me to be back for a while, does he?”
“No one knows what he’s looking for right now. I think we’re all waiting to see if Ballantine has anything else up his sleeve. The media’s obviously all over this thing, but it has been quiet for the past twenty-four hours. So it’s either the calm before the storm or Ballantine’s done.”
“I don’t think he’s done,” Matt said.
“Why don’t we take a walk? You can show me around this farm of yours.”
“Sure thing.”
They walked onto the porch and down the wooden steps. To their left, two hundred yards away, was a red barn, and to their right was an open field where cattle were grazing. The sky was pale blue, etching a beautiful line along the soft ridges of the mountains to the west. Matt grabbed Peyton’s hand and led her around a rough spot in the gravel drive as they walked toward the barn.
“You okay, really?” she asked, slipping her arm through his.
“Not really. I had him in my hands, Peyton,” he said, lifting his free hand to emphasize the point. “In my arms. I had him.”
“What was it like in there? Did you see or hear anything that would give you a clue as to what happened or where Zachary is now?”
“Nothing that I can think of. It’s all running together. Just lots of gunfire, lots of adrenaline, and a black woman.”
“A black woman,” she said, surprised. “Where was this?”
“In the cottage. She must have been guarding Zachary while Ballantine went out to fight.”
“In the cottage?”
“Roger. Why do you find that so interesting?” Matt asked.
“No reason. Did she say anything?”
“Nothing important.”
They continued walking past the horse stable on the left, angling toward a small creek on the right. The land dropped precipitously behind the stable toward the South River. The trees that hugged the river were still leafless, a few just beginning to bud. An infrequent evergreen spotted the forest as it gave way to the open hills. Matt was putting on a good face, but inside his mind he was wrestling with the possibility that he had lost his brother again. Unlike the Philippines, this time he was right there and had been unable to protect him. Naturally, his happiness at seeing Zachary alive was offset by the fact that he had seen him shot and then taken away.
“Wait a minute,” Matt said, stopping.
“What?”
“I did overhear something about a backpack and a tape.”
“Go on.”
“I’m not sure what she said exactly, but the woman asked Zachary if he had the backpack and had found the tape.” Matt was talking in measured cadence, staring at the barn. “Then she said something about a colonel.”
“A colonel? You mean a military colonel?”
“Yes, like a colonel in the Army. You know, the rank directly before general.”
“I know what a colonel is,” Peyton said.
“What about the backpack and the tape? What’s that all about?” Matt spoke more to himself than to her. Then he looked at her with an obvious flash in his mind. He remembered something.
“What?” she said.
“Zachary, back in the Persian Gulf War, the first one, had captured Ballantine. Remember, I told you this. General Ballantine, the same Ballantine who was in Canada,” he said rapidly, the words rushing into one another. “He mentioned something about a war trophy. In all the madness of Desert Storm, he never turned it in and rushed back to the front lines. As they were redeploying he just stuffed it in his duffel bag. So he just kept it. He just kept the backpack.”