But she’d taken this risk and very possibly screwed up her developing relationship with Keith in pursuing this interview, so she might as well see it through. Dammit, she hated it that Sean was right about her behaving stupidly. She should have known no fit SEAL would agree to an interview.
Sorrow for the man who fidgeted at the table filled her. His service to his country had resulted in trauma that led to pain and mental breakdown, which he’d failed to remedy with drugs. And now the man, who was once the best of the best, was a shell that symbolized the lowest of the low.
A junkie, full of self-loathing, with compromised mental acuity.
She set her digital recorder in the center of the table and pressed the Record button. “Why don’t we start with the day your team arrived in Mogadishu?”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SONOFABITCH.
Keith should have covered Owen’s aunt’s house like Josh asked him to do. Once again, he’d let Owen down, Josh down. Hell, he’d let his whole team down. Keith’s gut reaction was to leave and sit in on Trina’s interview with Owen. No way would he talk if Keith were sitting right there. His relationship with Trina would be over—no way would she forgive him for sabotaging her interview—but dammit, it was over when she arranged to interview Owen. He doubted he’d be able to forgive her.
She’s just doing her job.
No. It would never be that simple. Because what had happened in Somalia was anything but simple, and whoever had set Trina to researching it had to have an agenda. Unfortunately, as far as he knew, the person who had approved the assignment was the attorney general’s wife. And at the time of the Somalia op, her uncle had been the vice president of the United States.
Andrew Stevens had certainly known what happened that day. The question was, did Mara Garrett? Had she given Trina this assignment, knowing full well the ramifications?
He couldn’t imagine why she would do that, but he didn’t know Mara, and he didn’t know Curt. Rav’s friends or not, they could have an agenda.
Pressure built in his head. Curt Dominick was personally overseeing this entire investigation. For all intents and purposes, he was the Justice Department. Keith had no way to sidestep the attorney general.
He had to have faith Dominick was one of the good guys, but he wasn’t quite there yet. Now Trina was headed to the DOJ, and there was nothing he could do about it. Sure, that meant the questioning wouldn’t happen in Garrett’s realm, but her husband’s might not be any better. He should have suggested Rav’s house. Except Rav was in the middle of a contentious campaign. The last thing he needed was a woman who had been a bomber’s prime target and a drugged-out former SEAL on his doorstep.
Shit. Keith didn’t know what to do about his spotter. It had taken him months to get Owen into rehab—half the guys from the team had pitched in to cover the enormous fees—and now he’d bailed after a little more than a month into the six-month program.
He loved the guy like a brother…and at times resented him like a brother too.
And that didn’t even take into account the guilt of being the cause of Owen’s condition.
Had Trina contacted Owen and convinced him to leave the program? That would be…reprehensible. Unforgivable. The woman he was involved with couldn’t want her history book that badly. Unless he’d misread her completely.
How well did he really know her? Shit, now he was questioning everything, delving into the places where he was most vulnerable.
Movement inside Ruby’s home made him shake his head. Dammit. He wasn’t focused.
Ruby answered a phone call, then stood in the window with the phone to his ear. Keith wished Alec didn’t have rules against Raptor hacking cell phones and listening in, but that was the type of thing the former CEO had done, and it was sort of illegal…and unethical. But this guy knew something, and Keith considered ethics overrated when it came to the bastards who had tried to kill Trina, not to mention blowing up his house.
The man left the window. Minutes ticked by. More than anything, he wanted to go to the DOJ and haul Owen out of there before Trina could delve into the heart of his reason for self-medicating. But Keith had stupidly sent the guy on surveillance home, and now there was no one else to watch the front of the house. Another Raptor operative had the rear fire escape and windows covered. There were no other exits. This was a two-man job, and it would take at least an hour for Keith’s replacement to get here if he wanted to leave and intercept Owen.
Why had Ruby, an antigovernment activist, requested an interview with Walt in the first place?
What if…
No.
His father didn’t even know Keith had been in Somalia.
Trina knew, but she had access to his service record, while his father didn’t.
He thought back to his visit with his dad three months ago. A last-ditch effort to salvage a relationship, it had been a fiasco. The only saving grace was seeing his brothers briefly at the end.
While he was there, Josh had called him several times. They’d been trying to work out the arrangement with the rehab center for Owen. Had he uttered the word “Somalia” at a time when his dad could overhear? They’d certainly discussed Owen’s injuries from five years ago—the rehab center needed his full medical history. His dad knew Owen was his spotter. If he’d picked up that Owen was injured five years ago and had an inkling they’d been in Somalia, it could have set his bastard father on a quest to connect the dots. And his dad was brilliant at connecting—even when there were no dots.
He picked up his cell, then hesitated. But there was no one else to call. The attorney general answered immediately. “Dominick, there’s a chance this could be about me after all.”
“How so?”
“You need to dig to see if there’s a connection between Ruby and my old man. Like I told you before, he’s antigovernment. My dad might be trying to ferret out information on a classified SEAL op.”
“Can you tell me any of your dad’s avatar names?”
“No. I never read the crap he sends me.”
Ruby’s head appeared in the window again.
“Is there any chance your father is connected with WikiLeaks or RATinformant?”
Dread settled in his gut as he admitted the truth. “It’s possible.”
“We’re working on a theory right now that Brian Ruby is one of the rats at RATinformant dot com.”
Keith rubbed his forehead. Was it possible his dad was so far gone he’d joined up with government leakers to reveal top-secret information about military operations? Was his own father trying to destroy him? “I need to talk to Ruby.”
“We have enough now to bring him in for questioning. I was just sending a team to his apartment.”
“I want to be—”
Keith heard the pop first. The living room window he’d been watching shattered. The backlit man dropped from view, but the spray of red on the wall beyond the window told Keith everything he needed to know.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
TRINA REMAINED AT the table long after Owen Bishop left the conference room. She was surprised—and grateful—that Sean left her alone. She needed time to think. To gather herself. To figure out which way was up. And possibly the fastest route to get away from Keith.
No. Lieutenant Bishop hadn’t—couldn’t have—told the truth. If it were true, Keith would have been court-martialed. Imprisoned. Maybe even executed.
Except, a Pentagon cover-up would have been the first priority. There couldn’t be a court-martial if there’d been no crime. And this crime sure as hell had not happened. At least, nothing had ever been leaked.
Trina had been in graduate school five years ago. Intensive study of current military action had been part of the coursework for a doctorate in military history. Today’s news was tomorrow’s history.
Somalia would forever trigger an association with the 1993 military action—the Battle of Mogadishu—that was described in the book and later movie titled Black Hawk Down. And for tha
t reason, any military action in Somalia warranted notice. Nothing she’d read at the time hinted at what Bishop had described.
Cold sweat broke out on her brow. Jesus, she was just sitting still, and yet she was sweating. Shaking.
Keith was a sniper. He’d killed. She understood that. But this wasn’t killing to serve his country. This was murder.
KEITH KNEW BETTER than to try to locate the sniper. Odds were the man—or woman—was long gone, and if not, Keith would only be making a target of himself. Dominick had told him to sit tight, he’d be there in a flash with federal agents.
Fortunately for Keith, he had an airtight alibi, having been on the phone with the attorney general when the shot was taken. Except…who was to say he hadn’t taken the shot, then called Dominick? The Raptor operative couldn’t help him. His view was limited to the back bedroom window. Ballistics would exonerate him, but that would take time.
He called Sean. “Is Trina still talking to Bishop?”
“No. He left five minutes ago.”
Damn. “Put Trina on, then.”
“She’s still in the conference room.”
Yet more dread snaked up his esophagus. “Alone—?”
“Yeah. Door’s cracked open. I can see her. She’s not in any danger. She’s just…frozen. I’m guessing Bishop told her something she didn’t want to hear.”
Keith wanted to close his eyes. Or curse. Or smash something. But instead he said calmly, “I’ve got trouble here. Ruby is dead. Dominick and the feds are on their way. Keep Trina there. It’s the safest place while we sort this out.”
Sean swore. “Dead? How?”
“Sniper shot.”
Sean let out a low whistle. “That’s not going to look good for you.”
Keith glanced at the sniper rifle on the floor next to him. He really should have left it in the trunk of his car, but some habits ingrained from years in the navy were hard to let go. “No. It’s not.” He didn’t make a denial, and Sean didn’t ask for one. A point in the operative’s favor.
“I’ll keep Trina here, but she’s going to ask questions.”
“Tell her. She has the right to know about Ruby. About everything.” Except Somalia. No. Only a select handful of people had the right to that information. But Keith had a feeling poor Owen had just broken the one and only vow that actually mattered.
He’d hung Keith out to dry. And the hell of it was, he couldn’t go straight to Trina and separate fact from fiction from delusion.
TRINA PACED THE conference room. The tension in her gut had transcended to a point that could only be explained with particle physics. Operating on the usual three spatial dimensions plus time as the fourth, fear was now her own personal fifth dimension. Fear that manifested as pain. Everything hurt more, lasted longer, intensified to the degree that even the blood rushing through her veins hurt.
Sean had purchased chocolate bars from a vending machine, but she couldn’t face the sweetness of caramel or the salt of peanuts. All she could do was pace.
And wait. Finally, Keith stepped into the conference room and shut the door, leaving Sean and Curt on the other side.
“Did you do it?” Trina asked. A fear cramp nearly stopped her in her tracks.
“Do what?” Keith asked.
“Shoot him?” A surge of anger took over her tongue. “Wait, I suppose I need to be more specific with you—”
Keith flinched.
“Did you shoot Ruby?”
His eyes flashed with anger. “Hell, no. And I’m appalled you even asked.”
But if Ruby knew, or was trying to uncover what happened in Somalia, Keith had motive. “My guess is I’m not the only one who’s wondering.” She nodded toward the door that blocked Curt from view. “I bet it was the first question Curt asked.”
He took a step toward her, his broad shoulders stiff with tightly held fury. “It’s his job to ask that question. Not yours.”
She crossed her arms over her chest as if she could protect herself from the angry man—murderer?—who stood before her. At least Sean and Curt were right outside the door. One scream and they’d intervene. “I imagine my job is to fuck you and not ask questions like a good little girl. News for you, Keith. That’s not me.”
His gaze narrowed. “And that’s not news.”
“Did you shoot him because he knew the truth?” She almost had to choke out the question. The words felt raw on her tongue.
“I’m not a murderer.” Keith’s hands curled into tight fists.
“Really? Well, that will be news to your buddy Owen Bishop.”
His head lowered, and he took a slow, deep breath. “Owen is my buddy, so I’ll thank you to drop the sarcastic tone.” He met her gaze again and continued, “And if I find out you had anything to do with extracting him from the rehab center I spent my last signing bonus getting him into, then we’re done.” He held his jaw so tight his lips barely moved.
“We’re already done.” She took two steps past him, toward the door.
Keith’s hand on her arm stopped her. “Where is Owen?”
Her protective instincts flared. “Don’t you dare hurt him.”
His eyes flashed with a hard, harsh light. “I need to get him back to rehab. Tonight. He’s just revealed details of an op he swore an oath to keep secret. He’s bound to be looking to score heroin right now. I need to find him before he does.”
Jesus. What have I done? “I reached him at his aunt’s. He gave me a cell phone number. Lee Scott should be able to track him through the number.” She retrieved the number from her phone, then turned again for the door.
Again, Keith’s hand stopped her. The fingers that had touched her everywhere, that had made her gasp and cry out with pleasure, were now hard and unforgiving against the bare skin of her arm. “You aren’t leaving without telling me what Owen told you. You owe me that much.”
She paused. What did she owe him? She’d paid him back for the orgasms in kind. Dinner and a hotel room?
A few hours ago, she’d thought she owed him a town house, but now? She had a feeling this had been about him all along.
But fine, he wanted to know what Bishop said? She’d tell him. He was the only fucking person in the world she could tell, because there was no way this would ever go in any official navy report, and he damn well knew it. “He said he was injured in a firefight that ensued after you fragged a UN force commander.”
Keith’s gaze dropped to the floor. For one brief moment, he had no poker face, confirming her accusation.
Pathetic, feeble hope that Bishop might have been wrong fled. “You did it, didn’t you? You shot Major General Kassa.”
He met her gaze straight on. “Yes.” Then he marched to the door and jerked it open. “Dominick, take her to a new safe house. I’m done with her.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
OWEN HAD REMEMBERED. He knew Keith had shot the East African major general who’d been in charge of his nation’s UN peacekeeping force. It shouldn’t surprise Keith, yet it did. When Owen was in recovery, he’d said he didn’t remember anything for hours—maybe days—before he was injured. A blow to the head could do that to a man.
Keith and the team had agreed not to tell Owen—if he didn’t remember, he couldn’t tell anyone what had really happened. But obviously, at some point the memory had returned, and now it haunted him.
Based on Trina’s hostility, Keith figured Owen hadn’t remembered the context. He didn’t understand why. His wound had required brain surgery. Physical therapy. He’d been in recovery for over a year.
Did he remember that Keith had made the kill shot without Owen, his spotter? If so, that would only confuse him more. And this wasn’t just any kill shot, but one that had the potential to start an all-out war. Archduke Franz Ferdinand had nothing on a rising UN force commander—the number of countries involved…not to mention the treaties and the UN charter for the mission… A charter he’d violated with one bullet and a precision shot.
Keith hadn’t
wanted anyone on his SEAL team involved. But he’d needed help. Josh. Mikey. Leo. Owen. And Keith. The team he’d gathered to pull it off, plus five more who were in position in the camp should the op fall apart. In all, ten SEALs knew what went down, and Keith was confident no one but Owen would ever talk.
And for years, they’d clung to the belief Owen didn’t remember.
In spite of everything, Keith would never, ever regret taking action. He couldn’t have lived with himself if it had been another Srebrenica. But it seemed that without all the facts, Owen couldn’t live with himself now. Add chronic pain from the head wound, and it was easy to see why he’d turned to drugs.
Lee was quick to agree to track Owen through his cell phone—no questions asked. Keith had a feeling Curt had vouched for him at some point, and he swallowed the bitterness of having gained Curt’s and Lee’s trust but not Trina’s.
Well, that little experiment in attempting an actual relationship had burned out fast. His gut clenched as he followed Lee’s directions, zeroing in on Owen’s location based on pings from cell phone towers. What was he thinking getting involved with a woman who’d made it clear from the start that she wanted to expose Somalia?
And now… Would she?
She’d be fired. Top-secret clearance meant she could keep a secret, not expose it. And if she did… The only way the US could avoid retaliation would be if Keith paid the ultimate price. He’d have to admit he’d taken action without orders. Cop to treason, or worse.
Prison…. Hell, they could even send him to Gitmo. The NSA leaks, Snowden and the others, what they’d done was nothing compared to fragging a UN force commander. And Keith would never be able to reveal why. The Pentagon—his ally in the cover-up—would turn on him and nail his ass to the wall to avoid a complete breakdown of NATO and the UN.
Withholding Evidence Page 11
