Radclyffe - Word of Honor

“I’ll do my best, baby.”

And Blair knew that was all she could ask. “Come home soon. I miss you.”

A silent female lieutenant waited inside the locker room while Cam and Savard showered. She provided them with black military-issue BDUs and T-shirts and then escorted them to a small, drab conference room with a table that seated twelve, an outdated pull-down projection screen at one end of the room, and a coffee cart with a huge urn that Cam hoped was filled with hot coffee at the other end. Lucinda sat at one end of the conference table with Averill Jensen.

“You two are looking a little better,” Lucinda said.

“We’re good to go,” Cam said.

The lieutenant stepped out into the hall and closed the door, leaving the four of them alone. Cam tested the urn with her hand, grunted in pleasure when she felt the heat, and searched the metal cabinet beneath the cart for cups. She filled a Styrofoam cup with coffee and handed it to Savard, then got her own. Savard followed her when she sat down at the conference table.

“What happened?” Lucinda asked.

Cam gave a recap of the events. “I don’t suppose you two have anything to add?”

Jensen look surprised. “Like what?”

“Like whether or not this was a sanctioned neutralization?”

Lucinda glanced at Jensen, eyes narrowed. “Averill?”

“No,” he said, sounding defensive. “Why would you ask? Isn’t it obvious that Matheson or one of the other patriot organizers was trying to eliminate Early before he could identify them or disclose other vital information about their operations?”

“It’s never wise to accept the obvious,” Cam said quietly, watching Jensen carefully. Lucinda Washburn and Andrew Powell she trusted unequivocally, but they were the only two she could say that about other than Blair and the members of her team. Jensen she didn’t know that well. “How many people knew we were planning to interrogate Early today?”

Now Jensen turned in his seat and looked to Lucinda for help. Lucinda shook her head and said, “Nothing happens in a vacuum, and there is no such thing as airtight security. You know that better than anyone. The minute you get in a cab, someone knows about it. Flights had to be arranged, the local office in Virginia was contacted for an escort, the prison commander was advised that you were coming. No one knew you were going to see Early, at least not that I’m aware of.”

“How many other detainees from Matheson’s compound are being held there?” Cam asked.

Lucinda grimaced. “I don’t know, and for some reason, I can’t find out. No one seems to know. Everyone who should know claims not to.”

“Bureaucratic snafu or intentional lockdown on information?”

“I wish I knew that too,” Lucinda said, obviously frustrated. She leaned forward, her eyes gleaming. “Listen, Cameron. I don’t know who blew that van off the highway. Right now, we don’t even know how they did it. Have any thoughts on that?”

“It might have been a car bomb triggered by a radio signal,” Cam said, “but judging by what happened out in the Atlantic last month, it could just as easily be a surface-to-surface missile again. You’ve got a team looking at the wreckage out there now, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Unfortunately,” Savard put in, “I don’t think discovering the how is going to tell us anything about the who. Almost anyone can get military ordnance these days—foreign terrorists, domestic militants, your average Joe Survivalist down the street.”

“Agreed,” Cam said. “What we need to concentrate on is who wanted Early dead.”

“I would think Matheson would be at the head of that list,” Lucinda said grimly.

“Possibly,” Cam said, far from certain. Matheson had eyes and ears in high places, that was clear. She didn’t believe for a second that Valerie’s handler was the only person in the Company with ties to Matheson. Operations like Matheson’s didn’t go undetected without more than a few people helping to keep it quiet. Every security branch had its share of hawks and superpatriots who believed that the end justified any means, if the end was preserving national supremacy. Such people were not above aiding militants, funding false flag operations designed to incite public support for armed retaliation, even orchestrating the assassination of political figures. “If Early had close ties to Matheson and was privy to things certain people didn’t want him talking about, it might not have been Matheson who wanted him out of the way.”

Lucinda’s face hardened. “You’re talking about someone on the inside, one of us.”

“On the inside, maybe,” Cam said grimly. “But not one of us.”

“But those were federal agents driving that prison van,” Savard protested. “No one inside would…”

“Collateral damage.” Cam leaned back, suddenly more tired than she’d realized.

“The SUV ahead of us pulled over right before the prison van was hit,” Savard said, her disbelief turning to fury. “If we hadn’t been there, there would have been a clear shot at the van and both the lead car and the follow car would have been out of the blast zone. But then we pulled in behind the van and drove right into the field of fire!”

“That’s my read too,” Cam said, rubbing at the tension between her eyes.

Averill Jensen squared the empty pad of paper in front of him. He had uncapped his pen earlier as if he were going to take notes, but had written nothing down. “We’ll do everything we can from our end to trace the leak, if there was one. There won’t be a paper trail, but calls were made.”

Cam shrugged. “It has to be done, but it could take weeks. I think we simply have to assume that none of our communications are secure.” She looked pointedly at Lucinda. “Not even in and out of your office.”

“Where does this put us in terms of tracking down Matheson?” Lucinda asked.

“About where we were before,” Cam said. “My people are combing personal histories, electronic data, reports from FBI and ATF agents inside the patriot organizations, looking for connections.” The dull throb between her eyes accelerated to a full-blown headache. “We’re monitoring known cells, tracking targets on watch lists.”

“He’s running circles around us,” Averill said bitterly.

Cam eyed him coldly. “Almost twenty men, none of them nationals, entered this country over a period of several years, established identities, trained on flight simulators, and managed to pull off an orchestrated terrorist attack without the combined power of all the security agencies in this country being able to detect them. Finding one U.S. citizen who has spent his entire life preparing to go into hiding is going to take plain old grunt work and a hell of a lot of luck.”

“You don’t think we’ll get him,” Lucinda said wearily.

“Oh, we’ll get him,” Cam said, “because we won’t quit until we do.” What she didn’t say, what she refused to think about, was what he might do first.

Blair felt all the eyes in the room on her as she walked over to Paula. “Let’s compare notes.”

Stark smiled, but she looked worried. “Everything’s fine, nobody’s hurt, and it was just a little unexpected detour. Does that fit with your version?”

“Pretty much. Did Renee sound okay?”

“She sounded pumped.” Stark laughed briefly. “There’s a reason she went into the FBI and I went into the Secret Service. She wants to chase bad guys, clean up the streets, strike a blow for justice. Me, I want to see that those responsible for justice stay safe. I don’t need the rush like she does.”

Blair squeezed Paula’s shoulder. “She’s no cowboy. Neither is Cam. But I know what you mean. I got the same story you did, pretty much. Cam did tell me that Renee was okay.”