Cutting Edge

35

Freeman stood stunned. It was a gross breach of protocol for a detainee to know his interrogator’s name. A damned bad thing in a lot of ways. “How the hell—”

“In five minutes I can tell you everything you need to know. And it won’t be what you expect. Agreed?”

The colonel said nothing.

The man in the hood began.

“You are Colonel Brian Freeman, United States Army. Green Beret, and six years on Delta Force. Your team is Unit 9, a highly selective squad embedded in SOCOM. In the rooms behind you are Major Randy Piasecki, United States Army. Petty Officer Second Class Jack Stevens, and Petty Officer First Class Patrick Baumann, both Navy SEALs. Air Force Master Sergeant Jeffrey Chambliss is your unit comm specialist.”

“How … no … nobody knows that.”

“Right now we’re in a safe house at 3443 Saddle Lane in Watertown, Massachusetts. I was brought here from the O’Neill Federal Building in downtown Boston.” The man paused, as if to let the burn in Freeman’s gut etch deeper. “You attended West Point and deployed for three tours, Iraq and Afghanistan, before being selected for the Green Berets.” Another pause. “Last night you went to your bank’s website and transferred eight hundred dollars from savings to checking. You were married on December 26, 2000, to the former Marie Angleton. You have two daughters, Bethany and Jackie.”

Freeman went rigid. He took two steps toward the man, and hissed, “Are you making idle threats against my family, Coastie?”

“Idle? Is that an assumption you can afford to make right now?”

Freeman felt something rise inside him, imminent like thunder after lightning. “What are you implying?”

“At this minute your wife is pulling into the driveway of a house in Fredericksburg … her parents’ place. She’s dropping off the girls so she can go to her book club, which meets once a month, rotating between the houses of the nine women who take part.”

Freeman lunged and took the man by the collar, constricting the fabric around his throat. There was a momentary gag, and he said, “Listen, you mother—”

The Coastie showed a sudden strength. He dropped a shoulder, loosening Freeman’s grip but not breaking it. It was enough to allow a breath, and he said, “Colonel … I think it’s time for you to join me in the darkness.”

Seconds later, every light in the room went dark. The blackness was absolute.

Then the Coastie said, “Your phone is about to ring.”

On that cue, Freeman felt the familiar vibration in his breast pocket — he’d set the ringer volume to mute.

“It’s your wife, answer it.”

In the darkness, a disbelieving Freeman let go with one hand and retrieved his phone. He saw a call from his wife. An electric jolt went down his spine. He swiped to take the call. “Marie! Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine … but what about you? I got your text to call right away, you said it was something urgent.”

Freeman’s thoughts began to spin out of control. He enforced order on his military mind, the same as when he was under fire on a battlefield. “Where are you?”

A stutter from his wife, who was typically rock-solid, then, “I’m at Mom and Dad’s. My book club is tonight and—”

“Marie, listen very closely! I want you to take the girls inside and stay there. Lock the doors and don’t let anybody in the house! I will call you back in ten minutes.”

“Brian … you’re scaring me.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry. Ten minutes.”

He ended the call, but before he could speak again the man behind the hood said, “Lights back on now.”

There was a pause, and Freeman stood silent and stunned. Five seconds later the lights flickered to life.

The door behind him suddenly opened, and Piasecki said, “Power outage, boss. No explanation, but we’re looking into it. You okay in here?”

Freeman hesitated and, without turning to face the major, said, “Yeah, I’m good. Stand up the watch outside.”

“Will do.”

The door closed.

One of Freeman’s hands was still on the Coastie’s collar, but his grip had loosened considerably. No longer throttling, but keeping a distance, in the way a snake handler might hold a pit viper. Then Freeman did something he hadn’t done since he was a lieutenant. He completely lost his cool.

He ripped the hood off the man’s head, and his free hand balled into a fist. Ready to go. He watched the blue eyes blink in surprise, adjusting to the light. Then they met Freeman’s gaze.

As a Green Beret, Freeman had seen his share of terrorists and lowlifes. He’d seen well-trained officers and raw recruits. The man in front of him was none of those things. For reasons he couldn’t quantify, he felt like he was staring at an alien. He said nothing for a time, and managed to keep his fists in check. He searched the strong young face, the steady gaze for … For what?

A threat?

An explanation?

“Who?” Freeman finally growled. “Who the hell are you?”

When DeBolt finally saw his interrogator’s face, it confirmed the voice association he’d made — in front of him was the man he’d last seen on the floor of the lodge in Calais. Same square jaw, same military haircut. The primary difference now was in the eyes. In Calais, DeBolt had seen a soldier’s steady gaze. The man had been on the defensive then, but continuously acquiring information, searching for a tactical advantage. The man he was looking at now was positively befuddled, as if the sun had risen in the west. DeBolt thought he might have overplayed his hand.

“Your family is in no danger,” he said. “I was only making a point.”

The officer’s eyes went narrow and tilted upward. He was wondering about the lights.

“This home has a computerized system to manage everything electrical,” DeBolt explained. “Heating, lights, CO2 sensors, ceiling fans. All of it can be monitored and controlled remotely — good for saving energy. All you need is the right codes and a connection.”

“Connection? You don’t have a phone — no way. You’ve been thoroughly searched three times, once by me personally.”

Once again, DeBolt considered how to say the unsayable.

He knew that at least one dynamic had changed — this team was no longer trying to kill him. With reaching optimism, he thought the colonel might even be persuaded to help him. But first he would have to earn the man’s trust. In measured words he presented it much as he had yesterday to Lund. As he talked, DeBolt saw a range of emotions play across Freeman’s face. Disinterest was not among them. On finishing his story, he turned and showed Freeman the scars on his scalp, exactly as he’d done with Lund. The physical badge to reinforce his otherwise wildly implausible story.

“At this point, I’m sure I at least have your attention,” said DeBolt. “So let’s clear up a few things. Before today, you wanted me dead. Now we’re standing here talking. What changed?”

“My wife,” the colonel said, as if not hearing the question, “how did you know about her?”

“It was simple phone play. Call logs, a triangulated location. I sent her a text in your name. It’s not hard to do — not if you have the right backing.”

“You can do all that with…”—he hesitated and pointed to DeBolt’s head—“with whatever you’ve got in there?”

DeBolt nodded. “And a lot more.”

Freeman was still skeptical. “No — you’d need more than a connection to the internet. Information like that, following someone’s phone and hijacking call logs? That requires access. Some people might even call it hacking. I know because my unit gets exactly that kind of help, only we have a dedicated tech team, dozens of specialists who make it happen.”

“Exactly — so you know it’s operationally feasible. Now take the next step. Allow that I have access to something similar.”

“Who does it go through?” Freeman asked, order slowly returning to his upended world. “Who’s the provider?”

“That’s the million-dollar question. I really don’t know. A couple of months ago I had a pretty normal life. Then I was injured in a helicopter accident — the rest of my crew didn’t make it, and I almost died. I woke up at a beach house having no idea how I got there, or what had been done to me. I spent weeks rehabbing, getting back on my feet — until you and your team came in with guns blazing. That’s all I know. I’m figuring out what I can do, day by day, but if you ask me who’s behind it? I have no idea. I’d really like to find out though.” DeBolt held his breath, then added, “Maybe you can help me.”

“Help you? Yesterday I was trying to kill you.”

“But not today. Why?”

Freeman almost said something, then shook his head. “I need to bring the rest of my team in on this.”

“No problem,” said DeBolt. “I’ll take all the help I can get.”