“Bryson Bishop,” an Alabama voice drawled a moment later.
“Bryson, it’s Abigail Ward.”
“Hey! How’s life with CID?”
“Chugging along.” She began devising a way to skip the idle chitchat. “How’s life been since you moved to Raleigh?”
“Good, but your brother’s working me hard.”
She chuckled. “He would.”
“Seriously. You heard about the hit in Utah, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Bad stuff and a dead end. I’m back in Raleigh until we get some more answers.”
“Interesting.” She paced to her window and stared down at the grounds below. “I have a question for you regarding ancient history.”
“What, the pyramids?”
She smiled. “You’re funny. No, when we worked the Mighty Men case.”
“The pyramids are much more fun to discuss.”
“I know, but this is important. I pulled my copy of the file and was reading through it when I came to the conclusions section. I mentioned we thought it might have been an inside job, yet there’s no more detail in the file except in your notes. You thought the Taliban had inside intel. Why didn’t you say something?”
Only the open line hissed an answer.
“Bryson?”
“Sorry. Just reliving that for a moment.” He cleared his throat. “We wanted to think about that some more before we finalized the report. It’s kind of fuzzy now, but I just remember Jonathan’s description of the chain of events pointed in that direction. But then we got called to Iraq. You finalized and submitted what we had. Then we worked something like twenty more cases before we got transferred to Quantico. It fell off the radar.”
“I understand.” Did she ever. She’d spent much more time on the road that first half of the year than at the apartment she’d shared with Nick.
“If you want my opinion, unofficial as it is, it does bear some further investigation.”
She turned away from the window. “I agree. I just hate we didn’t follow up.”
“We had too much on our plate. Let me know if I can help.”
Abigail carefully set her phone on the desk and gazed at the closed folder. It almost beckoned her to pick it up. Should she? She folded her arms across her chest and raised her face to the ceiling. Lord, I don’t want to make David and Jonathan relive this—again.
Still, she had to know.
With a deep breath to steel her courage, she grabbed the folder and headed to Sal’s office.
Her CO crouched in front of a set of five file cabinets. He placed files in a box without even looking at them.
She tapped on the door frame.
He paused. “Do you need something?”
“Seems I’m not the only one with a hoarding problem.”
“No, that was my predecessor. I’m allergic to clutter and had put off cleaning out these cabinets until the contractors got here.” He tossed one last file inside and straightened. “You needed to see me about something?”
Absolutely. Her problem-child case. “Yes, sir.”
He cleared several folders off a chair and set them on the floor in front of the box. “Have a seat and tell me what’s on your mind.”
Abigail did so and placed her folder on the desk. “It’s about a closed case I ran. 2009. Ghazni Province in Afghanistan. An SF team wiped out.”
“Wait.” Sal rested his elbows on its pristine surface and clasped his hands together. “Was this the one involving your brother?”
She’d forgotten his excellent recall ability to remember something from six years before, when they’d first sat down after he took command of the battalion. “Yes, sir. Bryson Bishop and I were already at Camp Romeo, investigating another case when the call came in. They asked us to handle it. Bryson took care of debriefing Jonathan.”
He gestured toward the folder. “That’s it?”
“My copy, sir.”
“May I?”
“Absolutely.” She handed it over.
Minutes ticked past as he perused the information. He placed all of the pages in a stack. “You two were anything if not thorough. What’s your concern?”
“It’s the conclusions and the last page of Bryson’s notes.”
His dark eyebrows shot up as he studied them. “Staff Sergeant Bishop thought the ambush wasn’t a typical Taliban one. Seems you agreed but gave that only one sentence.”
Her face warmed. “We were thinking on it, but then we got called to Iraq, and we forgot about it.”
“How many cases did you work in 2009 before you transferred? I see your unit had worked seventy-eight by then, and that was only mid-April.”
“Well over a hundred by June. I know it’s no excuse, but things got lost in the shuffle.”
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. “Tell me something. Since Jonathan Ward is your brother and David is his friend, what do they remember?”
“David doesn’t remember much of anything from that day. But Jonathan? Every second.” She thought about the intense sadness that had cloaked her brother for several months. “Sir, I don’t know if this is a valid conclusion or not. But I feel responsible, and I want to verify that. If it is valid, it could point to a traitor who still might be in the Army.”
Sal drummed his fingers on the wooden arm of the chair. “I think the conclusions you noted before that last sentence were accurate. Bishop’s memory may be fuzzy. We simply don’t know and can’t go on the testimony of one person under combat stress. And our caseload here isn’t letting up.”
He had her there. Still...
He studied her. “Is the fact Jonathan is your brother influencing your decision?”
Abigail considered his words. Was it? She’d been comfortable with what she’d done with the Mighty Men case—until now. “Sir, if I’d never looked through this file one last time, I would have agreed it was a simple ambush. I can’t say that now, and as an investigator, I want to verify the conclusion is still appropriate. I would do that with any case where I’d noted an inconsistency, and I’ve done it in the past.”
“So you have.”
The noise in the hall increased, and Sal glanced up.
Nate poked his head through the door. “Hey, we’re going to get barbecue in a few minutes at Ma Barker’s. Want to join us?”
At the mention of one of her favorite lunch spots, Abigail’s stomach rumbled loudly. When Sal grinned, her cheeks heated. “Works for me. See you in five?”
“I’ll swing by your office. Sal?”
Sal shook his head. “Not today. I have errands to run.”
“You sure?”
“I am. Thanks for the offer, though.” Her CO turned to her. “If we see an inconsistency, we ensure we rectify it. So go ahead. But,” he drew in a breath, “I want you to keep me in the loop with daily updates. Can you do that?”
“Absolutely. I’ll read Marti in after lunch.”
“And after you finish your files.”
She heaved a deep sigh.
Sal laughed. “We’re in the same boat, Major. Now go and enjoy your barbecue.”
She couldn’t agree more. As she returned to her office, some of her levity faded. She knew what would happen. She’d shatter a peace her brother and ex-boyfriend had worked so hard to achieve.
And she’d have to face David again.
She wasn’t sure she was ready for it.
Monday, April 17, 2017, 1145 hours, Quantico, VA
Sal Torres gazed at his office doorway. His mind churned with Abigail’s revelation. She’d dug up something he thought was permanently buried. The official file related to the Mighty Men case resided in cold storage in Germany, but he hadn’t counted on her keeping a copy for herself. A foolish error, one that could cost him dearly.
He shook his head. What was done was done. He could control the situation, but requesting daily updates might not be enough. Worse, he had to notify Los Jaguares, his extended family south of the border
. Far better they hear it from him than to have something blow up in their faces.
In the hallway, people laughed. Commissioned and non-commissioned officers headed to lunch, just like he’d encouraged. “Nothing helps a relationship like breaking bread together,” he’d told his staff more than once. That, combined with his running a tight ship, had drawn everyone close to each other. It made them treasure rare times like today.
Abigail poked her head inside. “Sure you don’t want to come?”
He forced a smile to his face. “I’ll pass, thanks. Rita wanted me to run some errands. Next time.”
“That works.” She turned and called, “Hey, guys! Wait up!”
His smile faded as the noise receded. Time to get out of there and do what he had to do. With a low growl, he shoved his chair back, grabbed his patrol cap, and headed through the bright spring sunshine toward his black BMW sedan.
After lunch at a nearby deli and some shopping at Walmart, he dumped his packages in the trunk and cranked the engine. Cool air whooshed through the vents. He rested his head against the soft leather headrest and collected his thoughts. He needed to make the call to Enrique, his next-youngest brother and the one who handled the day-to-day affairs of Los Jaguares on this side of the border.
Sal opened the glove compartment and pulled out a flip phone. He dialed a number. When his brother answered, he said, “We need to talk.”
“What do you have?”
His mind flashed to Abigail. “A situation has arisen.”
“Which is?”
“Abigail Ward has reopened the case related to the annihilation of the Special Forces team in 2009.”
Silence, then, “Would you not have purview over that to shut it down?”
Sal’s free hand clenched. “I had no choice.”
“You’re her commanding officer. You always have a choice.”
As if he knew Sal’s situation. “It doesn’t work that way. She brought up a valid point. To deny her the opportunity to follow through on her concerns would undoubtedly make her question why I made that decision.”
“You must silence her.”
“As in?”
“Remove the problem.”
What? Was his brother high on their product? “Are you a fool? She dies, and people start asking questions. It’s the worst option, you understand? I have asked her to keep me informed on a daily basis.”
“She must not continue.”
“And I’m to do what?”
“You have brains. Figure it out.”
He rolled his eyes. “Enrique!”
“Take care of it. In the meantime, our other mission was well accomplished. Shamal Khan will know we are serious about reclaiming him as a supplier, and we’ve sent a stern warning to Mr. Stone to stop stealing our business. Now it’s your turn.”
“I—”
A click sounded in his ear.
“Of all things!” Sal threw the phone onto the passenger seat. He thought about his options. He was right. Abigail had nothing so far, and killing her would raise too many suspicions. Thanks to the trauma he’d experienced, David Shepherd most likely had no memory of what happened. What about her brother? Jonathan Ward could bring the whole thing tumbling down around them. Or maybe not. Memories gained during combat could be inaccurate, then fade over time.
Sal couldn’t tell what would happen. His best option would be to keep tabs on her.
Or maybe he could plant seeds of mistrust.
He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as an idea germinated. After Abigail had almost single-handedly solved the Athena file case the year before, she’d provided him with everything she had obtained with Jonathan, who’d accidentally stumbled upon the drive holding the file. When Jonathan had found the drive at the security compound where he worked in Ghazni Province, he’d noted something minor. One of the gunrunners, working undercover with Nabeelah at DIA, had smoked cigarettes with cloves in them. Maybe Sal could put that nugget to good use.
Ah, yes. He’d do that, then let Abigail wrestle with who to trust. With his plans set, he shifted the Bimmer into gear and headed toward Quantico.
6
Monday, April 17, 2017, 1250 hours, Quantico, VA
“How many boxes of files did you generate?” Abigail asked Gabe Santos.
He snagged a hush puppy. “Three in my office. Hey, Francis!”
His master sergeant turned from where he’d been chatting with Marti about her engagement. “What?”
“How many file boxes for the master sergeant of CCU?”
Nate Francis chuckled. “Two. Beat that.”
Everyone laughed, spicing the air just as much as the salty scents of the marsh below where the restaurant perched on pilings. Gabe continued around the table.
“Eight,” their chief warrant officer said.
Ooohs and aahs.
“Four,” Marti chimed in.
Six. Five. Seven. Nine. Almost there.
Abigail cringed as her turn came.
Finally, Gabe peered at her. “Abigail?”
“May I plead the Fifth, kind sir?”
He grinned. “Not a chance. Ten.”
Uh, no. She pointed upward.
He raised an eyebrow. “A dozen?”
Heat began in her neck. She nudged upward again.
“Fifteen?”
“Uh, twenty. And I’m still not finished.”
“Twenty!” Gabe jumped up. “Ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner.”
Abigail hid her face in her hands, but her lips twitched upwards.
Gabe nudged her. “Major Ward, please stand and accept this award from me, Major Gabe Santos.” From a grocery bag he’d brought with him, he produced a medal of aluminum foil dangling from paper clips.
With a sigh, she rose and dipped her head as he placed it around her neck. He intoned, “I hereby declare Major Abigail Ward, officer in charge of the Special Investigations Unit, to be the inaugural recipient of the CID HQ File Hoarder Award, to be relinquished only the next time the battalion does a file purge. Speech, my dear lady?”
She ducked her head. “Uh, no. Except, maybe thanks. I plan to uphold my honor the next time we have this competition.”
Everyone laughed.
She resumed her seat as the chatter around her picked up once more.
Gabe leaned toward her. “Sorry to embarrass you.”
She laughed. “No, you’re not.”
“You’re right. Not at all.” He popped another hush puppy into his mouth. “How’s your man?”
She stilled. “What man?”
“David.”
Sadness leapt out of hiding. “We broke up in January.”
“That happened three months ago, and you didn’t tell me?”
What could she say to that? She shrugged. “I didn’t feel like talking about it.”
“Is it okay to ask why?”
She sipped her tea to avoid any more show of emotion. “We weren’t right for each other. He said it was my job. I said it was because he missed his hometown.”
“A standoff.”
“Something like that.”
He set down his iced tea with a thump. “He might have a point, you know.”
What was it with him and Nick? “What are you, my psychologist?”
“Nope, just a friend who knows you pretty well. Like seven years well. And crap happens. Do I ever know that.”
“True.” Abigail sighed and scrambled for something—anything—to change the subject. “Say, I’m sorry for stealing your case last year.”
He thanked the waitress who dropped off his check. “What case?”
Abigail accepted hers, then followed him toward the cash register. “The Athena file case. Last year, Sal said he assigned it to you, but I guess it kind of fell into my lap when Jonathan got kidnapped.”
Gabe shook his head. “He never assigned it to the CCU.”
She stared. “What? You’re sure?”
He fixed her in his gaze. “Yep. G
reat work on it, by the way.”
Hmmm. This was news. Her mind began spinning as she paid her bill and joined him at his Ford F-150 quad cab. Had Sal lied the year before when she’d asked him about it? That question repeated itself in her mind.
“Hey, Ward, you wanna climb out so you can get back to your files?” Gabe’s teasing remark filtered into the noise of her thoughts.
They’d arrived back at the office already. “Sorry. Just thinking.”
“Try not to do too much of that today when it’s a cleanup day.”
“You’re right.” She stared at the imposing building, then cut her gaze toward him. “Say, can you do a favor for me?”
He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Name it.”
“Could you check and see if the Athena file was a case you assigned?”
He frowned. “You’re back to that again?”
She tried her best puppy dog expression. “Can you? Pretty please?”
He hesitated, then followed the rest of the crowd. “Okay, I will.”
“Text me,” she added as she pulled open the door.
With that, Abigail returned to her work. She’d gotten through two more boxes’ worth when her phone chirped with a text. She scrambled for it and thumbed up a new message from Gabe.
No dice on the Athena file. Sal never assigned it to us.
“Crap.” She sat on the edge of her desk and considered the implications of his remark. She closed her eyes as once more, Sal’s reprimand from the year before floated to mind.
“You are to let CCU handle it. I don’t even want you asking Gabe, Nate, or anyone else about it.” His words had cut into her like a knife. “If I hear you have, I will consider that in direct disobedience to my order, and I don’t think you want that in your file, now do you?”
“Crap, crap, crap!” Now, she shut the door and paced the length of her office. What’s going on here? I feel like I’ve wandered into completely new territory.
She could do nothing right then, only finish her sorting.
And request arrangements from their travel agent. She tapped out her needs, then turned to finish her file purging.
Just as she tossed the last folder into the last box, her computer chimed. An e-mail from her travel agent. She was booked on a flight from Washington National to Salt Lake City. Leaving early tomorrow afternoon and arriving early evening. Too late to get to Burning Tree, but that was okay. She’d drive down the next day.
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