Brad Thor - The Athena Project

Hutton had arranged for her to have everything she needed, including a private office with high-speed internet and access to a secure telephone. The telephone was unnecessary. She didn’t want to talk to Hutton, not now at least. She just wanted to upload the contents of Kojic’s computer, write up her report, and go to bed, which was exactly what she did. She and her teammates slept like rocks for over eight solid hours. It felt better than any trip to any spa.

Once they had showered and changed clothes, they went back to the Longhorn Café for another meal.

Summer had hung around longer in this part of the world, but as the afternoon wore on, a cool breeze had picked up, suggesting fall was on its way.

It made Casey think about home and what autumn would mean for her. The leaves would be changing colors. There’d be football games, and before you knew it Thanksgiving, and then Christmas.

The holidays were about the last thing she wanted to think about. They always reminded her of the mistakes she had made in her life, particularly when it came to her relationships.

After lunch there was talk of going to work out and even checking into flights home, as Tuzla had direct flights to the United States. They were hopeful Hutton was about to cut them loose.

Gretchen was wondering what she would do once she got back when her cell phone rang. Speak of the devil , she thought to herself. “Casey,” she said as she activated the call.

“You and your team did a good job,” stated Hutton. “We’ll be going through the stuff on Kojic’s hard drive for a long time.”

“I’m glad,” she replied.

“I read your report. How seriously are you and Julie injured? It reads to me like you downplayed things, as usual.”

Casey smiled. He knew her too well sometimes. “I got a little cut,” she said, touching the wound on her scalp. “It probably could have used a stitch or two, but Coop closed it up with Krazy Glue.”

“And Julie?”

“She was slapped in the face with Kojic’s laptop. She’s got a bit of a bruise, but she’ll be fine too. We’re all fine.”

“Everybody’s fine but Kojic.”

“Listen,” Gretchen began, “about that-”

Hutton stopped her. “The guy did it to himself. Okay? Don’t give it another thought. It wasn’t your fault.”

Casey decided to let it go. She didn’t want to talk about it and she wasn’t in the mood for a pep talk from Hutton. “Did you find out anything more about the man who financed Kojic’s purchase of all the Kammler equipment from the Zbiroh bunker?”

“Thomas Sanders,” said Hutton, repeating the name Kojic had given them back in Belgrade, shortly before he had died. “We’re compiling a jacket on him now. There isn’t much out there. What is interesting, though, is that Sanders didn’t want Kojic knowing who he was either. He tried to remain in the shadows, but Kojic tracked an IP address he used one time, and that became a jumping-off point for building a jacket of his own on him.”

“What was in it? Anything good?”

Hutton flipped through the printouts that covered his desk back at Bragg. “There’s mention of someone else we’re trying to run down, named Abressian. Armen Abressian. Don’t know who or what he is. The rest of it is pretty much banking information, but that’s where it gets interesting.”

“How so?” asked Casey.

“It’s like Russian nesting dolls, trying to pick apart all of the shell companies and phony accounts these guys use, but it appears Thomas Sanders has recently done business with your swim partner from Venice.”

“Nino Bianchi, the arms dealer?”

“Yup.”

“The bomb discovered in South America, do you think Bianchi might have had something to do with that?” asked Casey.

“That’s what I want you to find out,” said Hutton.

“How am I supposed to find that out?”

“You’re going to ask Bianchi yourself.”

“All right,” she replied. “I’ll get the team ready.”

“No. You don’t need the team. Just you. I’m going to send a car to get you. Where are you?”

“I’ll walk back over to the Longhorn Café. The car can get me there,” said Casey. “Can I grab a bag at least?”

“You won’t need one,” replied Hutton. “The car will be there in five minutes.” And with that, he disconnected the call.

A Humvee showed up four minutes later and Gretchen Casey climbed in. Like everyone else she had met at Tuzla, the driver was polite, professional, and didn’t ask a lot of questions.

He drove her out toward the airfield. “Do I have a plane waiting for me?” she asked.

“No, ma’am,” her driver replied as he kept going.

The kid had obviously been told to pick her up and not make conversation, so she decided to leave him alone. From what she could tell, they weren’t driving off the base, which meant she’d find out what this was all about soon enough.

At the far end of the airfield was a cluster of prefabricated buildings. Just beyond the cluster was a building surrounded by a high cyclone fence. When Casey saw who was standing at the gate, twirling a key on his finger, she began to understand what this was all about.

“Where is he?” Casey said as she climbed out of the Humvee.

“We haven’t seen each other in days and that’s your first question? No, ‘Hi, Scot, How’s it been?’” replied Scot Harvath.

“Hi, Scot. You look like crap.”

“Actually, I haven’t been sleeping very well. Which is probably because I haven’t been letting Bianchi sleep very well. He’s a real tough nut to crack.”

Casey looked at him askance. “Is that some sort of macho, male anatomy joke?”

Harvath put his hands up. “No hostile work environment here, boss. I don’t want to get written up.”

“Relax. I’m just pulling your leg. Where is he?”

“He’s downstairs in the play place having a happy meal.”

“Can I see him?”

Harvath stepped back and swung open the gate. “I was told to give you full access. By the way, he’s probably not going to be very excited to see you.”

“I wouldn’t expect him to be.”

“When you tossed him out the window, did you know he couldn’t swim?”

Casey shook her head. “I had no idea. He sure picked an interesting city to live in then, didn’t he?”

They walked across the packed, brown earth to the building. “My only request is that you don’t tell him where he is.”

“No problem,” replied Casey as they reached the building’s main door and Harvath slid his key in and unlocked it. “Where’s Riley?”

“She went to hide her clothes. She’s afraid you’re going to borrow something again like you did on the yacht.”

“C’mon, seriously.”

“I am serious,” replied Harvath with a grin.

He walked them over to a steel door with an electronic card next to it. Removing a card from his pocket, Harvath swiped it through the reader. There was a buzz followed by a click as the lock released and he pulled back the heavy security door.

He led Casey down a flight of metal stairs to the basement level. They had not seen anyone else and she figured that was on purpose. The fewer people who knew Scot Harvath and Nino Bianchi were here, the better.

They passed several doors until they reached one marked 5. Harvath slid his card through another reader, the lock released, and he held the door open for her.

It was a long room, and sitting in the center was the play place, as it was known, an enormous cell, constructed out of heavy, modular concrete panels that could be broken down and moved. It had its own heating and air-conditioning unit that could create wild temperature swings inside if an interrogator so chose.