“Go on.” The man’s willingness to drop the subject puts me somewhat at ease, but we broke so many laws, I worry we won’t exit this interrogation unscathed.
“You’ll need to ask someone else to fill in the missing gaps. Here’s the bottom line. Babcock murdered her roommate and set me up to be the fall guy. Danbury recorded the whole thing and used the file to bait my wife into working for Ledbetter. When she refused to trade her expertise for my freedom, the arms dealer drugged her and put her on a plane.” His ability to tell half-truths makes me better understand how, beyond the obvious, he earned the name wolf.
Quail takes a moment to digest before asking, “A link to this video showed up in my inbox. How was that managed?”
Much like a grade-schooler, I raise my hand. “Can I speak?”
The Fed nods, so I take a deep breath and make up an alternate version of reality. “I hacked into Ledbetter’s network, downloaded the file, and sent it to Patten Securities.”
I don’t dare make eye contact with anyone, but I need not have worried.
Quail focuses all his attention on the rescue team’s leader. “And exactly how did your company get involved, Mr. Slate?”
“Respectfully, sir, you’ll have to ask our Commander-in-Chief.”
Ouch! Game over, dude.
After a brief intermission, Deputy Wonderful Wizard drops his line of questioning and requests the rest of our team, join us in the meeting room.
Sebastian, AKA Suds, volunteers to speak first. It must be an inside joke because everyone groans and rolls their eyes.
“Go on, mate.” Lucky takes out his phone, opens a stopwatch app, and presses start.
His friend inhales, lets it out slowly, then shares a lopsided grin. “Thank y’all for allowin’ me ta talk. Now, some people assume I tend to ramble on account of my Guinness book record for talkin’ nonstop, but I know the difference between important shit like this and an ordinary police interrogation. The two things couldn’t be more dissimilar, and I have every intention of staying on point.”
The navy men share a chuckle, out of sight of their inquisitor.
Oblivious to being the butt of their joke, the Washington man squints at Suds. “Mr. Sutcliff. What exactly happened in Belarus?”
“Do you want me to start as we touched down in Vilnius or afore that?” The thicker the drawl, the more the SEALS snicker.
“Wherever.”
“Okay, well, me and my wife were having dinner with her cousins when I got a request from my pal, Slate here to go to the airport. Seeing as how I owe him a ton of favors, I couldn’t say no. I also dragged along my cousins-in-law, Hands and Wheels,AKA my brothers-in-arms. We had to leave the pasta primavera, which was a shame because it had the perfect amount of-”
“Sutcliff. How about you start at the airfield.” It’s a good thing Quail can’t see the guys in the room holding back their laughter.
Suds shakes his head as if not integral to this inside job. “Waaahl, let’s see. We took off from JFK and landed in Dulles. There, we were joined by Sir Lochlan James and some Feds. We flew to Lithuania. We found a guide to take us into Belarus. We located the villa where Guinivere, aka, Dr. Wulf was took. Now, this is where things get interesting. We stole a bakery truck, hid in the back, and entered the compound. Now some fellas wasn’t real happy about our friend wantin’ his wife back. It might’ve taken a bullet or three to convince them to let her go. And then, they followed us, but do not fuck with SEALS. Hear me? We took ol’ Ledbetter’s jet. Some Russian fighter jets wanted us to follow them to their airspace. That’s when Gwen took down a whole damn GPS satellite.”
Lochlan James applauds and grins at me. “Fookin' brilliant.”
“Mr. Slate, if you could control your men?”
The man in question raises a barely perceptible brow and Lucky smirks. “Oi, just sayin’ what everyone’s thinkin’.”
Their applause warms me, especially because, other than the spoof, I sound like a damsel in distress instead of a woman who went undercover to save her man and stole a system capable of setting off World War III.
After Suds glances at the time on his phone, he speaks so fast I can hardly comprehend. “Anyhoo, missing a GPS signal, the pilots could not prove whose airspace they were in, Belarus or Lithuania. Not wanting to cause an international incident, they took off.”
“And the emergency landing?” Director Quinn must hear someone chuckle because he sounds pissed.
“Hell, sir. I’m gettin’ there. Hold your horses. So, where was I? Ah yes, the enemy aircraft disappear, and as we’re about to land, ol’ Ledbetter, who we thought died back at the villa, drops from the damn ceiling. There’s a fight, his gun goes off and depressurizes the cabin. We almost crash, but Slate pulls up with seconds to spare. He trims some trees, which damaged our underbelly, and yet manages to touch down light as a baby goose down feather. You get yourself one of the Fed’s most wanted men and, as a bonus, a super-secret GPS spoofing app. Now, there are some more details, which I would be willin’ to recite, but these fellas told me I had to be succinct.”
He turns to the giant Australian. “How’d I do?”
“Made it, mate.” Lucky shows the time, twenty-dollar bills pass hands, and some guys curse, while others cheer.
My husband, seeing my confusion, explains. “They didn’t think he could do it in less than fifteen minutes.”
