Lost Girls

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Gant looked up as Neeley and Golden walked into Mrs. Smith’s reception area. He had been cooling his heels for over a half-hour waiting for their arrival. The time could have been better spent taking a shower and getting some food, but Mrs. Smith had told him that he was to remain here until they arrived. As they came in, he stood and turned toward the Cellar’s secretary.

“Wait a second,” Golden said, catching him by surprise.

Gant was tired. He wore the same smoke-saturated black fatigues from his chase in the Maine woods. He had a two-day growth of stubble on his chin and he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had a meal. He slowly turned to face the two women and right away knew from the looks on their faces and their body language that they had allied.

“What?” Gant asked, making no effort to mask his irritation.

“We need to coordinate,” Golden said. “Before we talk to Masterson or Nero.”

“Coordinate what?” Gant asked.

“Our plan,” Golden said.

Gant raised his eyebrows. “The two of you have a plan? I’m all ears. I haven’t even heard what both of you found out, so I’m pretty much clueless about what to do next.”

Golden stood straighter. “I posted the summary of my interview with Forten’s foster mother.”

“I’m sure you did,” Gant said, “But I haven’t had time to read it.” He shifted his gaze to Neeley. “As I haven’t had time to read your report on the cache site. So if you want to talk, how about both cutting to chase and telling me what you think?”

Behind them, Mrs. Smith cleared her throat. “Mister Nero and Ms. Masterson are waiting.”

Gant laughed, so tired of it all. “I was waiting here for a while too.” He looked at Mrs. Smith. “How about ordering us a pizza or something?”

Mrs. Smith didn’t bat an eye. She picked up the phone and dialed the cafeteria up in the main building. Gant went over to one of the chairs aligned around the coffee table and slumped down in it. “What’s the plan?”

“First,” Neeley said, staring him straight in the eyes, “it was a bullshit mission sending me to the cache site. Bailey was there and filed a report. I could have helped you in Maine.”

Gant took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled and nodded. “All right. I accept that.”

Neeley and Golden took seats flanking him. Gant waited. Golden was the next to speak. “We think the ultimate goal of our targets is to kill those men they feel are responsible for what happened to them. They’ve already killed Foley. That leaves Caulkins, Cranston, Roberts and Lankin. Four men in four different places. Places where our targets knows they will be, even though they do have guards. We suggest we bring them together in one place, a location that our targets will not have planned for.”

Gant considered that. As he was thinking, Neeley spoke up. “If the targets can’t find the four, they can’t kill them.”

“Maybe they don’t want to kill them,” Gant said. “Maybe the targets want those men to suffer the rest of their lives.”

“Then why did they take out Foley?” Neeley asked.

Gant shrugged. “I think we messed up whatever they had planned for Foley or his wife. You’ve seen these men,” he said to Golden. “They’re suffering. Death might well be a relief for them.”

Golden shook her head. “They’re suffering but I don’t think that’s going to be enough for our targets. They went to Maine to finish off the warlord. I think they’re going to finish off these men.”

“Where do you suggest moving them?” Gant asked.

“Fort Bragg,” Neeley said. “The Delta Force compound. It’s about as secure a place as you can find.”

It was Gant’s turn to shake his head. “Bragg is where our targets trained. They know that place and they know people there. Not a good idea.”

Mrs. Smith cleared her throat. “Mister Nero and Ms. Masterson are waiting for you.”

Gant stood. “Let’s ask Ms. Masterson what she thinks since she’s now the brains of this operation.”

The three made their way through the security checks into the Cellar’s inner sanctum. Masterson was behind the desk, Nero on the couch to the side. An IV was hooked up to the old man and he didn’t raise his head as they came in.

“I understand you have a proposal,” Masterson said.

Gant wasn’t surprised — he had no doubt the outer office was under constant surveillance and Nero and Masterson had heard every word.

Golden stepped forward. “We think we should consolidate the four men our targets are after. Put them in a secure place.”

“And that would achieve?” Masterson asked.

“Hopefully it might save their lives,” Golden said.

Masterson looked to Neeley. “You agree?”

Neeley nodded.

Then Masterson turned her attention to Gant. “And you?”

“Hiding those people isn’t going to get us any closer to the targets. Or Emily Cranston.”

Masterson considered for a few moments. “But it might indeed save their lives. We’ll do it. And I agree that Fort Bragg is not a good idea. I suggest we bring them here to Fort Meade. We have a safe house out in the range area that we can have secured.”

Gant stared at the woman behind the desk, trying to get a read on her. He thought she was agreeing much too quickly to this plan, but didn’t say anything.

Masterson switched her attention once more, this time back to Golden. “I read your report on the interview with Egan. We can see where Forten’s penchant for chaining living things out in the woods began. But do you have anything that can help us predict what he’ll do next?”

“Not from the interview,” Golden said. “We’ll get the rest of Emily’s cache report. The question is where and when.”

“If we wait until they give it to us,” Gant said, “it will be too late for her.”

Nero’s metallic voice cut across the room. “A question, if I may?”

Everyone turned to him. Nero’s head was turned to the side, solidly resting on a pillow. His voice machine was resting on the pillow in front of his throat. “These men have targeted the families of those they feel betrayed them. Do any of them have families of their own?”

Gant wanted to kick himself for missing such an obvious avenue of approach. Masterson’s fingers flew over her keyboard as Golden opened up her briefcase and pulled out the personnel folders of the three targets. “Lutz was single. As was Forten. But Payne had a wife.”

“I’ve got the address,” Masterson said. “Fayetteville, just outside Fort Bragg. According to my data, Payne’s wife claimed his death benefits and remarried less than six months after he was reported killed in the supposed helicopter accident.”

Gant felt a cold knot in his stomach. “I’d get the locals on it but it’s probably too late.”

Golden looked at him. “What do you mean it’s—“ she paused as she realized what he meant. “You think they’re dead?”

“Most likely dead and the bodies well hidden,” Gant said. “Probably the first order of business the targets did when they got back to the States. They wouldn’t want to leave bodies around because that would have brought focus too soon.”

Masterson was typing as she spoke. “I’ll have the local police check out her last known location.”

“What else have we missed?” Nero asked, the artificial voice without inflection but Gant felt an implied rebuke.

“According to the CIA,” Gant said, “our targets were captured by the drug cartel in Columbia. Held for eight months. Tortured. I’ve got two questions: why didn’t we make an attempt to get them back? And two, how did they escape?”

“I’ve checked into that,” Masterson said. “No attempt was made to get the men back because they were officially reported killed in an accident by Southern Command.”

“By Colonel Cranston, right?” Gant asked.

“Correct. So no one was looking for them because no one knew they were alive,” Masterson said.

“So Cranston did fuck them over,” Gant said, earning a sharp look from Golden. He ignored her. “But why did the Cartel keep them alive? And why didn’t the Cartel try to make a deal? Use the three as leverage against the United States or at the very least a political statement?” When there was no answer, Gant pushed his second question. “And how did they escape?”

“The DEA agent,” Golden suddenly said.

“What?” Gant was confused by the sudden switch.

“The CIA guy — Roberts. He said they gave up a DEA agent in order to get his brother who was undercover closer to the head of one of the Cartels, right?”

Gant nodded. “Yes.”

“Who was this agent?” Golden asked.

Masterson looked down at the computer screen set into the desk-top and typed on the slim keyboard. “I’m checking. Why do you want to know?”

“Because,” Gant said before Golden could explain, “Roberts told us the DEA agent was presumed dead. Just like our targets. And he was a prisoner of the same Cartel group our targets were held by.”

“So he might not be dead,” Nero said. He shifted his head between Gant and Golden, the raw skin where his eyes had once been, almost seeming to see them. It was as if he were measuring the two of them in some manner.

Gant could also tell that Golden was staring at him but he couldn’t determine her mood — whether she was angry at him for stepping on her line of reasoning or happy that he had quickly seen where she was going. She was back in therapist mode, hiding her emotions.

“Robert Finley,” Masterson said, reading her screen. “He’d been with the DEA for eight years. Reported as killed in the line of duty last year, body never recovered.”

“Any tags on his file?” Gant asked.

“’Tags’?” Golden repeated.

“Roberts told us Finley was dirty,” Gant reminded her. “A tag is a classified note on the file indicating what that might be.”

“None,” Golden said.

Gant frowned. “That doesn’t add up with what Roberts told us.”

Neeley spoke up. “Maybe they kept it in house.”

“Roberts is CIA,” Gant said. “Finley was DEA. If the CIA suspected Finley was dirty, there would be a tag in the Cellar’s records.”

“Perhaps Mister Roberts was not telling the truth,” Nero said.

Another piece of the puzzle clicked into place for Gant. “So everyone was fucking everyone down there. Roberts and the CIA gave up Finley, who was just doing his job. Then they gave up the team, which was just doing its job because of a bureaucratic screw-up. The bottom line is I think we’re back up to three targets, not down to two. I think Finley is still alive.”

Emily listened to the rumble impatiently, wishing it would grow closer, much like the trains that rattled by. Thunder. A sound many feared but to Emily sounded as sweet as anything she’d ever heard. The dark sky above her flickered with distant lightning and Emily began to count each time she saw it. The time lag between the light and the thunder gave her an idea how close the storm was.

She’s spotted the wisps of storm clouds earlier — the cause of her smile. She’d lain on her back, watching the sky darkness as the clouds thickened.

There was a flash close by, followed less than two seconds later by thunder. Without conscious thought, Emily’s tongue slid out of her parched mouth and across her cracked lips. She could taste the moisture carried by the wind. Her entire body was vibrating, even her skin sensing the dampness in the air.

The first drop hit her in the middle of her forehead.

From inside the helicopter Gant saw the stooped over figure waiting for them, silhouetted by the bright landing lights on top of CIA headquarters. Gant slid open the side door of the Blackhawk helicopter but didn’t get out. He glanced across the cargo bay at his new partner. Neeley wore a long black leather coat. She had a sniper rifle secured to the inside of it with Velcro stays. He knew she had body armor on underneath the black turtleneck she wore. Golden sat next to her, silent, her taut face reflected in the glow from the screen of her laptop computer. Gant had no idea what she was doing.

Roberts climbed into the chopper and Gant leaned around him, sliding the door shut. It was loud in the back of the helicopter as it lifted off and Gant extended a set of headphones with boom mike to Roberts, similar to what he, Golden and Neeley were wearing.

“We’re on a private channel,” Gant informed Roberts as soon as he had his set on. “Pilots can’t hear us.”

Roberts nodded. “I got the message. I don’t see the point of hiding me some place.”

On the flight here, Golden had told Gant to expect this — a death wish. “I don’t much see the point either.” He could smell the alcohol coming off of Roberts. He hadn’t just been sitting in his office working this late at night.

That stopped conversation for a little while as the Blackhawk flew through the night sky, the pilots dark figures in front with night vision goggles covering their faces, making them almost seem to be part of the machine rather than masters of the machine. Gant saw Neeley lean back, her long legs encased in dark pants, black leather boots sliding along the metal floor then up on to the canvas seat right next to Roberts, invading his space.

“Where are we going?” Roberts finally asked, glancing from Neeley back to Gant.

“Fort Meade,” Gant answered. “A secure site on post.”

“Just me?” Roberts asked.

Gant knew the man wasn’t stupid. “No. The others whose families were targeted will be there also.”

Roberts nodded and slumped back in the canvas seat, whatever little energy he had draining out of him. Gant found that an odd reaction for someone whose life they were saving.

“You lied to us.” Neeley said it in a low voice, her body not moving in the slightest.

Roberts twitched. “I didn’t—“

Neeley’s boots slammed down on the floor with a thud they could hear even through the headsets. “’And ye shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.’ John, verse eight, line thirty-two. It’s inscribed right there in your own CIA museum. Kind of a joke don’t you think consider your stock and trade is lying.”

“I told you what you asked,” Roberts said.

“So it was our fault,” Neeley said. “We just didn’t ask the right questions? Is that it?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Bullshit. Some of the things you told us were flat out lies or at best, withholding of the truth.”

“Such as?” Roberts shot back.

Gant had his hand on the butt of his Glock. He didn’t think Roberts would get violent but one never knew. He glanced at Golden and her attention was no longer on her laptop. She was watching Roberts very carefully.

“The DEA agent who you gave up to the Cartel,” Neeley said. “Who you betrayed. He wasn’t dirty, was he?”

“They’re all dirty down there,” Roberts said. “Everyone knows that. Too much money not to be.”

“So you were dirty?” Gant snapped.

“What?” Roberts was confused, whether by the question or the switch in interrogators, Gant didn’t know, nor did he care.

“You worked Central and South America. The nexus of the drug trafficking world. You’re a government employee. GS-whatever the fuck level you are. Not like you’re making that much more money than Finley did. So by your logic you have to be dirty too.”

He could see Roberts’ head snap up at the name. “I wasn’t dirty.”

Neeley leaned forward. “You don’t call setting up a United States government agent to be tortured and killed by drug dealers being dirty?”

“He was taking money—“

Neeley didn’t back off. “So you had him tortured and killed by some of the worst scum to walk the face of the planet? That puts you on such a moral pedestal. And what proof did you have that he was dirty? We haven’t been able to find anything — no tags on his classified files— and the Cellar knows everything that goes between agencies. If the CIA suspected a DEA agent of being dirty, there’d be a tag. Or else you — and those who you worked with — violated the most basic principle of covert operations. So you’re full of shit.”

Gant tapped Roberts on the shoulder startling him. “Finley’s not dead, is he?”

Roberts eyes grew wide. “Yes, he is. The Cartel got him.”

“But there was no body, right?” Gant asked. “You just assumed he was dead. Just like Cranston assumed the three Special Forces guys were dead. Well, as we know now, they aren’t, so maybe Finley isn’t either.”

Roberts rubbed a hand across his forehead and closed his eyes. Gant could see it was shaking. Roberts was in much worse shape than he’d realized. Gant knew the loss of his daughter was terrible, but Roberts was— Gant stopped and considered the sequence of events. Only two kidnappings and caches.

He turned to Neeley and held up three fingers, indicating for her to switch intercom channels. He could see Golden trying to figure out what he meant so he held up the switch on his wire in a place where Roberts couldn’t see it. As soon as both women switched channels, he spoke.

“Roberts and Cranston. They have something in common in the pattern. Both daughters cached. Roberts’ daughter had been out there so long she’d died. Cranston’s daughter is dying. On the others, it had been a straight kill.”

Neeley nodded. “Yes. So?”

“These guys haven’t done anything randomly or without reason,” Gant said. “So why the two girls cached?”

Golden spoke up. “To make their fathers suffer.”

“They outright killed Caulkins daughter,” Gant noted. “Drowned her on the beach. Why didn’t they cache her? Does he get a different level of suffering?”

Gant waited, wanting to see what Neeley and Golden came up with. He realized he was looking for confirmation, a very strange sensation given he’d always worked alone.

“Leverage,” Neeley finally said.

Gant felt the thrill of the hunt begin to surge. “Yes. And leverage for what?”

“There’s only one reason for leverage,” Neeley said. “To get someone to do something.”

They all turned and looked at Roberts, who know was slumped forward, his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

“And he didn’t do what they asked him to,” Gant said.

“Jesus,” Neeley whispered as the implications sank in. Gant could see that Golden was still trying to figure it out. She’d learn, Gant thought. What had happened to her son had hurt her so deeply, he realized, that while it made her aware of the horror of what mankind was capable of it had also dulled her abilities.

While Neeley was reflecting on the horror that Roberts had allowed to be inflicted on his daughter, Gant was distracted by Golden’s voice on the intercom.

“I’ve pulled Finley’s file. Quite interesting.”

Gant simply stared at her, waiting for her to give him the information.

“I was wrong,” Golden finally said. “I said that Forten was the leader, but that the other two men displayed amazing initiative while separated from home. You,” she said, nodding at Gant, “ascribed that to them being highly trained special operations soldiers. But we didn’t know about Finley then.”

“How does he change things?” Gant asked.

“Finley is the leader. He’s the one who’s been coordinating all of it,” Golden said.

“We’ve picked up no indication of that,” Gant said.

“Finley’s childhood is very similar to Forten’s — I’m sure they bonded over that. The advantage Forten had though, was that he was moved around. Finley stayed with his mother for sixteen years before running away, forging a birth certificate and joining the Marines. He excelled in the Corps.” She looked up from her computer. “He was a trained sniper. Recorded seven confirmed kills in the first Gulf War and a dozen unconfirmed.”

Just what we need, another sniper, Gant thought.

“He left the Corps and joined the DEA. His service record is exemplary except there are several notes that he had a tendency to use extreme force and bend the rules.”

“I’m surprised the Cellar didn’t recruit him,” Gant said.

“There are a couple of abnormalities in his records,” Golden said. “His mother disappeared three years ago. Simply vanished. Finley was supposed to be undercover in Colombia at the time.”

Neeley stirred. “’Supposed to be’?”

“He was unaccounted for during the week of her disappearance,” Golden said. “But her body was never found and no record of him entering the country was ever discovered.”

“But he didn’t like his mother,” Gant said it as a statement, not a question.

“Right,” Golden said.

Gant thought about it. “So he gets betrayed by the CIA. Snarked up by the Cartel. The team gets betrayed. Snatched by the same cartel. Probably adjoining cells. A lot of bonding over the pain. Finley had worked the Cartel and he offers them a deal. Release the four, get them back in the States, and they’ll wreak murder and mayhem.”

“That’s the way it most likely developed,” Golden acknowledged.

Gant held up two fingers, indicating they should switch back to the frequency Roberts was on.

“Which one contacted you after Caleigh was kidnapped?” Gant asked. “Finley or Forten?”

Roberts slowly brought his head up from his hands. His eyes were hollow, dead. He simply stared at Gant without responding, although his lack of protest was confirmation.

“Which one contacted you?” Gant pressed. “Finley or Forten?”

“Finley.”

Gant glanced at Neeley. He was disgusted with Roberts but he felt another surge of excitement as he realized all the parameters of this mission had just shifted. “What did he want?”

“He wanted me to kill three men.”

“Cranston and the others?” Neeley asked.

Roberts shook his head. “The three men who were with me when we decided that giving Finley up to the Cartel was an acceptable price. CIA men. Two of them higher in rank than me. The Director of Operations and the Chief of Direct Actions.”

“And the third?” Gant asked.

“My brother.”

Neeley shifted angrily. “A little more detail might be helpful. When did he contact you? How?”

“I received a videotape via FedEx two days after she disappeared,” Roberts said. He sighed deeply. “It was of Caleigh. Chained to a tree. There was a partial cache report in the package also. The same as the one you guys received later. The note with it said if I did what they asked they’d send the rest of the cache report.”

“And you refused?” Even with all he’d seen over the years, Gant found this hard to believe.

Roberts stared at him. “Kill three people for one life? And I was supposed to believe that someone who would chain a young girl to a tree in the middle of the woods would keep his word? You know better than that. They would never have let her live.”

Gant knew there was no arguing the point with Roberts. He’d made some sort of pact with an inner devil and it was killing him. “What did you do?”

“I went to the Director of Operations and the Chief of Direct Actions. They did everything they could to try to find her using in-house resources. My brother went out into the field to try to find what he could.”

Gant knew Roberts was referring to the Direct Action section of the CIA — the one that did the dirty work. “But they had trouble working in the States?”

“Yes. And we couldn’t bring the FBI in.”

Gant glanced over at Golden. She didn’t look as shocked as she had at other things.

“But you knew it was Finley?” Gant asked.

Roberts nodded. “Had to be. He was the one who would want those men killed.”

“So Finley knew he was set up in Colombia?”

Roberts nodded. “Yes.”

“How?”

“I’ve asked myself that same question,” Roberts said, “and the only answer I could come up with is that the Cartel told him. Which answers the next question of how he got away. They let him go. Just like they let Lutz, Payne and Forten go. Which also explains how they got back into the United States illegally. The Cartel turned them and sent them back here for vengeance, which was fine with the Cartel. Cost them nothing to get several senior US agents killed.”

With this new information Gant was already trying to project ahead, thinking like the bad guys. “So using your daughter didn’t work. The question is will it work on Cranston?”

“Fuck,” Neeley muttered, pulling out her Satphone.

“Hold on,” Gant said.

“Cranston’s already at the safe house,” Neeley argued.

“Cranston won’t do anything until he’s there.” Gant indicated Roberts. “Right?” He asked Roberts.

The CIA agent nodded. “He’ll be under orders to take all of us out. He’ll wait.”

Gant glanced over at Golden. Once more she was shocked, taken out of her element into a realm where death and violence was the norm.

“What did they promise you if you do as they asked?” Gant stared hard at the man. “How were they going to release your daughter?”

“They sent me the same partial cache report. They promised to send the rest of it to whomever I designated if I did as they demanded.”

“Which you thought was a lie?” Neeley asked.

“Why would they do that?” Roberts responded in turn. “These guys don’t give a shit about anyone.”

Golden spoke up. “Do you?”

Roberts glared at her. “I dealt with the reality of the situation.”

“And now?” Golden pressed.

“I’m a dead man,” Roberts said.

“Oh, fuck you,” Gant said. “I don’t give a damn whether you live or die. What I do care about is the young girl who is chained up somewhere. If I thought our targets would give up the rest of the cache report if Cranston kills you assholes I’d hand him the gun. But you’re right. I don’t think even if Cranston does what they want, that they’ll give up the rest of the cache report.”

“Unless they want something else,” Neeley said.

Gant turned to her. “Such as?”

“The three CIA men that our friend here was supposed to take out. Finley would still want that.”

Gant nodded. “We could make a deal. But we have no way of communicating with the targets.”

“Cranston does,” Roberts said.

Everyone turned to him and waited.

“When they sent me the video of Caleigh,” Roberts said, “there was one of those disposable cell phones in the package. I was supposed to call them and tell them where and when I would do it. I think they wanted to watch to confirm.”

“What did you do with the phone?” Gant asked.

“We tried to call them to see if we could get an idea where they were. There was one number programmed into it. A cell number. Disposable, sold somewhere in Florida. We called, someone answered but didn’t speak. They stayed on the line for ten seconds, and then hung up. We weren’t able to track down the answering phone.”

Gant looked at Golden. “You know Colonel Cranston well, right?”

“Somewhat,” Golden said evasively.

“Would he kill those men to get Emily back?”

Golden was silent, then nodded. “Yes.”

Gant turned to Neeley. “I think it’s time we bring your partner, Ms. Masterson, in on this. We’re going to need some leverage of our own.”

Neeley nodded and turned on her Satphone. Gant grabbed a remote plug and slid it into the side of her phone so that he and Golden could listen in. He ignored Roberts. As far as he was concerned, the man was right: he was dead already. And Gant had a feeling quite a few more people were going to be joining Roberts shortly.