“But they killed him,” Tom said. “The team sent to the storage facility, they killed Manning.”
Slattery said, “Of course they did. At some point Manning had to have contact with Raveis. Whatever it is Raveis said to him, it died with him.”
Tom considered that, then looked at the Colonel. “The first hit team was led by a woman named Esa Hirsh. She works for the Benefactor, which means Raveis sold us out to him. But to do that Raveis would have to know how to contact the Benefactor, either directly or through back channels.”
“We believe a former high-ranking officer has joined forces with the Benefactor.”
“Graves,” Tom said. “Disgraced general, has a fondness for neo-Nazis, building his own private army that he trains outside the US.”
The Colonel was again caught off guard. Eventually, though, he smiled, showing the same pride that he had displayed moments earlier. “You’re full of surprises, Tom.”
“Are you thinking Raveis contacted the Benefactor through Graves?”
Slattery answered. “It’s possible.”
Tom thought about that, then said to the Colonel, “The first attack, the one led by Esa Hirsh, was a hit, there’s no doubt about that. They wanted us dead, but they also wanted what Carrington had given me.”
“Why do you say that?”
“They could have used a more powerful explosive device, killed us that way. Instead they disabled the vehicle and launched an attack with small arms. The second attack, at the storage facility, looked to me like an attempted abduction. That changed, though, when I forced that second team’s hand.”
Slattery asked, “What’s your point, Tom?”
“Why would Raveis want me dead first and then want to abduct me second?”
“Because you had the files in your possession at that point.”
“But why would he want them? It’s not like destroying them would help him. They weren’t the original surveillance tapes with no other copies in existence.”
Slattery shrugged. “Maybe he had hopes of salvaging you as an asset. If he could keep you from seeing the files, he could continue to use you.”
“Then why not attempt to abduct me first and then have me killed when the abduction failed? The way it played out is backward.”
The Colonel said, “That might have been the Benefactor’s terms. He’d only agree to the job if you were killed. But you survived, and Raveis had no choice but to take matters into his own hands, assemble a team of his own on short notice.”
“It’s also possible that they were taking you somewhere to kill you,” Slattery added. “Somewhere more private, where they could dispose of your body in a way no one would ever find it. This way no one would ever know if you were actually killed. Knowing the Benefactor, he might have decided it would be useful to him if we were all left to wonder if you had defected. Misinformation to that effect could be leaked, rumors started. You know that he’s done that kind of thing before, with Frank Ballantine.”
Tom thought about that. It took work for him to clear from his mind the idea of Stella never knowing what had happened to him, left to wonder for the rest of her life if he might someday find his way back to her.
“But if Raveis is working with the Benefactor,” he said, “then why groom me all these years to kill a man he’s allied with?”
“All partnerships eventually come to an end,” the Colonel said. “Particularly sordid ones. But that would be classic Raveis, wouldn’t it? Use one threat to eliminate the other. And look like a patriot in the process.”
Slattery said, “Remember, Tom, you aren’t the only one Raveis needed to keep the truth from.”
“He betrayed your father,” the Colonel said. “But he betrayed me, too. He betrayed everything we stood for, everything we fought for.”
Tom looked at the Colonel for a moment. “Raveis framed Carrington.”
“Yes. He planted the evidence that made it look like Carrington led the Algerian to you and Stella.”
“How do you know this?”
The Colonel nodded toward Slattery, and she said, “Smith provided Raveis with what he needed.”
“The mirror copy of Hammerton’s cell phone that was found in Carrington’s apartment.”
“Yes.”
“How long have you known this?”
“Several months.”
Tom turned back to the Colonel. “You had teams hunting him even though you knew he was innocent.”
“It was necessary to maintain the illusion that I had full confidence in Raveis.”
“What if Carrington had been found and killed?”
“It was my hope that wouldn’t be the outcome. I suspect you were hoping for the same, Tom. That’s why you never protested the kill order. Deep down you knew Carrington had what it took to keep eluding us. You knew that just like you knew he was innocent.”
“And Raveis was prepared to frame me, too, if it came to that,” Tom said. “Smith gave Carrington my old Colt. The one I’d been assured by you had been disposed of.”
“Those were the orders I had given, and I’d been told they were carried out,” the Colonel said. “And yes, if all else had failed, Raveis would have used that weapon to frame you. He wasn’t the kind of man to let an opportunity pass him by. He collected opportunities. He saw them in everything. It was his gift.”
“What about the kill squads assigned to Carrington?”
“We should assume they’re still deployed, since they are Raveis’s men. Your commanding officer isn’t out of the woods yet.”
Tom took one more moment, then said, “So what do we do?”
“You and your friends go into hiding. Someplace deep, someplace out of the way. It was smart of you to send Cahill to get Stella. Things might have been easier if you had involved me, but I understand why you didn’t.”
“He has her?”
The Colonel nodded. “Yes. She disappeared from the compound yesterday evening.”
Tom let the wave of relief rush through him.
Then he said, “And while we’re all tucked away somewhere, what happens?”
“Raveis has gone dark. We don’t know exactly what caused him to do that—the first attack on you or maybe Stella’s disappearance from SERE training—but he took a number of his best bodyguards. Another thing we don’t know is how many; it could be a handful, it could be dozens. We’re working on determining what it is we’re up against. Is it a small rebellion or all-out civil war? I’m sorry, but at this point all we have to offer you is sanctuary. For you and your friends, for as long as it takes.”
“We can take care of ourselves,” Tom said.
“I don’t doubt that, Tom, but you were involved in a shooting in New York City. As I am sure you know, the NYPD takes that kind of thing very seriously. Your shaved head and face and the change of clothes and boots are a good start, but until we know what evidence the police do and don’t have, the best place for you is out of sight. We have to assume by now that the cops have at least tracked your movements from the scene of the shooting to the vehicle that Cahill had given you. They have fast access to subway station cameras and street cameras. If we’re lucky, you were in a blind spot when Grunn and Hammerton got you into their vehicle, but I’m not much for counting on luck. And I think when it comes to your friends, you aren’t, either. So Cahill has definitely been dragged into this, and Hammerton and Grunn will probably get dragged in, too. Everything I know about you—everything you’ve done since Carrington reached out to you, not to mention everything you did prior to that—tells me that your main concern is the welfare of those you care about. So the best place for all of you to be right now is a place where no one can find you. This way you can recover, maybe even get looked at by a doctor.” The Colonel paused. “And you can decide what to do with the video files, because as someone who cares about you, I feel obliged to say that you might not want to see them all.”
“What do you mean?”
Slattery replied, “The las
t of the six videos isn’t of Raveis and your father talking in his office. It’s the surveillance footage of the hotel room.”
The Colonel said, “It shows your father killing three men before fighting hand to hand with the Algerian—a fight to the death that your father lost.” The Colonel gave Tom a moment before continuing. “I’m not sure I’d need to see that. Or want to. But it’s up to you what to do. Everything you know about me—everything I’ve done since we first met—should tell you that I take what is important to you very seriously. And I know what’s important to you is your freedom to choose. Watch the video or don’t. In the meantime, though, we need to get you out of here.”
“Where will you be taking us?”
“I have a place,” Slattery said. “About an hour from here.”
Tom wasn’t keen on trusting someone he barely knew, but he didn’t see any better choice at this point.
The Colonel said, “I tried contacting Cahill to alert him that he and his team might need to reroute to a different location, but—”
“Team?” Tom said.
“He recruited Krista MacManus.”
Tom found comfort in that piece of information.
Krista had more than once demonstrated her significant skills as a close-protection agent.
But more than that, she was the closest friend Stella had.
Tom understood the power of seeing a friendly face.
“Cahill has yet to reply,” the Colonel said, “but I suspect he’s maintaining radio silence. He may be waiting to hear of any alteration in plans directly from you.”
“We’ll leave things as they are for now.”
“Whatever you think is best. In the meantime, I’ll secure a more hardened location for all of you, one that Raveis doesn’t know about. It may take a few days, but you’ll be safe with Slattery until then. As a precaution, I don’t even know where she’s taking you.”
Slattery stepped forward. “We should get moving.” She offered Tom the tablet. He looked at the device for a moment before accepting it.
Then he took another moment to study her face.
There was something familiar about her now.
There hadn’t been before, back when Tom had first met her in Raveis’s Upper East Side parking garage, but now he couldn’t shake the vague sense that he had seen her face before, or at least parts of it.
Or maybe this was just the concussion playing tricks on his exhausted mind.
He was reminded yet again of the words James Carrington had taught him a long time ago.
The only way out is through.
Finally, Tom said, “Yeah, okay. Take us to your safe house.”
Thirty-Eight
Hammerton and Grunn exited the garage first, followed by Tom and the Colonel, Slattery behind them.
Waiting in the lot were Hammerton’s vehicle and the black Cherokee.
The group hadn’t taken more than a few steps when a caravan of three black SUVs—two Chevy Tahoes with a Mercedes between them—pulled to a stop outside the fence.
Tom recognized this formation as the Colonel’s standard mode of transportation.
Several suited men exited the Chevys, some setting up a perimeter and scanning the area, others clustered together by the Mercedes’s rear door, waiting for their charge to approach.
The Colonel extended his hand, and Tom took it.
“I’ll see you in a few days,” the Colonel said. “If you need anything, Slattery can reach me.”
Tom nodded.
The Colonel’s grip was as firm as ever, and he offered Tom the same smile of fondness and respect that he’d always shown him.
But he held Tom’s hand slightly longer than usual.
Finally, though, the Colonel let go and started toward the gate. Four of his men converged there, waiting for him. After he reached them, they surrounded him, escorting him to the Mercedes.
Once the motorcade had driven from sight, Slattery said, “You’ll need to leave your vehicle here. Like the Colonel said, we can’t count on luck.”
Tom nodded.
“Who does it belong to?” she said.
Hammerton answered, “It’s mine.”
“I’ll arrange to have it towed and destroyed.”
“I have people who can take care of that,” Hammerton said.
Tom looked at him inquisitively.
Hammerton said to him, “The Redcoats have landed.”
Slattery drove the Cherokee.
Hammerton was in the passenger seat, Grunn in the seat directly behind him. Tom was seated behind Slattery. From there he could see her eyes via the rearview mirror.
The more he looked at them, the more familiar she seemed.
A few minutes into the ride, Tom texted Torres again; he waited several moments for a reply but got none.
“I can maybe go look for her,” Grunn said.
Tom shook his head.
“You okay?” she said.
Tom nodded and pocketed his phone.
After fifteen minutes on I-95, Slattery exited the highway. Through his window Tom saw a familiar sight—the outskirts of the city of New Haven.
Several turns later, they were just a few blocks west of Yale.
It wasn’t, though, his one year of college there that was on Tom’s mind. A few miles northeast of the campus was the neighborhood where he and Hammerton had gone to search for Cahill two years ago—a mission that Raveis had sent them on and that had nearly gotten them both killed.
If not for Hammerton, Tom would have died there, and Stella . . . well, Tom didn’t want to think of the fate that would have befallen her.
It was obvious that Hammerton recognized the area as well, because several times he turned his head and glanced back at Tom.
Another thirty minutes passed before they reached their destination—the town of North Haven.
Deep within a few wooded acres was a secluded home of modern design. Unlike a traditional house, this structure was a series of rectangular shapes comprising a mix of building materials—wood and steel and glass. Two stories tall, the house had multiple wings and an attached three-car garage with a steel door.
As Slattery steered the Cherokee around the long circular driveway, Tom realized that this home was situated on a bluff. He knew the area well enough to understand that the bluff overlooked the Quinnipiac River.
Slattery pressed a button on the driver’s console, and one of the garage doors began to rise. It was fully opened by the time the Cherokee reached it. She steered the vehicle inside, parked, and pressed the button again, lowering the door.
The interior of the garage was impeccably kept—orderly to the point of appearing sterile.
The cement floor was painted metallic gray, the whitewashed walls lined with chrome tool chests and a pegboard upon which hung a variety of hand tools.
In the next bay were two BMW motorcycles—matching K1200Rs. Hanging on the nearby wall were two helmets and a four-pocket jacket that was identical to the one Slattery was wearing, though larger.
His and hers bikes and gear, Tom thought.
The bay on the far left of the garage housed a Hummer H3T Alpha—midnight blue and rigged with over-cab lights, brush guards, and a low-profile roof rack containing a jack and a spare tire.
Getting out of the Cherokee, Hammerton took a look around, then said to Slattery, “Who are you, Bruce Wayne?”
“Yes,” she answered. “I am.”
Then she waved for her guests to follow her.
Once inside the house, Tom found his way to the large single-paned window in the main room. Standing by it with the lights still off, he looked down at the dark water.
Hammerton joined him there.
A few miles downriver, they had jumped from the second-floor window of a workshop and into that water, hitting it and plunging under its surface seconds before a timed explosive device was detonated.
Tom could still feel the brutal cold, as well as the strong current that had carried them underwa
ter till his lungs ached for air.
He could also still feel the concussive blast that had hit him with enough force to cause his internal organs to shift.
After a moment, Hammerton said, “Full circle, huh? Or close enough to it.”
Tom nodded. “Yeah.” He turned his head and looked around for Slattery. He didn’t see her but heard her talking to Grunn in another part of the house. In a low voice, Tom said, “How many from your old unit are here?”
“Three so far, more are on the way.”
“They’re in New York?”
“They’ve reached the safe house, yes. You want them here instead?”
“No. Torres might finally show up there. Or worse, if things went bad for her, she might lead someone there. Someone looking for me.”
“I’ll let them know. They’ll handle it either way.” Hammerton paused. “You know, the office door back at that garage wasn’t very thick. We heard everything.” He glanced at the tablet in Tom’s hand. “You don’t have to watch that alone. I’ll watch it with you, if somehow that’ll make it easier.”
“Contact your men,” Tom said. “Make sure they keep an eye out for Torres.”
The sound of Slattery’s voice grew louder as she and Grunn made their way toward the main room.
“I’m going to want to talk to Slattery alone for a few minutes.”
“Sure, Tom.”
Hammerton left the room, following the sound of Slattery’s voice.
Tom looked at the mantel above the large fieldstone fireplace, upon which more than a dozen framed photos stood in a row.
Walking toward the mantel, he paused at a doorway leading to a sunroom.
The only furniture in it was a hospital bed, beside which were several monitors.
The bed was made, the equipment turned off.
Tom got the sense that this room was waiting to be used.
Continuing to the mantel, he studied the various photos of Slattery. In some of them she was with a man and a woman Tom did not recognize, and in others she was alone, dressed in a Girl Scout’s uniform or a prom dress or a graduation gown.
The majority of the photos showed Slattery posing in what appeared to be a living room, and the fact that each living room was different indicated to Tom that each occasion had likely occurred in a different home.
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