He walked across the hall into his room and saw Peyton sitting on the bed kicking off her leather shoes. He did the same, and they stretched out on the quilt.
As Matt lay his head back against the pillow, he had an unwelcome thought: I’m close to something, am I being moved?
As Peyton laid her head on his chest, a tear slid down her cheek as she thought of what might happen next. Was there anything she could do to stop it? she wondered. Anything?
The ringing phone startled her as she wiped the tear away. It couldn’t be him calling, could it?
Listening to Matt’s heart beat she clutched him tightly, fighting her confusion and frustration more than out of any desire to pull him closer.
CHAPTER 39
Matt groaned with displeasure as the phone interrupted a promising moment with Peyton’s head resting peacefully on his chest.
“Hello,” he said without much enthusiasm.
“Matt Garrett?” the familiar voice said.
“Yes?” Matt replied, trying to place the voice. He felt Peyton stir and pressed his right arm into her to keep her from moving too much. This could be about Zachary.
“This is Colonel Rampert,” the voice on the phone said, “from special operations.”
Matt motioned to Peyton with his hand, and she moved tight against him. She leaned next to his ear, straining to eavesdrop on the conversation.
“Yes, Colonel. What can I do for you? Are you okay?” He could hear a distinct thumping noise in the background, though he couldn’t quite place it. Images of Rampert conspiring to start the war in Iraq sprang into his mind quite easily, much to his surprise.
“I’m fine, thanks for asking. Well, two things actually,” Rampert said. Matt noticed his voice was not the same, crisp commander’s voice he had heard in the airplane.
“Okay, go ahead,” Matt said.
“First, you performed very bravely during that mission, and I’ve recommended you for a Presidential Medal of Freedom.”
Matt, newly suspicious, paused, thinking, Okay there’s the bait. “And the second?” he asked.
“Well, I thought you’d be happy about the nomination for the medal. It’s the closest thing a civilian can get to the Medal of Honor. You put your life on the line for us.”
“I could really give a rat’s ass about a medal,” Matt said, impatient.
Rampert paused and then said, “The second item is that we need to get our operative back. I need to talk to you about what you saw in the cabin.”
“Your operative is my brother,” he said. “So let’s be honest. And I was hopeful that this call was actually a notice as to his whereabouts.”
After another brief pause, Rampert said, “I understand. I can tell you more about your brother. I’ve got a helicopter heading up that way right now.”
“How soon will you get here?”
“About five minutes.”
“Need directions?”
“No, but thanks.” Rampert sounded amused.
“How many of your friends are you bringing with you?” Matt said.
“Don’t worry about it.”
He could hear the ice in the colonel’s voice. He pictured the man in his battle gear, stone-cold eyes set on the horizon through the windscreen of the helicopter. Something was different. Amiss. Matt’s instincts were wailing louder than the obnoxious chop of the helicopter rotors he heard in the background.
Why was Rampert so interested in getting his hands on Zachary? Could it be the “no man left behind” credo to which he and others in the special operations communities adhered? Or, as his instincts were telling him, was Zachary a liability? He imagined the colonel smiling wickedly like the haunting sliver of a diminishing moon on a cold February night.
“Now, I’m going to discuss with you how to get him back,” Rampert said. “And it’s imperative that no one else know about any of this. We are way beyond Top Secret here.”
“Well, Colonel, how do I know to trust you?”
Matt listened to the chopping noise of the helicopter rotor blades, muted through the telephone transmission.
“I can help you. I know some things that perhaps you don’t. It is important that we talk. And, of course, you can help me as well.”
Matt hung up the phone and looked at Peyton.
“We need to move fast. Rampert’s almost here.”
Peyton looked at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you.”
They quickly gathered themselves.
Inside the living room, Matt walked toward the gun case and opened the glass door. He grabbed two weapons, a Remington shotgun and an AR-15 semi-automatic rifle. He handed the shotgun to Peyton.
“Give me the one with no range, huh?” she asked.
“Just have it somewhere you can get to it. If Rampert’s the voice on the tape, this could get ugly.”
Matt and Peyton stood in the living room and watched through the bay window as the helicopter hovered briefly before shooting straight down to the ground.
“Look at that,” Matt said. “Makes me think Rampert’s our man. But there’s Lantini, too. Are they working together?” His questions were more rhetorical than anything, tumbling from his mind like an overstuffed closet door suddenly opened. Lantini the planner, Rampert the operator. Made sense.
They watched Rampert disembark from the helicopter and walk around to the front porch. They heard a knock on the door.
Matt looked at Peyton. “You can’t say the man doesn’t have style.”
“Figured all your friends did this.” Peyton smiled. There was something electric about her smile, as if she was about to enjoy something. Beyond the emerald-sea beauty, there was hardness in her eyes.
“I’m going to check and see who this is.” He walked down the hall, attempting to be as calm as possible. He had initially been worried about Peyton’s loyalties, but he could see now that he could concern himself with other matters.
Matt opened the door with his right hand, his AR-15 in his left. Colonel Rampert stared back at him wearing an Army combat uniform, or ACU, as Zachary called it, and a maroon beret that somehow made him seem even more menacing.
“Good evening, Colonel. May I help you?”
“Yes, may I come in?”
Matt considered his request. Standing next to the colonel, Matt saw that he was the man’s equal in stature. Matt’s shoulders were probably broader, though the colonel may have been half an inch taller.
“Listen, if you invite me in, I can answer some of your questions about Zachary,” Rampert said.
“The first thing I want to know is, Why is Winslow Boudreaux buried next to my mother out back?”
“I’m sorry about that, Matt, truly I am. And I can tell you more.”
Matt slowly opened the door.
“Are you always this hospitable to your guests?” Rampert’s words were accusatory.
“You’re not a guest.” Matt’s adrenaline was pumping. His muscles were taught. He was ready. Memories of the Philippines and the surges of emotions were flashing back in his mind.
“This house reminds me of my parents’ home,” Rampert said, following Matt down the hallway.
Peyton stood across the living room, shotgun clearly visible by her side.
Rampert nodded at her. “Peyton.”
“Colonel,” she responded.
“Please, have a seat,” Matt offered, pointing at the wooden chair across from the overstuffed sofa. “Drink?”
“No, thanks, I’m in uniform.” He smiled wryly.
“Okay, so talk,” Matt said, sitting on the sofa, the AR-15 propped against the end table. Matt watched Peyton pick up the shotgun as Rampert reached for his pistol. Matt snatched the rifle, feeling the breeze from Peyton swinging the shotgun up to her eye level.