The Hunters

14

Papineau sensed that Garcia might need an ego boost after the verbal thrashing he had received from McNutt, so he took a moment to praise him.

‘Most of you know bits and pieces about each other’s pasts, but in order to get Jasmine up to speed as quickly as possible, I thought it might be best if we spent a moment to discuss your backgrounds.’ He pointed at the young Hispanic. ‘Let’s start with Hector.’

‘Let’s not,’ McNutt grumbled.

‘Hector Garcia,’ Papineau announced, ‘is a self-taught, top-level computer genius with a photographic memory. His IQ is off the charts. He had been employed by the FBI in Miami, but once he realized how little government employees make, he decided to forgo his pension for an opportunity to make some real money in the private sector.’

Papineau paused for acknowledgements of Garcia’s abilities.

There were none.

That is, until Cobb felt sorry for him.

‘Thanks to Hector,’ Cobb said, ‘we don’t have to worry about any blowback from the Brooklyn job. Before he quit the Bureau, he created a backdoor in their computer systems, which means he can tap into their files anytime we need him to. Over the past few days, I’ve had him search their databases for any references to us. So far, all they have are vague descriptions from eyewitness testimonies.’

‘They would have turned up more,’ Hector assured them, ‘but I intercepted all of the live feeds from their surveillance van and cleaned them before I sent them on.’

‘Define clean,’ Sarah said.

Hector smiled. ‘I erased every file — audio and video — that featured you, Jack, or Josh. It’s like you were never there.’

‘Never where?’ Jasmine asked.

‘Our tryout,’ Cobb answered as vaguely as possible. ‘You had a pop quiz, and we had some homework.’

‘And by homework,’ McNutt bragged, ‘he means we actually invaded a home. You should have seen it: there were bombs, and guns, and swimwear. It was great.’

‘Wow,’ Jasmine gasped as she took a deep breath to calm down. The tension in her face and the anxiety in her eyes told Cobb a lot about her state of mind. Until that moment, she didn’t have a full understanding of the risks involved. Now she did.

‘Sarah Ellis,’ Papineau said, moving the conversation forward. ‘She is former CIA — a prodigy in her field, I might add — who is an expert in security systems and border crossings. She is our worldwide ambassador.’

McNutt picked up from there. ‘Her interests include hang-gliding, fighting giants, and skintight catsuits, but whatever you do, don’t call her a thief.’

‘Why not?’ Jasmine wondered.

‘Because she’ll kick you in the nuts.’

‘But I don’t have nuts.’

‘Then you can probably get away with it.’

Sarah stared at Jasmine from across the table. The intensity of her glare said it all. If you call me ‘thief’, I’ll come up with something even worse.

‘Moving on,’ Papineau said. ‘Josh McNutt was a decorated Marine sniper — at least until they threw him out. Where armaments are concerned, he is as experienced as they come. He is our weapons and security expert.’

Sarah shifted her gaze to him. ‘Why’d they throw you out?’

McNutt grinned. ‘I ran the table at a shooting gallery in a carnival. I wanted to win a stuffed bear for a little girl. When the proprietor objected, I objected back with the gun.’

‘You shot at the guy?’ Jasmine asked.

McNutt shrugged. ‘Don’t worry: it wasn’t a real guy. It was a carnie. Bullets can’t kill carnies. Nothing can. They’re like cockroaches.’

Papineau rolled his eyes and continued. ‘And finally, allow me to formally introduce you to Jackson Cobb, Junior — son of Brigadier General Jackson Cobb, Senior. Our Jack began his career as a member of the Army’s one hundred and sixtieth Special Operations Aviation Regiment—’

‘The Night Stalkers,’ McNutt elaborated.

‘- much to the reported displeasure of his father, who wanted him to join the Marines. In fact, once the Marines finalized their Special Operations Regiment in 2007, General Cobb used his far-reaching influence, both personally and professionally, to see that his son took a commanding post in the unit.’

‘You name it, they can do it,’ McNutt said with admiration.

Papineau elaborated. ‘According to my sources, Lieutenant Commander Cobb had an exemplary career in many bases of operation. He is one of the finest leaders the US military has produced in the last few decades. Exceptional at empty-handed combat, extremely well regarded amongst international authorities, he is our… hmmm? What would you call yourself, Jack?’

Papineau already knew the answer to his question. He meant to put Cobb — the obvious leader of the group — on the spot.

Cobb shrugged. ‘I would call myself the fifth member of this team.’

McNutt laughed. ‘Don’t let his modesty fool you. The SEALs begged the Marines to loan him out for a couple of missions. So did the MANIACs. And if they wanted to work with him, you know he’s the best of the best.’

Sarah eyed Cobb with a new level of respect — and curiosity.

Why was someone like him sitting in a room with them?

She pulled no punches. ‘Sorry to be nosy, Lieutenant Commander Cobb, but what did you do to fuck up such a perfect life? Did you shoot a carnie, too?’

‘Something like that,’ Cobb said as he turned his attention to the tropical landscape outside of the dining room window.

Sarah smelled weakness and pounced. ‘That’s it? That’s all you’re going to give us? You teased me all week about my checkered past, now you’re unwilling to tell us what you did to end up here? What kind of bullshit is that?’

Cobb remained silent.

He knew Papineau would fill in the blanks for her.

‘Jack was court-martialed,’ Papineau explained. ‘For “offenses against the uniform code of military justice”. Articles eighty-seven, eighty-eight, and ninety-nine, I believe.’

Sarah frowned. ‘Sorry, I don’t speak military. What did he actually do?’

‘I really wish you’d shut up,’ Cobb said quietly.

Papineau ignored him. ‘The thing about Jack Cobb, according to the court-martial transcript, is that when he was assigned a mission, he finished the mission, even when the senior brass changed their minds. In this case, they wanted to spare a terrorist to use as a political pawn. A knife, concealed in Cobb’s palm, disagreed.’

‘What kind of blade?’ McNutt asked.

‘Enough,’ Cobb said louder.

Papineau continued. ‘Suffice it to say, Monsieur Cobb got off fairly lucky considering what they could have charged him with. He received a dishonorable discharge with no prison time. I’m guessing his father had something to say about that as well.’

‘I said, enough!’ Cobb glared at Papineau. He had no idea what the Frenchman was trying to achieve, but the bastard had gone too far. It was one thing to highlight his resume for the team; it was quite another to reveal classified details of his court-martial.

Sarah patted his shoulder, trying to calm him. ‘Relax, Jack. You did what you thought was right. I see nothing wrong with that.’

‘Me neither,’ McNutt agreed.

‘Nor do I,’ Papineau said in a tone that was tough to read. ‘I apologize if I brought up an incident that you would rather not talk about, but as I said early on, I think it’s important to clear the air before we proceed any further.’

Cobb continued to glare. ‘I couldn’t agree more, Papi. With that in mind, why don’t you tell us about your past? Specifically, how did you acquire your money?’

Papineau forced a smile. He didn’t like being on this side of the spotlight. ‘I made my fortune in a variety of businesses too numerous to recount.’

‘Name one,’ Cobb demanded.

‘Pardon?’

‘One business in which you invested. Something Hector can check.’

Garcia glanced at Papineau. ‘Yeah. That would be nice. Your name doesn’t show up anywhere I’ve looked.’

‘I noticed,’ Cobb said, holding up his phone and wiggling it.

The Frenchman explained. ‘My background is very private, and my investments are deep and diverse. Energy, banking, entertainment — anything that is profitable and challenging.’

‘Enron? Pyramid schemes? Porn?’ Sarah pressed.

‘I have money managers who handle that. I do not become directly involved.’

Cobb leaned forward. ‘Except here.’

Papineau nodded. ‘Except here.’

Cobb was willing to bet the man wouldn’t know an annual report from a yearbook, and he was confident that ‘Papineau’ wasn’t his real name, either.

But that was a mystery for a later day.