Lit by moonlight, back in Andre’s forest, I trace a narrow path through trees and fields surrounded by barbed wire. Reaching the spot where the Iranians spoke of killing Bourdin, I add more surveillance.
With nothing more to be done, I sleep. In the morning, I send my task lead a short email:
From:Scott Hunter
To:Bartholomew Hornsby
Status:I’ve mounted cameras on the local trails. Should be done by the end of the week. Once completed, I’ll estimate foot traffic at this port and move on to the next.
Wanting an outside opinion, I call Wulf’s friend at Patten Securities. A civilian with military experience, he understands FBI protocols. He’s the best source I’ve got.
The man doesn’t waste time, so I skip the pleasantries. “Hunter here. I’ve been reassigned from Axel’s team. Now, I’m tasked with installing security cams on the Canadian border to get a headcount.”
He grunts. “Waste of resources.”
“Agreed. Putting the stupidity aside, I want advice. While I was in the woods, I distinctly heard Persian. The coyote leading them spoke French. My task force lead says I should not engage, but if I need backup, can I count on you?”
A beat of silence passes, then I add dryly, “No pun intended.”
“Yes. And listen, do the right thing. Political fallout be damned. If the Feds fuck you over, you have a job here. The pay’s better, too.”
Pacing between the dresser and the mattress, I stop to stretch. “Thank you. Can I ask… Have you heard of the Iranians planning anything on U.S. soil?”
“When have they not?” His acerbic tone gives me pause.
As the sun casts long blue shadows across the nearby ski slope, I wonder how the world changed so quickly. “If we’re now cozying up to the Russians and the Chinese, surely their allies won’t attack us.”
“You think?” His pointed question sends an arrow of fear through my heart.
“I honestly don’t know.” All the rules have changed. Countries no longer know who their friends are.
He grunts. “I’ll be in touch.”
I stare at the phone for a moment. If it were anyone else, the abrupt hang-up would be rude. With him, it’s efficiency.
Outside, the wind rattles the windowpane. As I rub my hands together, the weight of uncertainty settles deep in my gut. I’ve been trained for many things, but playing politics with national security isn’t one of them.
I need to figure out what the hell is going on, or end up playing for the wrong team.
Chapter 12
Hunt
When I knock on Kade’s front door, solid oak vibrates under my fist. A second later, heavy boots shuffle on the other side.
“Gurion?” The bass voice exits a hi-tech smart bell.
Facing the device, I lean in. “Affirmative.”
Locks click, bolts slide, then sharp, assessing eyes meet mine. The man’s built like a boulder, all thick shoulders and an immovable presence. Dark circles under his eyes tell me he hasn’t slept much, either.
“Come in. Coffee? You look like shit, by the way.” His rough voice contains no hostility, only exhaustion.
“I was about to say the same about you.” I step inside, scanning the space from habit. Military-neat, there’s nothing out of place. The functional furniture consists of stiff-backed chairs and a leather couch from the seventies. The walls contain no unnecessary decorations. This domain belongs to a man prepared for war.
I stay near the entrance, shifting my weight, keeping one ear tuned for any signs of Mack in the house. “I need to speak to you about your niece. She here?”
He nods, moving toward the kitchen. “Figured you might stop by.”
