Allison Brennan - Sudden Death

“It’s a theory,” she added, backtracking a bit. “But it’s supported by the evidence we have.”

“I’m not questioning your theory,” Jack said. “Just curious how you came to the conclusion.”

Megan nodded, but wasn’t sure exactly what anyone was thinking. Was she wrong about the two killers? Had she read the evidence incorrectly? Been swept away by Simone Charles’s confidence? Saw what Simone saw, and nothing else?

Hans spoke. “There is at least one key difference. Price was AWOL since 2004, wanted for the attempted murder of his commanding officer. When we ran his I.D., CID came down on us hard. Took the body and evidence.”

“You have the photos.”

Megan shrugged. “I saw something and the photographer had moved on.”

Jack raised an eyebrow, and Megan ignored him. She said, “I learned through a friend with contacts at CID that Price didn’t die from the head shot. He had a heart attack. Either the killers knew he was dead, and shot him to make his murder identical in M.O. to the others- meaning that they want us to know they are choosing these victims, laying down bread crumbs so to speak- or it was overkill. They had to do it because they are obsessive-compulsive. Complete the cycle, execute the plan to the letter.”

Hans nodded. “I think the shooter had to follow through, the exact same way. He couldn’t do anything but.”

Megan shook her head. “I think the shooter did it because he wants us to know that Price connects to Perry and Johnson. And now your friend.”

“Why?” Hans said. “It’s classic OCD behavior. The killer had to perform according to the script. Like you said, execute the plan to the letter.”

“Yeah, but … the dog tags.” She looked at Hans, then turned to Jack. “The killers sent part of Price’s identification plate to my attention. They want to make damn sure that we know Price is part of the puzzle. It’s a message, and when we figure out the code we’ll know who did it.”

“And Scout was just another victim.”

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Megan said. Jack was staring at her, and the pain of his friend’s death hit her in her heart. Jack Kincaid was more than an arrogant soldier, he was also a compassionate soul who’d lost someone close to him.

“Father?”

When Hans spoke, Megan and Jack both averted their eyes and turned to Father Francis. He looked stricken.

Jack questioned, “Padre?”

Megan raised her eyes at the concern in Jack’s word. “Father Francis, what’s wrong? Do you know any of these men?”

He looked from Megan to Jack. “I knew all of them.”

Jack ran a hand over his face, walked over to the window, and stared into the darkness. The storm that had been threatening all night had just started to drop its load of rain. It would come down hard for an hour or two, then stop. Dawn should be clear, though another storm was heading their way. As he listened to Padre talk, Jack knew Padre was on the kill list. All he could think about was what had happened to turn someone against an entire special forces team.

“I’ve known Scout for nineteen years-same as Jack,” Padre said. “Jack and I were in the Rangers together, both of us young and stupid.”

“I wasn’t stupid,” Jack said automatically, though there was no humor in the joke he’d repeated a hundred times.

“Met Scout two years later when he transferred in from Virginia.”

“With the dog,” Jack said.

Padre nodded. “Scout had a thing for dogs. That mutt almost got him court-martialed.”

“Scout tried to convince our sergeant that the dog just showed up one morning.”

“Hannibal didn’t believe him, but he let the dog stay.”

“Drew the line on letting the mutt come on tour.”

Padre smiled sadly. “I didn’t know Duane until after Jack left. I was thinking of going as well …”

“But?” Hans said.

“I was fighting the call.”

“The call?” Megan asked.

Padre pointed heavenward.

She blushed slightly and glanced downward. Jack would have been more intrigued by her embarrassment and blush, and wondering how else he could bring color to her pale face, if he wasn’t so worried about Padre.

“Ten years ago. I moved to another unit, hooked up with Johnson and Perry. Duane was solid. Perry had a drug problem. Could be an asshole, but when push came to shove, he always came through. Thornton was also on the team.”

“Thornton? Where can we find him?”

“He’s dead. Died during an operation five years ago. We’d been on at least two dozen missions together, but when Thornton died that was my final mission. I asked for a discharge, got it, and joined the seminary. Rejoined, I should say. I’d been in for two years before but that’s another story.”

Jack squeezed Padre’s shoulder. “Price?”

“Scout knew him well. We called George Price ‘Princeton’ because he dropped out of some Ivy League college to enlist. He and Scout worked together before.”

“Was it just six of you?”

“Eight. Last I heard, Jerry Jefferson was still overseas. Afghanistan. Re-upped four or five times.”

“And?”

“The team leader, Ken Russo.”

“Russo?” Megan dropped a set of papers on the floor, then gathered them up.

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” Padre said.

“I’m sorry,” Megan said. “It may not be connected.”

“You think it is,” Jack said.

“It could be a coincidence, but in light of everything else … we’re going to pull all the files and ballistics reports. He died ten months ago during an apparent home robbery. No one was charged.”

“I need to warn Jerry,” Padre said.

“Of course,” Hans said. “Better coming from you. Do you know how to contact him?”

“Yes. I’ll take care of it.”

“Wait,” Megan said. All eyes turned to her. “Are you sure Jefferson is still in Afghanistan?”

“Last I heard,” Padre said.

“What are you implying?” Jack interrupted.

“Other than Father Francis, Jefferson is the only member of that Delta unit who is still alive. He may not be a potential victim.”

Padre shook his head. “I will vouch for Jefferson. He wouldn’t kill in cold blood, not his people. Not Scout.”

“We have to consider every possibility,” Megan said.

Hans added, “I don’t have to tell either of you that soldiers have the highest incidence of post-traumatic stress syndrome-”

“No!” Padre slammed his fist on the table. Jack turned his head. The priest rarely lost his temper. Conflict and anger gave his hard-lined face an ominous expression.

Jack didn’t want to agree with the feds, in fact, he didn’t agree with them, but he also understood that they had a job to do.

“We’ll do our job, Padre. They need to do theirs.”

“What do you plan to do?” Padre asked, biting down on each word. “Not warn him?”

“Of course not,” Megan said. “He could be in danger, but if he’s still in Afghanistan he’s probably safer there than here. We need to look at his movements, however, and if he’s in the States …”

She didn’t have to finish. Jack nodded curtly while Padre quietly tamped down on his temper. “I’ll find him,” he said.

“Did you know any of the other victims, Jack?” Megan cleared her throat. She was upset that Padre was distressed, but she didn’t back down. Jack liked that.

“Just Scout.” Jack looked squarely at Padre. “Frank, I’m calling in Tim, Mike, and Lucky. None of them were Delta, so they’re not targets-if I can believe you,” he glanced at Megan and Vigo, “which I’m inclined to do on this point.”

“Don’t call,” Padre said. “I know there’s a threat, I’ll watch my back.”