And Merc had put a bullet in his head.
He’d done it without regret, but the thought of that happening to Caroline made nausea burn up his throat. He could never hurt Caroline. Ever. He’d put a bullet in his own head first.
Riser cleared his throat, “For the amount of time Caroline was held hostage, brainwashing is impossible. That is not what’s going on here.”
Ethan’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “No training in weapons or self-defense. No equestrian training, either. She’d been in ballet since she could walk, taken art, piano and violin. She can speak French, Italian and Spanish fluently.” Ethan looked up from the screen. “The toughest course she’s completed is Miss Holloway’s School of Etiquette and Decorum.”
“So her explanation about Mankel holding her family’s lives over her head could be true, except for the escape, expert Marksmanship and the knee-jerk round house,” Riser said, his voice clinical.
Merc was thankful for that. The wild emotions churning up his insides clouded his judgement. He needed to start at the beginning. “Ethan, pull up the Senator and Caroline’s history. We need to go back to the beginning.”
“Here, let me sit at the table and you can all look with me.”
Merc got up and Ethan took his seat, placing the lap top on the table for everyone to see.
He pulled up Cotter’s file first. “Looks like his youth and young adulthood remained completely unremarkable and predictable. Law degree from Yale that he never used, but went straight into politics. He became a senator at a young age, met his wife that way. Dr. Sarah Fisher, an upper level Technical Researcher in the Directorate of Science & Technology (DS&T) for the CIA. They dated six months before getting married. A year later Sarah gave birth to twin baby girls.”
Cotter told him Sarah died during childbirth along with one of his daughters. “Pull up Sarah Fisher.”
Ethan clicked away and a few seconds later the image of a stunning young woman, eerily similar to Caroline, popped up.
“Says here she lived a full week after giving birth, as did Caroline’s twin sister, Marissa.”
Merc leaned in, his muscles contracting. “Cotter told me Caroline’s twin died in child birth. Pull up Caroline’s file again.”
Caroline’s image popped up on the top right corner. Date of birth: March 25, 1989. “What was the date on Sarah’s death certificate?”
Ethan clicked over. “April 1, 1989.”
Hunter leaned down. “That’s a week after giving birth to two girls, Caroline and Marissa.”
Merc swallowed past the huge knot forming in his throat and said, “Pull up the file on Marissa Cotter.”
Ethan did some digging and few seconds later the word ‘Classified’ popped up in bright red. “What the Fuck? Why would Caroline's dead sister be classified?”
“Ethan, can you search the local newspaper archives?” The government files weren’t meshing with Cotter’s story, but maybe the paper could lend a hand in solving this puzzle.
Ethan typed in the local newspaper and clicked on the archives. First he searched Caroline's date of birth and there was no mention of anything out of the ordinary. Just the typical street maintenance and cars for sale.
Merc wasn’t willing to give up that quickly. “Keep going.”
Ethan clicked over to the next day and the headline they’d been searching for popped up. “Senator Tom Cotter's baby disappears from local hospital. Police are frantic searching, maternity ward on lock down.”
Reeling from the shock, Merc said, “Keep going.”
Ethan scrolled to the next day and the next, each column getting smaller and smaller as the manhunt continued to turn up nothing. And then a week later, two obituaries. Dr. Sarah Fisher Cotter and Marissa Cotter. Sarah died from complications of birth in Cotter's home. Marissa Cotter assumed dead. A nurse’s body from the hospital was found floating two miles downstream, with Marissa Cotter’s wristband in her pocket. The baby’s body was never recovered.”
Marissa Cotter's body had never been found.
“Holy shit,” Ethan fell back in his chair.
“You don’t think it’s possible…” Ranger’s words trailed off into stunned silence.
His chest feeling like he'd been hit by a Mack truck, Merc snatched up the secure satellite phone and dialed Agent K, TF-S’s CIA liaison, who answered on the first ring. “K here.”
“It's Merc, I need you to look up something for me, right now.”
“Kind of in the middle of a meeting here,” Agent K said.
