The hostage taker was the one with the Glock.
Tom ran his eyes across the room.
There was a single desk and a recliner chair with a set of thick Tuff-ties broken on the ground. The place was clearly an interrogation room — presumably the same one from which the fugitive, Ben Gellie, had escaped.
It was clearly meant to be an intimidation tactic. Tom bridled. Who did these guys think he was? It would take more than an unkempt interrogation room in the Pentagon to put him on edge. His father had been an admiral in the U.S. Navy, he’d spent six years flying helicopters in the marines, and seen active service in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Istanbul. Not to mention for the past decade he’d worked for Sam Reilly, which had exposed him to some of the greatest risks of his life.
Special Agent Devereaux threw a thick manila folder on the desk.
Tom opened it, taking it in at a glance. The file had no name, but a service number, rank, and proficiency marks. It might have looked like a school report card. This one was used for induction training in the military.
Tom leveled his contempt-filled gaze at Devereaux. “And this is?”
“Sam Reilly’s induction training records.”
“So?”
“What do you think?”
“I think my friend has a relatively high IQ, above average stamina, an inhuman fear of heights and enclosed spaces, and he can shoot better than ninety-nine out of every hundred soldiers out there.”
“That score makes him a better marksman than every nine-hundred and ninety-nine soldiers out of a thousand, who took the test.” Devereaux shook his head as though it was a personal afront. “In fact, in the year he completed his induction training he achieved the highest overall scores of any person on the course — not just his course — but any SEAL course that year.”
Tom shrugged. “So? I told you the guy was smart, tenacious, and patriotic.”
“Sure,” Devereaux said, leveling his dark brown eyes at him, with his palms held outward in a conciliatory gesture. “So now you see where we’re coming from?”
Tom crossed his arms. “Afraid not. You’d better explain it to me, because right now, all you’re doing is confirming what we already knew — America lost one of its greatest patriots.”
Devereaux stared at him through narrowed eyes. “You haven’t heard?”
“Heard what?”
“Our team reached the crash site early today — there were no bodies in the wreckage.”
Tom felt his heart thump. “Sam’s still alive?”
“It would appear so.” Devereaux sighed heavily. “And with him is Ben Gellie. So, now you must see my problem with Mr. Reilly.”
Tom was still focusing on the newfound knowledge that his friend was alive. “I’m afraid I still don’t get where you’re headed.”
“Well,” Devereaux said, picking up the manila folder. “What I see here is a man who graduated from the marines with the highest ability for hand to hand combat and weapons combat. He’s out there with my suspect, who we believe has no formal military training.”
“Again. So what?”
“So, don’t you think it’s a little hard to swallow that someone with no military training could keep someone with Sam Reilly’s background hostage, while they race through the wilderness?”
Tom expelled a deep breath. “You think he’s working with the terrorist?”
“I do, son.”
Tom shook his head. “You’re nuts.”
“The report doesn’t lie.”
“Yeah. Well, you know what else the report says here… Sam Reilly is one of the most disciplined, loyal, and trustworthy people on Earth. He would never betray his own country.”
Devereaux shook his head. “You really believe that, don’t you?”
Tom stood up. “I’m finished here. I suggest you get back to doing your job and try and locate your suspect and my friend.”
“Mr. Bower,” Devereaux said, his voice hard and menacing. “If you receive any word from Sam Reilly, be sure to contact me straight away. Anything you withhold from here on in could be considered treason, and given the stakes, I don’t think the FBI would look favorably on your chances of ever seeing the outside of a federal prison again.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Not at all, Mr. Bower. I just wanted to be certain that I make myself clear.”
Tom opened the door. “Go do your job. I can see myself out.”
Devereaux shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
Tom reached the end of wedge three at the Pentagon, walked out the main doors, and into the visitor’s carpark. There he climbed into his rental car — a Toyota Camry — started the engine and drove off along Rotary Road.
A blue taxi came to an abrupt stop in front of him.
Tom had to jam on the brakes.
A woman with short brown hair got out. She wasn’t tall, but neither was she particularly short. She turned and walked toward him with a distinctive purpose in her stride.
She opened the passenger side door and got in.
Tom beamed with pleasure. “Hello Genevieve! You’re one hell of a nice sight to see!”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Drive,” she ordered without preamble.
Tom shifted his foot over to the accelerator. “Where to?”
“Take the next exit onto the Jefferson Davis highway. We have a flight to catch at Ronald Reagan National Airport.”
Tom smiled, happy to see his girl again and wishing that he had more time to embrace her. “Where are we headed?”
“Arkhangelsk Oblast, Russia.”
Tom grinned. “Obviously.”
He drove on, waiting for more of an explanation, but getting nothing but silence.
“All right,” he said, “I’ll bite. I hear the weather’s pretty cold in Arkhangelsk Oblast this time of year, so do you mind telling me what’s in Oblast?”
“The Bolshoi Zayatsky Island.”
Tom turned off the highway and into the airport. He pulled into the first parking bay, lifted the handbrake, and switched off the car. He turned and kissed her firmly on the lips, letting his lips linger there as long as he could, before she broke the embrace.
“Why are we going to Bolshoi Zayatsky Island, Genevieve?”
“Elise just contacted me. Sam’s alive. He needs our help.”
“He’s in Russia?”
“No. We don’t know where he is. It’s safer that way. Safer for everyone.”
Tom understood the principle of a stopgap in spy networks, but how this related to he and Sam, he couldn’t even guess. Still, he trusted the man with his life and was willing to give him a bit of room to work with. “What does he need?”
“He wants us to check out a lead. Something about his captor’s past, the reason the FBI thought he was a Russian terrorist, everything leads back to Bolshoi Zayatsky Island.”
Tom asked, “What’s on the island?”
“A two and a half thousand-year-old series of stone labyrinths.”
“Really?” Tom’s lips curled into a wry smile. “Did you mention that neither of us usually work archeological sites? Maybe we should contact Billy?”
Dr. Billy Swan was an expert archeologist and anthropologist, who had worked closely with Sam Reilly and his team on a number of occasions, specifically focusing on the ancient race known as the Master Builders.
She was also Tom’s ex-girlfriend.
Genevieve shook her head. “According to Elise, the ancient texts were written in Russian, so unless Billy took a recent crash course in the language, I’m the best bet to translate the texts written on the ancient ruins. Besides, she’s off the grid currently.”
Tom withheld a smile. “Elise already tried?”
Genevieve tilted her head, her lips parting in a coy smile that was entirely fake. “Yes, she already tried. We’re Sam’s second-best chance at working this out.”