Knox nodded. “That’s the way it’s done. The U.S. marshal’s been doing it for fifty years. They’ve got their shit together. One of our people there arranged all of this for you. I didn’t run it through the usual channels. These identities won’t show up anywhere in the marshal’s database. Hector DeSantos is in charge of your case. You have a problem, speak only to him. He’s one of the best. His info’s in there, along with your personal bios. Read them, memorize them, then burn them.”
“But our house, our belongings,” Lauren said. “My clothes, my car, photos… Tucker—”
“Gone. Friends, family, all gone. You can never have any further contact with anyone or it could severely endanger your lives. No letters, no phone calls. Even e-mails are risky. I’ll find a way of getting your dog to you, but even that’s a risk.”
Lauren shared a brief look of uncertainty with Michael.
The director rose and extended a hand. “Thank you, Agent Fox, for everything.” Knox moved over to Lauren, whose head was bowed, staring off at the ground. “Best of luck to you, Amy. I hope this is the start of good things for both of you.”
With that, Knox turned and left through the door in the rear of the truck. A second later, the army vehicle pulled back onto the road. Ben reached into the manila envelope and pulled out a black wallet. He let it fall open, exposing his FBI credentials.
Amy reached out to him. Instead of taking her hand, he pulled her close. As he held her, feeling her warmth, her strength, he realized that even if he did not remember one more detail or event, it would not matter. He ran his fingers through her tousled hair as the swaying bulb played an odd pattern of dim light and shadow across the interior of the truck.
Lying there in his arms, her body finally began to relax. This is where she wanted to be. She felt safe, strangely complete. The last time she remembered feeling that way was when she’d lain in her daddy’s lap as a young child. She closed her eyes for a moment and was instantly back in time, resting with her father in their hammock, the wind blowing gently through her hair, not a care in the world.
She reached into her blouse and pulled out her chain. The gold key was dangling there, swaying with the hypnotic rocking of the truck.
“I’ve still got the two most important things that matter to me. You, and a keepsake from my father.”
“After all you’ve been through,” Ben said, “your father would’ve been very proud of you.”
“Yes,” she said as she fingered the key, “I bet he would’ve been.”
81
Hector DeSantos waited in the black Volvo cab-over truck, the engine idling and an incessant pounding of flesh on metal banging against his eardrums. He had done his part for God and country… but most of all, for his fallen friend and comrade, Brian Archer. Like a shark, he had tracked down his prey… and if what he thought was going to happen did, in fact, occur, then justice would be served.
A moment later, an army transport vehicle pulled up behind him and flashed its headlights three times: two long and one short. DeSantos placed his infrared goggles on and scanned the countryside in front of him, then tapped his brakes twice to signal all clear.
Douglas Knox climbed into the cab of DeSantos’s truck and slammed the door behind him. “It’s done.”
“Good,” DeSantos said, and hung a U-turn, heading back toward Washington. The banging in the back cargo hold continued. Knox did not comment or ask what it was. It was clear that he did not need to.
“I know about CARD and Memogen,” DeSantos said, using buzzwords he and Archer had captured from the encrypted document. He didn’t know for sure how it all fit together, but like a loose thread on a piece of clothing, he had to either yank on it or leave it alone and ignore it. He couldn’t ignore it.
Knox turned away and looked out the dark side window. “It’s better we don’t talk about it.”
“Better for who? I need to know, I need to close this chapter in Brian’s life.”
“You’d be closing this chapter and opening another. It’s a need-to-know situation.”
DeSantos looked at Knox’s reflection in the black glass. “I need to know, sir.”
“You know how this works, Hector. Once I tell you, you’re committed. In for a penny, in for a million dollars.”
DeSantos was unfazed by this challenge. He knew the score and what it meant. This was something he had to know. “What does CARD stand for?”
Knox sat silent for a moment, then, keeping his eyes on the dark road before him, said, “Covert Arms Research Division. It’s an offshoot of the Boys in the Basement. It’s a joint effort and has roots in the NSA and ISA, but it’s run by the Defense Department. They develop and test, analyze, and gather intelligence on new weapons potential… both in the U.S. and abroad. They were one of the groups monitoring the Soviet Bonfire Project germ-warfare experiments during the late eighties.”
The banging in the back had stopped, easing DeSantos’s already tattered nerves. “How does all this fit together with Scarponi? Is he a former CARD agent?”
“One of CARD’s ongoing research projects involves mind control. There was a very significant study being done at the Mao Institute in China in the eighties and early nineties. After the Ames debacle, Scarponi was one of our operatives who was captured and sent to China. According to the ISA, he was used, basically, as a guinea pig. How extensive it was, we don’t know. CARD felt that the Chinese techniques warranted further study. Scarponi was the key.”
“But you couldn’t study him while he was in prison,” DeSantos said. “You needed him at CARD’s research facility. So you created a bogus ‘new witness’ who could challenge the government’s original evidence against Scarponi.”
“We used someone OPSIG has worked with overseas, someone who could take the stand and convincingly prove Scarponi’s alibi for the Vincent Foster murder.”
“So you released Scarponi with an electronic monitoring device. But everything got all fucked up and he got out of it.”
Knox nodded. “Sounds like you had most of it figured out.”
DeSantos glanced over at the thick metal wall that separated the truck’s cab from its cargo hold. “You know, I wanted Scarponi dead. For Brian.”
“I know you did. But you kept your emotions in check. That’s why I’ve always known I can rely on you, Hector.”
The banging in the rear compartment suddenly resumed, this time accompanied by shouting and primal screams in what sounded like Chinese.
DeSantos thought of everything Knox had just told him and knew he was not being given the whole story. But in the end, it didn’t really matter. He was now involved, and like it or not, he would get all the details in time, when he needed to know them. With covert ops, that was just the way things were done.
He continued staring at the dark road ahead, thickets of brush blowing by in the white beams of his headlights, while the incessant banging of a hand slamming against metal echoed in his mind… and the benign shouts of a crazed man in an iron cage floated away into nothingness.
The hunter had become the hunted.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Hunted debuted in hardcover in 2001. In the intervening years, many things have changed, from technology to statistics that — at the time of initial publication — were accurate. I chose to leave most everything intact, opting instead to do only a very light edit to remove obvious anachronisms. In the process, I realized that I still love this novel. And it gave birth to some memorable characters — Hector DeSantos and Douglas Knox, in particular, who have since appeared in my newer books. I hope you enjoyed reading The Hunted as much as I enjoyed writing it.