She leaned closer, damn grateful there was a table between them or it might be impossible to resist the temptation to take him apart herself, piece by piece.
“Harper, you didn’t help me get to the helicopter when you tripped those mines. You cost us our flight out, risking a night in the jungle. And you turned in innocent students to be taken hostage.” To be tortured. To be murdered.
She pushed images of their faces, people she’d spent weeks with, getting to know them, sharing food and tents. She couldn’t let memories of them terrified and in pain distract her, not now. The best way to give them justice and honor the two who’d died? Do her job. Bring this traitor down.
He sneered at her. “Not so innocent after all since you were a plant, a spy. I knew there was a snitch in the group.”
No use debating with a mass murderer on the difference between international law enforcement agencies with rules of engagement and warlords slaughtering for profit. She just let him talk, knowing he would eventually dig himself a deep, deep hole.
“I have to give you credit, Stella…” He grinned. “You don’t mind if I still call you Stella, do you? Anyhow, I never thought it was you. I actually suspected that anthropology student from Maine. They thought he was just trained well at resistance. Sad to think the poor bastard died for nothing since he didn’t really know anything.”
She forced herself to keep rolling the mango without so much as a wince. Because that “archeology student from Maine” had been undercover from the CIA and they’d killed him during the interrogation.
Her chest went tight with… She capped the emotions.
Later, she would deal with that information, maybe climb up on a roof and scream out her rage at the top of her lungs. For now, she had to do her job, to put together the rest of the puzzle, pull in the other players responsible for today’s attempted attack, because no way did those three men in the truck plan this alone.
Mr. Brown stood, setting aside his tablet. “Agent Carson, I believe it’s time for you to turn the interrogation back over to us.”
The ominous tone in the agent’s voice had Harper fidgeting in his seat. The bastard was fine with seeing people suffer and die for his big stance against “the man.” Torture was strictly forbidden, but she knew there’d been breaks in protocol. She wasn’t sure she trusted Smith and Brown. They’d brought her in here for a reason and now they were just dismissing her?
“Carson…” Smith nodded toward the door. “I hear you should check your computer. Mr. Jones is waiting to direct you to a place we set aside for you.”
Mr. Brown tapped his iPad. Realization kicked in. She set aside her mango. Her computer—images of the second cloth. She had a different role to play, one she felt a helluva lot more confident in: breaking codes.
With one last look at the seemingly innocent face she’d risked her life to save, she swallowed back disgust and angled out the door. Once it clicked closed behind her, she sagged back in exhaustion.
Sure enough, Mr. Jones was waiting, wearing his outback hat and his sleeves rolled up, jacket ditched. The humidity from the rain made the temps worse. “How’d it go in there?”
Stella glanced back at the door. “He’s a great liar because he has absolutely nothing in the way of a moral compass. He’s into the next thrill—he called it drama. God, when I think about…” She couldn’t travel that pathway in her thoughts; she just had to know one thing first. “The team that secured the truck and the toxin—are they okay? Any ill effects after the decontamination?”
“They’re fine. Your guy—Cuervo—is fine.”
She nodded tightly, giving herself one selfish second for relief before getting back to business. “What about the teenager? Ajaya? Is he here too? Did you get anything more from him?”
“He’s in the room next door.” He took off his hat and swiped his wrist across his forehead. “The teenager isn’t as innocent as he likes to play it. He’s still holding back. But do I believe he’s responsible for a bio toxin being released at a national media event? No. I think he’s a foot soldier.”
“That fits.” Although so much else still didn’t make sense. She didn’t have a sense of the big “why” to all of this. What were the warlords or separatists responsible for this attempted attack trying to achieve other than chaos? It didn’t make sense. There was always a reason… “I believe Harper when he says Ajaya wouldn’t have had access to that level of information. I don’t think they would have trusted him with keeping that kind of secret.”
“But if they planned on killing the hostages, which I’m sure they intended…” Jones slapped his hat back on his head. “They still would have kept their circle tight in case the teenager got captured.”
“Or turned, which he did.” Brainstorming with Jones was actually helpful. She liked this guy with his honest eyes and a professionalism that went beyond his Cowboy Troy act. Her gut told her he was one of the good ones—but then her gut hadn’t been all that reliable lately. “He’s been doling out what little information he could, holding back details for when he needed them. He’s smart. But in comparing his statements, I found a place he contradicted himself. He said he was taken by people posing as electricians. Then he said his math teacher—a man named Mr. Gueye—was responsible.”
“Maybe they were working together?”
“Could be,” she conceded.
“The clock is ticking for us to sort through it all.” He gestured toward the row of computers. “Yours is just around the other side, at the end, in a cubicle for privacy.”
She’d gotten what she wanted… But for once, work held no allure. She wanted to be a civilian, free to check on the people she cared about. Free to check on Jose.
Mr. Jones tapped his watch and snapped his fingers. “Your cubicle. Go.”
Snapped his fingers at her? Really?
She wove her way past the row of computers with CIA and military monitoring Predator feed and recordings of ongoing interrogations. Circling past the end of the row to the sectioned-off cubby where her computer and work waited.
And Jose?