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  “Think about it. A guy who looks like he could be a Navy SEAL has a clandestine meeting with my boss, and then within a day or two, there’s a shoot-out at a clandestine jail, and they’re able to transfer the prisoner no one is supposed to know about to another clandestine location. That’s a lot of coincidence all in one place.”

  Evers weighed the words he’d just heard. It was no surprise that the feds were throwing everything they had at stopping Retribution, but it was troubling to know that they were using such strange methods.

  “You still don’t get the significance, do you?” Brooks pressed.

  “No, I guess I don’t.”

  “This means that there’ll be no due process in taking care of you and your teams,” Brooks explained. “No warrants, no arrests, no trial. They can just take you out.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  For many years, Jonathan had been able to trade the services of his team for access to his wealthy clients’ corporate jets. Such arrangements had sunset clauses, unfortunately, but time and again another client with a jet would pop up more or less exactly at the time when the previous arrangement was expiring. Alas, good luck doesn’t always prevail, and when the last deal expired, there was no other to take its place.

  For his part, Boxers was thrilled. Their last aircraft had been a small Lear that Big Guy liked to call a sardine can. There wasn’t a lot of moving-around room, and it was damned comical to watch Big Guy get in and out of the flight deck.

  So, with Jonathan’s blessing, Big Guy went shopping for a new airplane. From the beginning, Jonathan’s greatest concern about owning the aircraft that delivered them to their missions was the traceability of the tail numbers. These days, by opening an app on your phone, you could trace any corporate jet in the world simply by entering its tail number—its N-number. The app would disclose the plane’s location along with the details of its ownership.

  It was clear, then, that Security Solutions could not own the aircraft, and neither could Jonathan Grave. Instead, ownership would fall to Bekin’s Environmental, a fourth-tier cutout corporation whose website said that it specialized in compliance with the EPA’s Resource Conservation and Recovery Act and hazardous waste site reclamation. Jonathan knew what all those words meant individually, but when they were all stitched together, they translated as tree-hugging cleanup shit.

  In reality, the sole purpose of Bekin’s Environmental was to own airplanes and employ mechanics to fix them.

  Them, as in plural. By the time Boxers was finished with his shopping spree, Bekin’s owned not one, but two executive jets, both previously owned but with all of their certs current. For longer trips, he dropped eighteen million dollars for a Global 6000, but for shorter hops like this one to the Midwest, he paid nine million for the Hawker 800 that Boxers was aiming at the runway at Manassas Regional Airport in Virginia. It was a haul to drive here from Fisherman’s Cove, but it was the closest FBO—fixed base operation—with runways long enough to handle either jet, even when loaded with maximum fuel and cargo. Jonathan also thought the separation from Fisherman’s Cove aided with operational secrecy.

  When Jonathan and Boxers worked as a twosome, Jonathan more often than not sat in the right seat next to Big Guy during the flight to keep him company. With Gail on board, though, he sat in one of the gray leather captain’s chairs in the passenger cabin. Gail leaned back in an identical chair across from him, facing him, her eyes closed.

  “You’re staring at me,” Gail said.

  “Your eyelids are leaking if you can see that,” Jonathan replied. “Like the new digs?”

  She opened her eyes and stretched. “What, this old plane?” she teased, looking around. “It can’t even go the speed of sound.”

  “Eight-tenths of it,” Jonathan said. “Or, so I’m told by the driver.”

  “You’ll have to explain to me one day how this expense makes sense.”

  “I’m a billionaire,” Jonathan said. “Good place to start. And TSA would spaz up and die if they got a glimpse of our usual cargo.”

  Gail smiled but closed her eyes again as she said, “Do you have any idea how hard it is for us fiscal mere mortals to wrap our heads around those kinds of numbers?”

  The speaker in the ceiling popped to life and Boxers’ voice said, “Good afternoon, lady and dickhead, this is your captain speaking. I see a runway ahead of me—or maybe it’s just a long road—but I intend to plant this machine onto the pavement. If I were you, I’d bring my seat up and put my seatbelt on. Only one set of ass cheeks per seat.”

  Jonathan and Gail both laughed. “You know, he does seem to be in better moods now that he gets to fly the new toy,” Gail said.

  Six minutes later, they were on the ground, and five minutes after that, they were rolling to a stop outside the hangar that Jonathan had rented on a twenty-five-year lease, along the perimeter road.

  “We’ve got a wrinkle,” Boxers said over the loudspeaker. “Quinn Parker wants to come on board and talk to us before we park.”

  That brought Gail’s eyes open again. “Quinn Parker?”

  “She’s one of the mechanics I had to hire to take care my new air force,” Jonathan explained. For years, Quinn had been a mechanic for the Air Force’s 160th Special Operations Air Regiment (SOAR), headquartered out of Fort Campbell, Kentucky. He found her and her fellow mechanic, Matt Wacklowski, also a veteran of the 160th, through yet another Army buddy who had hung out his shingle as a headhunter specializing in spooky civilian jobs.

  Jonathan elaborated, “She’s part of the same ground crew who tows us in and out of the hangar and takes care of the whole shebang between flights.”

  “Why would they want to come in and chat? Why not just wait till we’re on the ground?”

  The fuselage shook a bit, and the air stairs started to deploy.

  “Ask me in a few minutes,” Jonathan said with a smile. “As for being surprised, you see those nondescript white planes over there?” He pointed through the tiny window to a small fleet of corporate jets a couple of hangars over.

  Gail craned her neck to see.

  Jonathan said, “Agency.”

  Gail’s jaw dropped. “As in CIA?”

  “As in CIA.”

  Boxers stepped into the cabin from the flight deck. “I hope this doesn’t become a regular thing,” he said. As the stairs fully deployed, he stood with his fists on his hips, filling the opening.

  Jonathan rose from his seat and wedged past Big Guy to stand in front and beckoned the mechanic to come aboard. As she cleared the door, he asked, “What’s up?”

  “I’m sorry for the intrusion, sir,” she said. “But there’s a visitor inside the hangar that I think you should know about.”

  Jonathan had long ago given up on trying to break both of his new mechanics from calling him sir. He didn’t rate it when he was in the Army, and he sure as hell didn’t require it now, but some habits were impossible to break. He waited for the rest.

  “He says his name is Derek Halstrom, and—”

  “Oh, shit.” Jonathan, Boxers, and Gail all said it in unison.

  Quinn looked startled.

  Jonathan laughed at the look in her face. “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “Only that he needed to speak to you.”

  “As in, me?” Jonathan asked. “Or, as in all of us?”

  “Just you, sir,” she said. “He specifically said that he didn’t want Mr. Van de Muelebroecke there.”

  “Boxers,” Big Guy said. “And that’s your only warning.”

  Quinn gave a shy smile and blushed a little.

  “How did he get in?” Jonathan asked. “I mean, onto the airfield?”

  Quinn’s shoulder twitched in what might have been a shrug. “It’s not that hard,” she said. “I believe Ms. Alexander gave him the code for the keypad.”

  Under his breath, Boxers said, “Venice and Derek, sittin’ in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G . . .”

  Gail slugged him in the arm while Jonathan trie
d to suppress a laugh. In the years he’d known Venice Alexander—which was her entire life—he’d seen her smitten by Cupid only a few times. One ended in a terrible marriage followed by a baby and a divorce, and the others kind of fizzled and died. This thing she had for Derek seemed very real, and for once, the man she’d fallen for was a decent guy.

  “I think I know what this is about,” Jonathan said.

  “Anyway, I thought you should know, in case . . . Well, I thought you should know. I didn’t know if it would be a good surprise or a bad surprise.”

  Jonathan offered his hand. “You did a good job, Quinn,” he said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Matt and I will tow the aircraft into the hangar after you’re off.” She turned and headed back down the stairs.

  “You should be nicer to her,” Gail said. “She’s trying so hard to be noticed. You treat her like an annoyance.”

  Jonathan looked to Boxers. “I vote you just leave the gear on the plane until we figure out what lies ahead in this mess.”

  “Works for me,” Big Guy said. “What’s the computer geek here for?”

  “I’ll let you know. Just don’t leave without me.” Jonathan descended the stairs and headed for the hangar. The crew had already brought up the Batmobile, Security Solutions’ armored and highly customized Hummer, and parked it at the base of the stairs. Beyond that, just outside the hangar door, a black Jeep Cherokee sat just this side of the hangar door.

  Jonathan was halfway to the ground when the Cherokee’s door opened and revealed a thin young African American man who sported a closely-cropped beard and wore a suit that looked like it was too small for his skinny body. It was, Jonathan had been told, the in look these days for the cool kids. Derek Halstrom.

  The young man stayed in place next to his opened door as Jonathan approached. “Mr. Grave!” he shouted as the distance closed to a few yards. “Thanks for agreeing to meet with me.”

  “I don’t remember doing that,” Jonathan said. “But since you’re here . . .”

  “I’m wondering if we can talk in the car,” Derek said.

  “What’s wrong with talking here?” Jonathan heard his own words and realized he was being a dick.

  Derek seemed startled. “I just thought that maybe . . .” “Don’t worry about it,” Jonathan said, and he moved to the passenger side. As he was about to climb in, he glanced back to the plane’s door and saw the curious look on Boxers face. He yelled, “We’re not going anywhere!”

  The Jeep smelled new and was outfitted with a leather interior. Nothing over-the-top, but this was likely not a vehicle whose four-wheel drive would ever be engaged. Jonathan kept his door open until Derek was fully committed behind the wheel and closed his own door.

  Derek turned awkwardly in his seat, till his back was propped against his door. “Has Venice been in touch with you?”

  “All the time,” Jonathan said.

  “About this meeting, I mean.”

  For an instant, Jonathan got this brief flash that he was going to ask for Venice’s hand in marriage. Surely not. “No, not about this meeting.”

  “She’s brought me in on your search to find the conspirators who pulled off Black Friday and are now behind yesterday’s explosions.”

  Jonathan held his expression blank, but no, Venice had not mentioned that to him. He knew that Derek had been of considerable help in the past, but he felt anger beginning to boil that she had pulled an outsider in without consulting him first.

  If Derek had been waiting for a response, he didn’t show it. He just plowed on. “We’ve got to crunch some huge numbers to find the source of all the planning that went into the hits, and that’s what she needs me to do.”

  Jonathan settled himself with a deep breath. “If Ven thinks it’s important, then it’s important. I thank you for your willingness to assist. So, why are we sitting in your Jeep at a little airport?”

  Derek grew uncomfortable. He shifted his gaze, and his posture squirmed. He was a man who should never play poker. And if he did, Jonathan prayed that he could be on the other side of the table. “Well, the thing is, there’s a lot of risk in doing things like this. I mean, if I get caught, I could lose my job.”

  “As I understand it, Derek, if you get caught, you would go to jail.”

  “Exactly. That’s what I mean about high risk.”

  Jonathan made it a point to keep his body language locked down. “Are you feeling coerced into doing this?” he asked. “If so, then don’t do it.”

  “No, no, that’s not it at all,” Derek said. “I’d do anything for Venice. It’s just I was thinking that risk should bring with it some reward.”

  “You mean, she didn’t offer to pay you? In dollars, I mean.” That last part slipped out unintentionally. Yeah, okay, he had some fraternal protective instincts when it came to Mother Hen.

  “Oh, yes, she’s paying me. In dollars.” The significance of nonmonetary compensation seemed to hit him at that moment, and he blushed.

  “But it’s not enough?”

  “The money is fine, I guess,” Derek said. “It’s the exposure that I’m not being compensated for.”

  Jonathan waited for it.

  “I want to join your team.” There, he said it.

  And it was exactly what Jonathan had been expecting. “You’re already on the team,” he said. “That’s why you’re getting paid.”

  “No, I want to be a permanent part of the team. I want to work for Security Solutions.”

  “As a private investigator?” Jonathan was being deliberately obtuse, but for a reason. This kid had to see for himself what a ridiculous thing it was that he was asking to do.

  “What? No, as part of the covert side.”

  “I don’t know what covert side you’re talking about,” Jonathan said. “Security Solutions is a private investigating firm.”

  Derek cocked his head. Jonathan thought of it as a confused puppy look. “You know that I know, right?”

  “Did Venice tell you something I wouldn’t like?”

  “Of course not! I figured it out on my own. And then I deleted what I’d found.”

  “That was to impress Venice, was it not?”

  “Well, yeah. But what difference does that make? I made your covers stronger.”

  “And I appreciate that,” Jonathan said. “Let me make this whole conversation easier. We don’t have any positions available.”

  “But I’m very good at what I do,” Derek pressed.

  “Which is why Venice keeps coming back to you for help,” Jonathan said. He knew what he paid this kid, and it was not an amount to apologize for.

  “Think of what you could do with my mad skills on your payroll. Your permanent payroll.”

  “I’ve already got someone with mad skills on my permanent payroll,” Jonathan said. “And she’s got great judgment. That’s why when she says she needs help, I’m happy to sign the check.”

  “But I’m tired of committing felonies every time I lend you guys a hand.”

  Jonathan gave him an annoyed look that said, Really?

  “Okay, okay,” Derek said. “I guess that’s kind of part of the job. But at NSA, they come hunting for people who do what I do for you.”

  “Which is why you need to be careful.” Jonathan shifted in his own seat so that he could face Derek more or less head on. “Way back when, Ven told me that you’d given her a speech about how important it was to you to see justice brought to bad guys. You told her that this line of work inspired you. Was that just a line of bullshit, or do you really think that?”

  “It wasn’t bullshit,” Derek said.

  “I’m glad to hear it, because bullshitters and I don’t get along at all. I respect you for your mad skills, as you put it, and I like you because Venice likes you. If she stops, I stop. I pay you what I pay you because you bring additional value to what we already do very well—and have been doing very well for quite a few years.”

  Derek’s head cock grew more
severe, as if he were totally confused.

  “Here it is, between the eyes,” Jonathan said. “That extra value you bring is one hundred percent tied to your job at the NSA. You give us access to things that we would otherwise not have access to. If you want to quit, quit. I can’t stop you from doing that. I’d prefer that you continue to help because you meant what you said about justice.”

  Derek looked hurt. “Maybe sometime in the future?”

  “Ask me sometime in the future,” Jonathan said. “Is that the sole reason you came out here to meet us? To ask me for a job?”

  “Ven thought you’d say no.”

  “She knows me pretty well.”

  “And there’s one other thing,” Derek said. “I’ve got a strong lead on how to find Iceman.”

  Jonathan gave him a hard look. The guy seemed ambitious and honest, and maybe even a little naïve, especially considering his line of work. “Tell you what,” he said. “You know where the office is, right?”

  “Yes, sir, of course.”

  “Meet us there in ninety minutes, and you can brief us all at once.”

  Derek looked stunned. “I can come into the office?”

  Jonathan winked and opened his door.

  Chapter Fourteen

  It made no sense to close Derek out of the War Room. While the guy had no place on the permanent team, he did have useful skills and being close to the seat of power seemed to be important to him. Fewer than ten people in the world had ever visited the War Room of Security Solutions’ headquarters because fewer than ten people had earned that level of trust.

  Derek wasn’t trustworthy so much as leverageable. Jonathan had enough dirt on the guy that it would be foolish for him to turn into an enemy and do something stupid, so why not bring him into the warmth from the cold? Boxers, on the other hand, hated the idea and had not been shy in letting his thoughts be known.

  “I got it,” Jonathan had said in the Batmobile. “And your point is duly noted.”

  “But you’re going to bring him in, anyway?”

  “Yep.”

  “You know, if he goes rogue and tries to take us down, we all go down. It’s not just you.”