Vane’s whole body jerked. He gasped, his eyes going wide, and opened his mouth to scream.
Tucker slammed his gloved hand over Vane’s mouth, getting right up in his face as he made garbled moaning sounds and twisted against the restraining hand. “I told you not to lie. And you’re lucky you’re not dead. Lucky. Think about that, let that stew in that little brain of yours. Why aren’t you dead yet, Daniel?” He used Vane’s first name intentionally. “We need you for something. If you lie to us again, we’ll kill you and find another way to get what we want. It’ll take longer, but we’ll deal with it because it’s better than dealing with a sniveling liar I have to carve up for answers. Next time you lie to me, I’m taking off your balls.” God, Tucker hated that Karen was hearing this part of him, hearing him sound like a complete monster over the comm. He hoped she understood that he was just putting on a show even as he got a certain kind of pleasure from inflicting pain on the man who’d taken his mentor from him.
As quickly as the thought entered his mind, he pushed it right back out again. He needed to keep his head in this thing. So many lives were depending on their handling this situation right. He felt as if he were walking a tightrope. If he pushed too hard, they’d break Vane. If he didn’t push hard enough and Vane called their bluff, they’d lose him.
“Nod if you understand,” Cole said quietly with just a hint of that feral quality in his voice.
Vane nodded, his eyes wide as he moaned what sounded like “yes.” His face had gone white and his lips were compressed as thick beads of sweat rolled down his cheeks and over his forehead. His body kept jerking involuntarily—from shock, Tucker knew. But Vane was still coherent. That was all that mattered.
Tucker removed his hand from Vane’s mouth. “We’re on the same page finally. I’m going to ask some questions and you’re going to answer them. Do you know who Toby Austin is?”
Vane’s eyes flickered with surprise—maybe that Tucker knew the name—but he nodded. “Yeah,” he rasped out, his gaze flicking to where the knife was still embedded in his hand, blood trailing down the arm of the chair and onto the tile.
“Did you have anything to do with killing him?”
Vane shook his head once, as if trying to focus. He sucked in a ragged breath, clearly trying to force the words out. “He’s dead?”
“Yep. Committed suicide. But you and I both know that’s not true. In a situation like this, the man in charge cleans house near the end of an operation. I’ve seen it a dozen times and I’m guessing you have too. Are you expendable to Hillenbrand?” Tucker held up a hand. “Don’t answer that. I don’t want to have to slice you up for another lie.” He glanced up at Cole, a silent signal for what he needed to do.
Cole grasped the handle of his blade and jerked it free, earning a shuddering moan from Vane. At least he wasn’t screaming. But he was breathing harder, erratically, as if he was trying to control himself even as he shook almost uncontrollably. There was no control over that, though. Guy should just let the shakes come, but Tucker didn’t care. Let him fight it. His face had gone even paler as he stared at a spot over Tucker’s shoulder. Blood continued dripping onto the kitchen floor, landing with soft little splatters.
“When did you start working with Hillenbrand?”
Vane paused, swallowing hard. “He approached me six months ago.”
“Why go after Max and the four of us?” Tucker kept his voice completely neutral as he asked the question. If he let the leash on his anger slip, he might do something he’d regret. Something he couldn’t take back.
Vane swallowed hard. “He needed someone . . . to take the fall for his plan.” The words came out in a rush, as if he was forcing himself to speak. He took another deep breath, seeming to gather himself finally even though he was still shaking. “That’s you guys. And he needed someone important like Max to die.”
No doubt Vane had suggested them up on a platter to Hillenbrand. Tucker kept his anger at bay and didn’t acknowledge that he knew it would have been Vane’s idea. “Why?”
His eyes shifted away, as if he was thinking of a lie.
Tucker grabbed his chin and yanked his face back to him. He’d get an answer. “Why?”
“Politics. Power. Hillenbrand’s got some guy working with him. Name is Osborn, works for Clarence Cochran.” When Tucker’s grip tightened, Vane tried to shake his head, failed. “I swear it. They want to start a war in Iran. If the Shias waged war on American soil, in D.C. no less, killing the deputy director . . .” He trailed off, swallowing again. “They want their candidate in the White House and they want him to start a war they can win. That’s what Hillenbrand spouts anyway. I know he’s more in it for the money. I don’t think he believes anyone will actually be a winner in that war. But the contracts he’ll rake in will be worth billions. And anyone with stock in the company will bank too. Osborn will make sure that Hillenbrand gets the necessary contracts if Cochran is elected. It’s a win-win for them.”
Tucker dropped his hand. He didn’t need to ask why Hillenbrand would want to spark something like that. Money was definitely the motivation. The man already had a lot of government contracts, but if they went to war with Iran, that would mean more contractors were sent overseas. Which meant a shitload of money for Hillenbrand. Especially since it wouldn’t be a short war. They never were. A decade minimum, especially with a country like Iran. They were close to having nukes now, if they didn’t already. “Cochran’s involved?” Tucker wasn’t sure he could swallow that. The guy might be a bit extreme but this was crossing a serious line.
“I don’t know for sure, but his top aide, Rayford Osborn, is definitely involved,” Vane added, face shiny with perspiration.
Tucker had no doubt Karen and everyone else on the other end of the comm were currently running the names Vane was dropping. “Was or is Hillenbrand going to tie us to the drone theft?”
He nodded, his breath sawing in and out. “Yeah. I don’t know how or when, but that’s part of his plan too.”
“Why’d he hit the International Spy Museum this morning?”
Vane stared at him, blinking once. “Hit it?”
“With the drone.”
He blinked again and shook his head vehemently. “No way. No way he would do something like that without telling me.”
Cole snorted and grabbed the back of Vane’s chair. Wordlessly he dragged him across the floor, not being gentle about it. Tucker stayed close, stopping in the living room with them. Since he had the same type of system, he turned on the flat-screen mounted on the wall. The national news would have it by this time, but he scrolled to a local news channel.
After five minutes of letting Vane watch, he switched off the TV and sat on the coffee table, facing him. Cole stood behind Vane, arms crossed over his chest, looking like a menace. Even if Vane couldn’t see him, he felt his presence, was aware of the barely leashed tiger at his back.
“I would ask you what Hillenbrand’s next target is, but it appears you’re not in the loop.”
Vane wet his lips with his tongue. “Can I get some water?”
“No,” Cole said before Tucker could respond.
“So, what was supposed to be the next target?” Tucker asked.
He wet his lips again, shifted nervously in the chair, his movement limited. The bleeding had slowed a little, but not by much. “The museum was on our list of targets, but it wasn’t supposed to happen until later. And I don’t know the exact dates or times of anything. I swear it!” His voice rose when Cole shifted slightly behind him. “He told us all that he would call meetings the night before or day of any attack. He likes being in control, the one pulling the strings. Everyone shows up when he calls.”
Tucker wanted to know who “everyone” was, but held off. He figured Burkhart would be able to get all those names out of Vane later. “Was there a meeting last night?”