18

THE MAN CHOSE TO rush me, which was a mistake for him.

While I was confused, tired, hungry, and weak, Melissa’s face replaced the image of the man who was now physically attacking me. She hovered in my mind, urging me forward, reminding me of my task and purpose. Melissa, as usual, would forever be the strength upon which I could rely to avoid peril.

My attacker’s face was twisted into a vulpine snarl, and for a brief flash, I wondered if he was an animal, but the pistol in his hand removed all doubt. Wanting to avoid any type of gunshot that could alert others to my location, I leaped at him, and we collided in midair like two mountain rams locking horns. My movements weren’t as fluid as I’d hoped. The duster was cumbersome, but I managed to pull his outstretched right arm and slide to my left, avoiding the bulk of his considerable mass. He tumbled headfirst into the large rock I had been using as cover. He scrabbled up from the fall as I kicked the pistol from his hand and landed a boot heel in his face, followed by the butt of a pistol to the back of his head.

He dropped flat, unconscious.

Where there was one, there were typically two. I immediately scanned in every direction. The man’s erratic breathing prevented me from hearing much beyond my immediate space.

“Garrett!”

Someone was calling my name. Melissa? Was she my refuge and purpose? Of course, she always had been in life; why not in death?

“Garrett!”

The smartphone lay on the ground near the attacker’s head. I remembered that a minute ago I had been calling President-Elect Kim Campbell.

I stepped away from the rock and inspected the tree behind which the man had been hiding and then walked the ten meters back to rummage through his clothes, finding a wallet, pistol, knife, and phone. I pocketed the first three and used his thumb to unlock the phone and repeated the process to keep the screen unlocked.

Only then did I kneel and lift the phone to my ear without looking at the screen and all the while keeping my eyes on the horizon, turning slowly in each cardinal direction.

“Yes?” I said.

“Garrett. What is going on? Where are you?”

“You tell me, Kim,” I said. I dropped all pretense of respect.

While I didn’t suspect Campbell had anything to do with my situation, I couldn’t be too careful. A day out from inauguration, she would have been in position to influence my captivity.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I was taken to Fort Detrick and detained,” I said. “I’m thinking such an action would have to be sanctioned at the highest levels.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Garrett. I’m not president yet. We’re friends,” she said.

It was nearly midnight, and she had answered my call amid preparations for a historic inauguration.

“You’re in all the briefings. You’re president in thirty-six hours.”

“But I’m not in charge. Is that why you’re calling from a different phone?” she asked.

“Yes. I escaped,” I said.

“You escaped? What are you talking about?”

“Why was Melissa interrogated by Dariush Parizad?” I asked.

“Garrett, are you okay?”

“I’m definitely not okay,” I said. “I’m being chased by government goons, and I’m wondering about the status of my team. Melissa’s dead and gone, and Parizad may have had something to do with it.”

“We need to meet,” she said.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

I continued to assess my surroundings by slowly turning in a circle. The man at my feet coughed and twitched. I kicked him in the head to help him sleep better.

“I’m the president-elect. You’re a general. I can play that game if you want,” she said.

“I’m too busy playing a different game, ma’am,” I said.

“What game is that?”

“What did Melissa know? Why was she interrogated?”

“Melissa was my best friend. My roommate. She died of cancer, Garrett. I’m sorry. I know nothing about a meeting with Parizad—”

“She didn’t meet with Parizad. She was in captivity. I saw the video,” I growled. My voice was angrier than intended, and for a moment, I forgot I was speaking with the president-elect of the United States. Did Melissa know a secret that could have impacted this election?

“Garrett? The anger. I’m your friend, too. And it sounds like you may need all the friends you can get,” she said.

I looked skyward, frustrated with myself for this unrecognizable emotion that had me treating her like an enemy. She was right.

“I’m sorry, Kim. I’m trying to figure out what’s going on,” I said.

“I can help. Where are you?”

“I’m not exactly sure. Somewhere near Fort Detrick. In the woods.” I looked down at the unconscious man at my feet. “People are chasing me.”

“Whatever for?” She sounded perplexed.

“What did Melissa know?” I asked.

The phone was silent for a second longer than it should have been. Her other responses were immediate reactions. Repeating the question had made her think.

“You’re acting very strange, Garrett. I told you to call me if you needed help, and I’m glad you did. I’m going to send some people to get you to the hospital, where it seems you belong.”

Had she done the same for Melissa? A governor has pull. Melissa was living in Fayetteville when she’d been admitted to Walter Reed.

I hung up, staring at the darkness, my mind reeling and replaying the events of Melissa’s death. The “best oncologist” at Walter Reed. The “best staff” in the exclusive executive wing. While we hadn’t known any of her health care staff prior to Melissa’s diagnosis, we had been appreciative of their professionalism and service. We’d had no suspicions then, and until now, I had no reason to question anything about her cancer or death.

One thing I did know was that Melissa was dead. I’d kissed her and held her when I returned from the al-Baghdadi mission. She had still been in the hospital. I was an hour late. An hour to say goodbye. I hadn’t asked for much in this life, but it seemed a sharp price to pay to have her stolen away from me before I could return. And now, I questioned the entire process. Had she even had cancer? Was there something she knew? She and Kim Campbell had been like sisters when they were roommates at Meredith College. They were going to tackle the world, separately and together. Their paths had veered, however, when the army moved us from base to base all over the world. We had served at Fort Bragg, North Carolina; Fort Benning, Georgia; Schofield Barracks, Hawaii; and Fort Drum, New York. The constant shuffle wore on relationships, both within the family and among friendships. We had survived our one dreaded Pentagon tour.

Throughout our careers, though, there had only been one time when the subject of Melissa’s relationship with Kim Campbell had come into question. Melissa had never been a big drinker in college, nor was she a prude. Kim had a reputation for going on the occasional binge, exploring the Raleigh, Durham, and Chapel Hill bars, depending on what mood she was in. Kim’s childhood friend Lorie Wesson would sometimes join, though Melissa didn’t care for her much. Melissa recounted for me one time when Kim had come back upset, eyes red from drugs or crying or both. She had plopped on the bed and passed out. The next day, they learned that Lorie had died in a drug overdose in an upscale home inside the Raleigh Beltline, home of the upper crust and not far from Meredith College. I’d never pressed Melissa on the matter. For one, I had been at West Point at the time. Second, I knew her well enough that if she had anything she wanted to share with me, she would, and if she didn’t, that was okay, too.

While every couple wanted to believe that there were no secrets between them, that was a naive construct. I could not imagine a more trusting, loving relationship than ours, and I knew that we both harbored things we didn’t want to share with each other, however short the list. In my case, my hidden secrets mostly revolved around combat deaths. Soldiers I had lost. Some I would discuss with her; others I just couldn’t. I didn’t want to expose her to the raw brutality and carnage of war. She was a tough woman, but she was also my girl. From a purely chivalrous place, I liked the idea—and so did she—that I could somehow shield her from the horrors of our chosen profession.

I utterly failed in that mission in the end, and it was probably the height of naivete to believe I could succeed. There was something important hidden here, within this stream of consciousness following hanging up on the president-elect, but I struggled to pin it down.

A groan from beneath the rock brought me back to the moment. My would-be assailant stirred on the ground. One thing I learned from combat was to never waste a good prisoner. I removed his belt and laced his ankles together and then used his boot laces to tie his hands behind his back. Using one of the Gatorade bottles, I splashed his face and slapped it until he pulled out of his boot-induced slumber.

“What the fuck?” he asked.

“That was my question,” I said, kneeling in front of him. My back was to the rock, and I had positioned him about three feet in front of me. I rifled through his wallet and phone, avoiding looking at the screen. He was a private detective who carried a Veterans Administration card, which meant he was prior military service. Mike Denuncio. DENUNCIO PRIVATE SPY: FOR ALL YOUR PRYING NEEDS. Catchy.

Why was he following me, and more importantly, how had he found me so soon? The two thugs that I had disabled back at Fort Detrick might have worked with Denuncio. Maybe the CIA contracted the guards. I was mildly insulted by the thought. Denuncio was dressed in dungarees, a long-sleeve rugby shirt, a Carhartt jacket, and brown hiking boots. He was soft and overweight. His eyes carried no light, as I liked to say. There was no apparent wisdom in them. My guess was he was a low-level pawn, though he didn’t appear that much younger than I was.

“Denuncio,” I said. “Where did you serve?”

“Not talking to you, traitor,” he said.

Traitor?

“You have me mistaken for someone else. But I have a few options here. We can have a civil conversation where you answer my questions, and then I release you into the wild, so to speak. I can apply my four decades of combat experience and many of the interrogation techniques I’ve learned—I believe they’re called enhanced—or I can open some of the food in my rucksack and smear it on you and be on my way. I’d choose the bear over the bobcat, if you get the choice. Kill you quicker. So what will it be?”

With wide eyes, he registered his predicament.

“What do you want to know?”

I was glad this guy was out of the army. Caving this quickly to a disheveled general in the middle of the woods wouldn’t portend well for his fellow soldiers if he fell into enemy hands.

“Good decision. First, who are you?”

“You’ve got my wallet,” he said.

“Right. I do.” I paused, waiting for him to answer.

“Mike Denuncio,” he finally said, exasperated.

“Who hired you?”

He shook his head, his left cheek touching the dirt. “Okay, there’s this guy. He comes around to my office every once in a while and gives me a job. I’m in Frederick, and I guess you were close.”

“Who’s the guy?”

“I don’t know. He works on the fort. He gives me a job and pays me cash. Jobs are usually quick and easy.”

The cash part was true. He had ten hundred-dollar bills in his wallet. Easy grand to bring in an old general, he must have thought.

“How’s that working out for you?”

“Fuck you. I always hated generals,” he said.

He knew who I was, which told me the “guy” had given him specific information.

“How did you know where to find me?” I asked, though I was almost positive that he was tracking one or both of the phones.

“The phones.”

I nodded. “Where did you serve?” I wasn’t trying to bond with him; rather, I was interested in any connections I might have previously had with him.

“Did my time. Military police. Germany, D.C., a couple of other places.”

“Where in D.C.?”

He paused, and again, I knew what he was going to say.

“Fort Belvoir,” he said.

Criminal Investigation Division, which was the army’s premier law enforcement and detective service. I could see why Denuncio was washed out.

“No combat time?”

“They needed MPs at the home stations,” he said.

“Yeah, we needed them in combat, too,” I said. “What’s the name of your contact? Where’s he work?”

“He goes by Tom Brokaw, you know, the newscaster guy. I don’t know his real name. Like I said, always pays cash, and jobs—until now—have always been easy.”

“Such as?”

“He’s had me watch some houses and report. Maybe follow some people and observe and report. That kind of thing.”

“Did he ever have you transport anyone?”

“No. Nothing like that,” he said. Denuncio had not been looking me in the eyes primarily because it was difficult for him to do so. Still, the tell was there. He was lying. “You’re lying,” I said. “All the goodwill you built up being forthright? Vanished. And I’ve got about a minute before the black helicopters come in here looking for me. So give me something useful, or I’m leaving you for the bears.”

“You can’t do that, man. I’ve told you everything I know.”

“When were you at Fort Belvoir?”

“That was thirty years ago, man. Got nothing to do with anything,” he said.

I stowed that useful piece of information away as I stood and scanned my surroundings. The sun would be rising in a couple of hours, and I needed to move. I flipped Denuncio over and removed the SIM card from the iPhone and restored it to McCool’s nifty plastic protective sleeve, which I returned to my boot pouch. I smashed the Android I had used to call Campbell and tossed it into the woods, and I did the same to the iPhone. I still could use Denuncio’s phone for the next few hours, so I disabled his tracking app and stuffed it in my pocket. Luckily, no ghosts appeared as I briefly looked at the screen to navigate my way through the device.

I put Denuncio’s knife in his bound hands.

“Don’t hurt yourself,” I said.

I packed my rucksack tightly with Denuncio’s additional weapon and another empty Gatorade bottle and took about fifty steps away to reacclimate my hearing, though Denuncio was shouting.

“Hey, motherfucker, you said you were going to let me go!”

“I lied,” I whispered to myself. If he had any skill at all, he would be able to cut through the shoelaces in a minute.

I broke brush for another fifty meters and listened again. Two helicopters buzzed in the distance. I needed to get to the small town north of here, find a room using the money I just took from Denuncio, and think about what I had just learned.

The most intriguing piece of information to me was that Denuncio had been based at Fort Belvoir during the same time that CIA director Samantha Owens was there serving her finance officer tour of duty.

A coincidence?

Or a thirty-year connection between a young finance officer and a special investigator?