Brothers in Arms

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Hayden tried to quell the feeling of elation and concentrate on the problem at hand.

The truck driver — Mike Stevens — sat across from Lauren Fox at the conference table. The rest of the team sat or lounged around. Stevens, to be fair, still looked shell-shocked and awfully intimidated. Lauren looked bored.

Hayden knew she had to take charge if they were to head off any more attempts. Drake and Mai were safe. In fact, for now, they were all safe. And Alicia had retired to an interrogation room to call up her buddies in Luxembourg.

So, no distractions.

“You two are the key,” she said. “I get it. You don’t know each other. You’ve never seen each other. Never crossed paths. But—” she held both their gazes. “You have.”

She indicated the big monitor at the head of the room. “Watch this. I have uploaded the other victims’ movements for the last few months up there. Believe me when I tell you, guys, strangers or not — you’ve all met recently.”

Ben Blake hit a button. “We hope,” he muttered beneath his breath.

Hayden felt a rush of anger but ignored it. The “chance meeting” was all they had. Other than that, it was all random, indiscriminate. These murders had been orchestrated by a single man or organization. It stood to reason that it wasn’t just chance.

A picture of Senator James Turner came up first. Mike Stevens sighed. “Well, I can sure put this to rest straight away. I ain’t never met that guy. Not even by accident.”

Mano Kinimaka leaned forward. “How do you know? Do you think when Nicole Kidman hits Wal-Mart, she goes out dressed like she was in Titanic?”

Stevens and Lauren stared. Even Dahl looked confused. “Was she even in Titanic?”

Hayden took a hold of it before it degenerated any more. “What Mano’s trying to say — badly — is that you and Turner may have crossed paths without even knowing it. Just give it a chance.”

Stevens nodded. A list of Turner’s movements appeared on screen. “I sure done some o’ those places,” the truck driver spoke up. “Washington. Maine. Baltimore. New York.”

Now Lauren Fox sat straighter. “Me too, I guess. New York. Boston, Atlantic City and Washington in the last three months.”

“I done A.C. too.”

The monitor continued to flow, flicking pages like a book, now having gone past the intended victims and on to the unintended casualties of all the shootings. When the picture of the Senators aide — Audrey Smalls — flicked by the truck driver jumped so hard he banged his knee.

“Wait,” he spluttered. “I sure as hell know her.”