Pilgrim said, “Exposure.”
“Think corporate. Takeover. You force them to do your bidding.”
Pilgrim stood, fists clenched. “I am so going to end these people.”
“What do you know about this Office of Strategic Initiatives that Vochek and Kidwell work for?”
“Zero.”
“Could Strategic Initiatives simply be trying to take over the Cellar?” Ben crossed his arms. “Remember, a few years back, when the Department of Defense didn’t like the intel it was getting from the CIA, they started forming their own intelligence agency. The Cellar would be a pre-made CIA.”
“And they’re willing to kill their own people like Kidwell and Hector’s guards?”
“They’re willing to hire the Lynch brothers.”
“It’s very dangerous to come after us.”
“Maybe you have an enemy in a high place,” Ben said.
Pilgrim stood. “Let’s see what we can find in Jackie’s Mercedes.”
The Mercedes sat parked a block away, in another apartment lot. The dented door and scraped sides gave it an air of belonging in the neighborhood that otherwise it would have lacked.
They drove the Mercedes back to Pilgrim’s apartment, parked it in a pool of light. Ben opened the glove compartment, began to search the papers stuffed into it. A map of Texas, a map of Dallas, a registration receipt and proof of insurance. “Car owned by McKeen Property Company,” Ben said.
“McKeen. That’s the same company that owned Homeland’s office in Austin.”
They searched the rest of the car but found nothing else, so they went back to the apartment. “We need to find who owns McKeen,” Ben said. “And if we don’t or can’t, then we go to Sam Hector. He provided staff to Kidwell. And he balked at giving me any information on this Office of Strategic Initiatives.”
“Ben, I understand he’s your friend, but his name is cropping up here way too much for me. I don’t know anything about him—”
“He urged me to come see him. Said he’d get me a good lawyer. The best money could buy. But he absolutely refused to tell me who was behind the Office of Strategic Initiatives.”
“So do you trust him?”
“I don’t know. I’m not sure. A real friend would have told me everything I needed to know. Maybe we never know people as well as we think we do.”
Pilgrim finished his pizza, wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “And here you are with me. Instead of your old friend.”
“Because you need help. You can’t stop these people alone. I’m just doing what’s right and necessary. Same as you.”
“It might be necessary, but it’s not right.”
“Are the people you killed bad or not?”
Pilgrim shook his head. “I’m not going to tell you campfire stories.”
“Spare me the gory details.”
Pilgrim sat at the table, drank from his water bottle. “I killed three terrorism financiers in Pakistan. One was a Pakistani government official. So no way our government could own that one. A couple of times I killed people selling secrets to the Chinese.” He took another sip from the bottle. “I killed a British gun runner in Colombia who was trying to cut a deal between UK extremist groups and the Cali narcotics rings for financing, to kill British judges. The guy was supposed to be alone; his girlfriend was with him. I had to kill her, too. A single shot to the heart. She started to scream and never finished it.” His mouth narrowed into a thin line.
“Did she know he was with the extremists?”
“I assume. Her brother was the head of the ring.”
“Then she made her choice in her associates.”
“But I assume. Maybe she was clean, just getting a nice vacation in South America. Maybe she didn’t know her brother and her boyfriend were major assholes.”
“Odds are she did know. People have to bear responsibility for their choices and their actions, Pilgrim.”
“Then I’m doomed.” He looked at Ben. “Ben, you don’t ever get used to it. Ever.”
“But you’re fighting the good fight.”
“So you approve of what I do.”
“I understand the need for it,” Ben said.
“But do you understand the price?” Pilgrim was silent for several seconds. “Once, I made my biggest mistake. I tried to destroy a terror cell in Indonesia. Years ago. I failed miserably. I lost . . . everything.”
For the first time Ben saw a tremble touch Pilgrim’s hands.
“I guess you don’t want to talk about it,” Ben said.
Pilgrim didn’t answer; Ben heard only the passing of traffic on the nearby road, the soft hiss of the tires on pavement.