“So it would seem,” General Fuller concurred.
“The man needs to be taken out.” Boss’s massive jaw sawed back and forth. On a good day, Boss had a face only his mother—or his wife, Becky—could love. And today was definitely not a good day. His expression was the facial equivalent of a disembowelment.
“Indeed he does,” General Fuller agreed. “But not before we know how much more information he stole and who he’s since sold it to. Which is where you guys come in.”
“You’d like us to work with the Company on capturing him?” Dan asked. The newspapers claimed the former CIA agent had moved to a Central American country with no extradition treaty with the U.S. But the truth was, Winterfield seemed to have fallen off the face of the planet. And for weeks now, the hunt for the traitor had been the CIA’s numero uno objective.
“Something like that,” General Fuller said. “We want BKI to find him and grab him before the CIA can.”
Steady exchanged another quick look with Boss. And that soft rustling sound he heard was the SEALs shuffling just the tiniest bit in surprise. The only reason the president and the JCs would tap the Black Knights for this job was if they didn’t trust the Central Intelligence Agency.
Fucking hell! This Winterfield debacle kept getting bigger and bigger every frackin’ day.
“I’ll go after him,” Dan volunteered quietly, and Boss shot him a sharp look. “Hey,” he shrugged, “if I’m jumping back into the mission pool, I might as well start at the deep end.”
President Thompson glanced from Dan to Boss and then over to the general. “I’m fine with that as long as Pete and Boss sign off.”
“You sure you’re ready?” Boss asked Dan, his concerned frown causing the scar cutting through his eyebrow to pucker and turn an angry pink.
Dan didn’t hesitate to meet Boss’s eye. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
Good for you, Dan Man. Good for you.
Boss lifted his chin in a jerky nod, and Steady figured there was a lump in the big man’s throat, just like there was a lump in his. The good Madre Maria knew it’d been hard as hell to watch Dan fall apart. But it was a beautiful thing to see the guy picking up the pieces and putting himself back together again.
“Good.” The president clapped a hand on the general’s shoulder. “I’ll let Pete talk you guys through some of the logistics.” Then he turned to Steady. “While he’s doing that, I have a personal matter to discuss with Soto here…”
Chapter Twenty-five
Abigail Thompson’s Townhouse
Georgetown, Washington, DC
Seven hours later…
“Miss Thompson, you have a visitor,” Agent…what was his name? Gah! Abby felt awful that she couldn’t remember…called from the doorway at the top of the stairs leading from her kitchen to her basement family room.
For two days now, she’d been sequestered inside her house. Supposedly “recovering” from her ordeal. But in reality, the White House had insisted she stay hidden away until the media’s feeding frenzy died down. Although, truthfully, she figured the press secretary really wanted to be the one to steer the conversation, make the story into whatever he felt was most palatable to the American public and most beneficial to her father’s image.
So what else is new?
But, you know what? It was all good. Because the last thing she wanted was a bunch of cameras and microphones shoved in her face. On the other hand, she was getting lonely holed up all by herself, no one to talk to save her mother or her sister. And only when they managed, amidst the chaos of their busy schedules, to spare Abby a quick phone call—via her new, encrypted cell phone, of course. Ugh. Would she ever get to live like a normal person again?
No, she realized. Probably not.
In fact, she wasn’t sure she could after all these years, entrenched as she was in “the machine,” knowing what she did about how the world worked. Sort of like Carlos after he’d finished his tour with the Rangers. He hadn’t been able to meld back into society, not after everything he’d seen and done. Not after he’d been turned into a warrior.
Carlos…How many times had she—
“Miss Thompson?” Agent—Sonofabiscuit! What was his name?—called again.
“Who is it?” she yelled back, thumbing the pause button on the remote for her DVR. The screen on her television froze on an image of Modern Family’s Cam and Mitchell. The two men were sitting in their living room, doing one of their hilarious interviews in front of the camera. She’d been spinning episode after episode all day, needing something to take her mind off the horror of what had happened to those six brave souls who’d gone with her to Malaysia. To take her mind off all the terrible, terrifying things she’d seen in the jungle. To take her mind off the man she loved and what he must think of her now that he knew the truth.