The more I think about it…
Refusing to take the job short of landing myself in a hospital isn’t an option. But before I close out the books on it, I want to make sure I’m doing the right thing and not someone’s nefarious bidding.
Because I sure as hell don’t want to be the next one popping up on the top of someone’s list as a loose end in need of tightly tying.
Chapter Seven
Now
After I knock Fowler out, I turn and order my two hired grunts out of the warehouse. I need a moment to think. Fortunately, these two only speak Russian, not English, which is one of the reasons I used them and not some of my regular local guys who speak Hungarian and English.
There would have to be lotto-ticket-worthy coincidences aplenty for this Eddie to be who I think he might be, and for him to be talking about who I think he’s talking about.
Carter isn’t exactly the most common first name in the world.
Lots of guys meet and marry a woman in college and go to law school. And work in politics.
And plenty of them even have two sons.
It would be nothing more than a huge coincidence if my little brother and Fowler happened to be in the service and in the same region at the same time.
Wouldn’t it?
In my mind, I page through Fowler’s jacket and what I know about him. He’s fifty-one.
Carter’s fifty-two. They both served in Germany. Until—
Holy. Shit.
They were both deployed from Germany. Maybe even to the same FOB in Afghanistan…
My heart hammers in my chest. Is it possible they were in the same unit? Did they both serve under the same shitbag who I hold personally responsible for our brothers’ deaths?
Maybe I was right after all. Maybe this was a set-up from the start.
While I have no problem taking out a target, I do have a problem being sent after an innocent person.
“Innocent” in terms of being set up to take a fall, not “innocent” in the grand scheme of things, because Fowler’s definitely no choir boy.
My tablet’s in my SUV. Fowler’s still out cold, so I risk leaving him there to go get it. The two men are standing by their truck and grabbing a smoke.
I walk over to them and, speaking Russian, I say, “You aren’t needed any longer. I’m taking care of it. Leave me a shovel and go.”
They share a glance, shrug, and after handing me one of the shovels, they climb into their truck and drive off. I already paid them in full in euros, so it’s no skin off their noses to leave without digging a shallow grave in a Hungarian hillside to bury a body. Easy money for them. No, they’re not going to hang around and argue and risk me demanding some of the money back.
I return to the warehouse and scroll through Fowler’s dossier on my tablet. Yep, Fowler was in Germany and in-country at the same times and in the same places as Carter.
In the same freaking unit.
Oh, shit.Could it be thatthisEddie is who I’m now thinking he might be?
Is he one of the three?
Pulling out my personal burner phone, I quickly log into a Dropbox account where I store things I want access to but not keep a personal phone on me or have things tied to me in any other way. I really shouldn’t be doing this, but Ihaveto know.
I have to besure.
In this account, I store duplicates of all my personal and family photos. Scrolling through the date stamps, I finally find what I’m looking for and click on it.
