“Is this line secure?“
“Hold on . . .“
There was a click, and the recording went silent.
“What am I hearing here, Kline?”
“To my understanding, sir, that is Plante circumventing our surveillance to speak to Cobra.”
“Is there any way we can find out what he said?” asked Boyle.
“No, sir.”
“You think this is related to his death?”
“I don’t know how you can escape the implication, sir,” said Kline. “And that’s not all. I also pulled Cobra’s file. He apparently had some personal effects in storage in our facilities. Took the storage clerk over an hour to find it, buried with other stuff that hadn’t even been touched in years.” He put a thick folder on the table. It was old and bent, with deteriorated elastic holding it together, barely containing the documents inside.
“Is this what I think it is?” asked Boyle, undoing the elastic and opening the folder.
“Records from his old missions. Termination orders, transcripts . . . And that”—Kline pointed to a small black bound notebook—“is a detailed diary of every mission he undertook for the CIA.”
Boyle leafed through the documents with furrowed brow. “Why do you suppose he kept these?”
“Impossible to say, sir,” said Kline. “But it is a serious breach of protocol.”
“That it is. But I can guarantee he’s not the first one to do it,” said Boyle.
“The facts of the situation are damning.”
“Give me your assessment, then,” said Boyle.
“Based on the evidence,” said Kline, “I would say Cobra snapped. Whether it happened in Afghanistan days ago or years ago, I don’t know. But it’s clear that he did. It’s also clear that he isn’t just a garden-variety traitor. He’s going after people he worked with. This is personal to him. For whatever reason, for whatever imagined crime against him, he wants revenge.”
Boyle sighed. “It doesn’t seem like the Cobra I knew.”
“I know that you think highly of him, sir,” said Kline. “Should I alert the FBI, in your opinion?”
“No,” said Boyle. “The damn Feds won’t know what to do with a man like Cobra. We clean up our own messes. Are Rivers and Buckner still active?”
“Sir, Rivers and Buckner failed to capture a high school girl and a middle-aged woman. I can think of few things more dangerous than Cobra going rogue. We need to fight fire with fire.”
Boyle’s look became solemn. “You’re talking about activating an operative.”
“I believe the circumstances warrant it, sir.”
“The President will not okay this,” said Boyle.
“The President doesn’t have to know. Sir, we have a dangerous man at large that nobody but us is equipped to deal with. He is smart, deadly, and obviously has an agenda. There’s no telling what he’ll do if we don’t stop him.”
Boyle ground his teeth and banged his hand on the table as if he was arguing, not with Kline but with his conscience. “Get Ramirez to contact the Bat. Keep him on standby. And expand the search on Cobra. I want him found.”
“Understood,” said Kline, getting up. “And, sir,” he said, before he walked out the door. “You made the right call.”
CHAPTER 24
Morgan woke up, chilled to the bone, to the sounds of birds chirping and the sun peeking through the branches of the trees. Damn it, he thought, checking his watch: 6:50 A.M. He had slept for more than five hours. Shit.
He drove the rest of the way as fast as he could, tires squealing at every curve. If Alex and Jenny had been found while he was asleep, he would never forgive himself. The wooded highways of the Northeast were a blur as he pressed on with a single-minded purpose, weaving through sparse traffic and stopping only for gas on the way.
Just after 1:30 P.M., he turned onto the short stretch of dirt road in the woods that led to his father’s hunting cabin. The undergrowth had already crept onto the path, and there were even a few saplings that had taken root. From the flattened plants and broken branches, it was obvious that another car had passed through recently. At least they made it here, he thought hopefully. But thoughts of Alex and Jenny dead or captured still invaded his head and refused to leave.
He pulled up to the cabin a few minutes later and found the GTO parked near the door. The cabin itself was a small hunting lodge in the forest a mile or two from the highway, where the noises of civilization didn’t reach, except for the occasional plane passing overhead. Morgan parked and got out of the car. As he approached the entrance, he could hear Neika scratching at the door from inside. He raised a hand, shaking in anticipation, and knocked.