They were just arriving at the house when Steve’s cell phone rang.
He pulled it from his pocket and checked the display, but the incoming number was blocked — which gave him a clue as to who it might be. And that surprised him a bit, shocked him even. It was 4:43 a.m., and the grapevine was already lighting up to spread the word. The cops must have notified someone very early based on something they’d found at the scene.
“Hello,” he answered. The reply was the voice he expected.
“Sounds like an eventful night down your way.”
“Figured I might hear from you, but not this soon. What do you know about this?”
The other three had stopped to listen.
“Very little, Old Pro. Probably less than you. But what I do know is significant, and I’m calling to say that you can stand down. The quarry has not only been treed, it has been brought down.”
It took Steve a second to add it up.
“Fort1? The body is Wade Castle’s?”
The other three watched him closely. His mind was in a whirl, but he knew he needed to take care not to make some sort of slipup that would compromise the Source’s identity.
“Please, Old Pro. No blurting of names, not on this line.”
“Sorry. But is it him?”
“The one and only.”
“Why? And who would’ve done it?”
“Good questions. Wish I had the answers.”
“What do you know?”
“Nothing I can talk about now. Maybe never, which is why I’m going to hang up. Loose lips and all that, Old Pro.”
“Our work’s not finished.”
“But your story is. That’s what happens when you no longer have a living, breathing subject. It passes into history. And we’re surely finished as well. Thanks for the drinks, though.”
“You can’t do this, asshole!”
But the asshole had already done it, hanging up and vanishing into the ether. And as the other three stared at him questioningly, Steve was left to wonder whether any of his efforts, with all their tricky compromises, had ever been worth it.
CHAPTER THIRTY
By sunrise the body was gone. Cole walked out there and saw tire tracks and footprints, pressed into the mud like fossils, but there were no more orange flags or webs of yellow tape. The grass was flattened where the body had been, with a stiff circular bloodstain that made it look like the scene of a sacrificial rite. He was surprised to find Sharpe kneeling at the fringes like some monk in solemn meditation.
“You’re the last one I expected to find here.”
“The ghoul patrol has already paid its respects. By the time they got back to the house they were already arguing. Woke me up, so I had to go somewhere. Ready to fly?”
“Doubt we’ll have much of an audience.”
“Fuck ’em. Long as they don’t try to stop me. I’m just worried the police will be back. Wouldn’t want them to see what I’m up to. So we should get started early.”
“I need coffee first.”
“Have at it. They’re probably at full volume by now. I’ll be setting up in the peace of the great outdoors.”
Cole turned to go.
“Tell me something,” Sharpe said.
He turned back around. Sharpe looked troubled.
“Yeah?”
“I get why Castle came. Everyone here’s been poking around in his business. But the gun? And the idea of someone stalking him, trying to kill him? That should’ve happened long ago or not at all. Doing it now makes no sense.”
“Maybe he’d done something new. Pissed off the wrong people.”
“And exactly who are the right people in this mess?”
“Good question.”
Sharpe nodded, still frowning. “I’m having trouble getting used to the idea that someone died here. All these years of designing shit to kill people, but I’ve never been around something like this. There’s even a smell to it.”
“I know. It’s freaky.”
“You, too? Weren’t you around combat way before the drone shit? Didn’t you even have an air-to-air kill?”
“That was a ball of flame, way off in the distance. I didn’t even get a good look at it. Like you said, this is right in your face, with its own texture.”
“Maybe it’s good for us. Not to get all cosmic, but we both knew the man, for God’s sake.”
“Hard to see how something like this is good for anybody.”
When Cole reached the house, the others were deep in subdued conversation. He poured a mug of coffee and stood in the kitchen door while they traded theories and ideas.
“What I’d really like to know,” Steve said, “is why Castle had a sniper rifle.”
Barb frowned.
“Who said it was a sniper rifle?”
“Well, it had a damn scope. And I don’t think it was for deer.”
“He has to have known we were after him,” Keira said.
“Meaning what?” Barb said. “That he was going to plug us?”
“But why shoot him?”
None of them had answers, but Barb had a follow-up question.
“So, whoever did this, do you think it’s safe to surmise they’re on our side? Or at least that they’re not against us?”
No one had an answer for that, either.
“Well, one thing I know. It sure as hell doesn’t kill our story. If that’s what your source thinks, Steve, then he’s out of his mind.”
“I was about to tell him that when he hung up.”
“First there was Castle. Now there’s the cover-up, and this is part of it. It makes it even bigger. The cover-up always does.”
Keira’s cell phone rang. She went into the hallway for privacy. They heard her speaking in a low voice, and she was back in a few minutes.
“That was Tony, my cop source. They’ve made an arrest.”
“Shit, already?”
“Then it sure as hell wasn’t the feds,” Steve said. “They clean up their messes and get the hell out.”
“Not always, I guess,” Keira said.
“It was the feds?”
“Depends on your definition.” She turned toward Cole. The others turned with her. “It’s some guy from the Air Force. Based at Nellis.”
Cole almost dropped his coffee.
“Got a name?”
She checked her notebook
“Captain Trip Riggleman. Had his Nellis ID with him. Also had a Beretta M9 pistol, camouflage, a rough map of the property—this property — night vision goggles, and a bunch of printouts with our names on them, the names of everybody in this room except Sharpe. But most of his notes had to do with a missing former Air Force pilot, Captain Darwin Cole.”
“Shit,” Barb said. “Shit, shit, shit! How do you spell his name?”
Keira told her. Barb flipped open her laptop and began clicking away, already looking for more. Steve and Keira gazed at Cole, as if he might have some answers. And he did.
“I think I’ve met the guy. That aggressors unit, the one I told you about with the Infowar stuff? He practically ran it. He’s the nerdy guy who cleaned our clocks. Gave his presentation like he owned us. By the time we left everybody hated his ass. But a killer? An assassin?” Cole put his mug on the table. The idea refused to sink in. “There’s just no way. He’s a clipboard guy, he just isn’t the type.”
“Or wasn’t,” Steve said. “He had all the right gear. Maybe they trained him up?”
“Maybe so.” The ramifications began to sink in. “Damn. So I guess if he knew where I was, then the whole Air Force must know by now.”
“He works for General Hagan,” Barb said, clicking feverishly. “Out at Nellis, the next guy up the ladder at Creech in your old chain of command. I was researching Hagan’s financials just the other day. Found some weird stuff, too. Why would he want you dead, Cole?”