“They’re real, but unless the bomb techs are complete idiots, they’ll find everything and be able to remove all the threats. It’s not like we’re going to set them off anyway.”
“How does this help us?” Other than the obvious. Rayford figured they wanted to destroy the credibility of the four targets, but needed to know if there was more. This whole plan had been carefully set up and no one had thought to tell Rayford. He didn’t like being in the dark and Hillenbrand seemed to thrive on keeping everything compartmentalized. It was making Rayford edgy. “And who actually set up the bombs?” he demanded, unable to keep his anger completely in check.
“To answer your first question,” Hillenbrand said, heading for his minibar even though it wasn’t even noon yet, “we’re going to anonymously release the video footage we have to the media of Brooks and Kane setting the bombs. Then we’re going to release their files—doctored files—showing their allegiance to the same Shia group believed to be behind their boss’s death. Along with those, we’ll include files on Tucker Pankov and Cole Erickson. We’re ruining their credibility, giving them no place to run, and painting targets on their backs by every law enforcement agency in the country. If we can’t kill them, we’ll let the government do it for us.”
Hillenbrand took a sip of his scotch, his eyes gleaming a little too madly for Rayford’s comfort. “This is absolutely brilliant,” he continued. “Everything is falling into place perfectly. We have four dirty DEA agents working with a terrorist group and killing Americans on American soil. The headlines are going to write themselves and we’re going to get our candidate into the White House. When that happens, we’ll get the war we want. The war we can win.”
If not win, they’d have a president who started a war. That would help him get elected the second time. Voters wanted someone they perceived as strong. While there was no guarantee their guy would get elected, he had a strong military background compared to the only real opponent. If people were scared they’d turn to someone they knew would do whatever it took to keep terrorists off American soil.
And they’d all become very rich when that happened, Rayford thought, trying not to focus on that too much. It was hard not to be aware, though, especially since he’d been given an eight percent stake in one of Hillenbrand’s companies. Not under his real name, of course, but the money would all be his.
It all sounded so simple, but Hillenbrand was correct. Everything did seem to be falling into place. Still . . . “What about the video footage? Won’t experts be able to tell it’s been altered?”
Harris shrugged. “Eventually, but I’m very, very good.”
“The news stations are going to run with the story,” Hillenbrand continued. “By the time there’s an official forensics video analysis, these guys will be listed as traitors and wanted by everyone in the damn country. They’re fucked.”
Plus, it would keep the authorities chasing their tails, which was a big part of this plan, he knew. No one could know the truth of what they were doing or they’d be the ones listed as traitors. And they’d all die for their crimes. Maybe not by the needle, depending upon where they were tried, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think the government wouldn’t covertly kill them for what they were doing.
Chapter 6
Dry clean: certain actions or procedures agents might take to ascertain if they are under surveillance.
Karen fought the terror splintering through her as she and Tucker—if that was even his real name—entered the house through the kitchen door. Her ankle throbbed, but she was pretty certain it was only a mild sprain. It felt like a simple twist, something she’d done before. She wasn’t concerned with her freaking ankle, though. Not when three more dangerous men were waiting in the kitchen for them.
She winced as she limped inside, then inwardly cursed. She didn’t need to show any more weakness than necessary.
“What happened?” the blond one asked from where he leaned against a countertop. The other two were sitting at a round kitchen table, their expressions grim.
Karen had the irrational urge to move behind Tucker as cover, but she knew he wouldn’t protect her from anything.
“She twisted her ankle,” Tucker muttered.
The blond pushed up. “And you couldn’t fucking carry her?” he snapped, a surprising amount of concern in his voice, before he turned to the other two. “Get up.”
“I offered,” Tucker said, but there was no heat in his voice as he moved to where the other two men had vacated. He pulled out a chair and motioned for her to sit.
Even though she wanted to be obstinate and stand, her ankle throbbed and there was no reason to remain standing and possibly injure herself more. As she lowered herself onto one of the chairs, Tucker pulled out another one. Without asking, he took her leg gently and propped it up on the chair.
While he moved, the blond one pulled out a first-aid kit from under the sink and the heavily bearded man went to the freezer. When he retrieved an ice pack, she realized they meant to help her.
Tucker moved so quickly, efficiently removing her sneaker and sock, it was a shock to her system when his big hands gently pushed up the bottom of her black running pants, rubbing over her skin. She hadn’t expected any gentleness or warmth from him. She didn’t want to believe that there’d been any truth to what he’d said out in the woods, but if there was . . .
“Can you roll it?” he asked, looking up to meet her gaze with those intense blue eyes.
Swallowing hard, she did a couple of times. “It’s a little achy, but I don’t think it’s too bad.” There was a tiny bit of swelling on the top, so she’d probably just pulled a ligament. Since she’d broken the ankle in the past, it was more sensitive. Something she was used to.
He looked over at the blond and held out a hand. Without pause the man gave him the first-aid kit. “I think it’s a small sprain. Just to be on the safe side, I’m going to wrap it and put an ice pack on it. You’ll just need to stay off it.”
She nearly snorted. It wasn’t as though they’d be letting her go anywhere. But she kept her mouth shut. No need to piss off the possibly violent men who were being inexplicably nice. At least temporarily.
“I told her my name,” Tucker said, without looking up.
The blond nodded, clearly pleased. “Good. I’ll get the files.” He left the room while Tucker carefully but expertly wrapped her ankle with the ice pack. He made sure to put cloth between her skin and the pack.
She flicked a glance at the other two men to find them watching her. There was no hostility in either of their gazes.
“Escaping like that was smart,” the bearded one said, a hint of something in his dark brown eyes she couldn’t quite define.
She raised her eyebrows. It almost sounded like a compliment.
The other one chuckled, the small action making him a little less feral-looking. “We’re never going to let Cole live that shit down.”
“Fuck all you guys,” the blond—Cole?—said as he entered the kitchen carrying a handful of legal-sized manila folders. The word CLASSIFIED was stamped on top of the one she could see.
“How’s that feel?” Tucker murmured, drawing her attention back to him.
“It’s good. Thank you, Tucker.” She also decided to use his name. It was Psychology 101, but she was going to humanize herself as much as possible to her kidnappers. Maybe it was his real name, maybe not. But she remembered how one of the men in the office had said to “call Tucker” when he hadn’t known she’d been hiding in the closet. He could be telling the truth at least about his name.