The Hunted

81

Hector DeSantos waited in the black Volvo cab-over truck, the engine idling and an incessant pounding of flesh on metal banging against his eardrums. He had done his part for God and country… but most of all, for his fallen friend and comrade, Brian Archer. Like a shark, he had tracked down his prey… and if what he thought was going to happen did, in fact, occur, then justice would be served.

A moment later, an army transport vehicle pulled up behind him and flashed its headlights three times: two long and one short. DeSantos placed his infrared goggles on and scanned the countryside in front of him, then tapped his brakes twice to signal all clear.

Douglas Knox climbed into the cab of DeSantos’s truck and slammed the door behind him. “It’s done.”

“Good,” DeSantos said, and hung a U-turn, heading back toward Washington. The banging in the back cargo hold continued. Knox did not comment or ask what it was. It was clear that he did not need to.

“I know about CARD and Memogen,” DeSantos said, using buzzwords he and Archer had captured from the encrypted document. He didn’t know for sure how it all fit together, but like a loose thread on a piece of clothing, he had to either yank on it or leave it alone and ignore it. He couldn’t ignore it.

Knox turned away and looked out the dark side window. “It’s better we don’t talk about it.”

“Better for who? I need to know, I need to close this chapter in Brian’s life.”

“You’d be closing this chapter and opening another. It’s a need-to-know situation.”

DeSantos looked at Knox’s reflection in the black glass. “I need to know, sir.”

“You know how this works, Hector. Once I tell you, you’re committed. In for a penny, in for a million dollars.”

DeSantos was unfazed by this challenge. He knew the score and what it meant. This was something he had to know. “What does CARD stand for?”

Knox sat silent for a moment, then, keeping his eyes on the dark road before him, said, “Covert Arms Research Division. It’s an offshoot of the Boys in the Basement. It’s a joint effort and has roots in the NSA and ISA, but it’s run by the Defense Department. They develop and test, analyze, and gather intelligence on new weapons potential… both in the U.S. and abroad. They were one of the groups monitoring the Soviet Bonfire Project germ-warfare experiments during the late eighties.”

The banging in the back had stopped, easing DeSantos’s already tattered nerves. “How does all this fit together with Scarponi? Is he a former CARD agent?”

“One of CARD’s ongoing research projects involves mind control. There was a very significant study being done at the Mao Institute in China in the eighties and early nineties. After the Ames debacle, Scarponi was one of our operatives who was captured and sent to China. According to the ISA, he was used, basically, as a guinea pig. How extensive it was, we don’t know. CARD felt that the Chinese techniques warranted further study. Scarponi was the key.”

“But you couldn’t study him while he was in prison,” DeSantos said. “You needed him at CARD’s research facility. So you created a bogus ‘new witness’ who could challenge the government’s original evidence against Scarponi.”

“We used someone OPSIG has worked with overseas, someone who could take the stand and convincingly prove Scarponi’s alibi for the Vincent Foster murder.”

“So you released Scarponi with an electronic monitoring device. But everything got all fucked up and he got out of it.”

Knox nodded. “Sounds like you had most of it figured out.”

DeSantos glanced over at the thick metal wall that separated the truck’s cab from its cargo hold. “You know, I wanted Scarponi dead. For Brian.”

“I know you did. But you kept your emotions in check. That’s why I’ve always known I can rely on you, Hector.”

The banging in the rear compartment suddenly resumed, this time accompanied by shouting and primal screams in what sounded like Chinese.

DeSantos thought of everything Knox had just told him and knew he was not being given the whole story. But in the end, it didn’t really matter. He was now involved, and like it or not, he would get all the details in time, when he needed to know them. With covert ops, that was just the way things were done.

He continued staring at the dark road ahead, thickets of brush blowing by in the white beams of his headlights, while the incessant banging of a hand slamming against metal echoed in his mind… and the benign shouts of a crazed man in an iron cage floated away into nothingness.

The hunter had become the hunted.