Aimpoint

by Candace Irvin

  Oh, Jesus.

  John.

  It was the only scenario that made sense. She took a deep breath and just said it. "Captain Garrison bought that phone."

  "Yep. Got the clerk's confirmation on the photo I showed him—not that we needed it. Don't know too many other talking mountains with that distinctive collection of scars lumbering about town, in uniform or not. But that's not all. The entire ID took ten seconds tops. The remainder of the time, I was fielding another call from Mikel. I forwarded the full report to your email, but the two calls you overheard in that conference room? They're the only two calls that phone has made, and both occurred at the same spot. I'm not sure you're gonna like the location—Klinikum Sankt Joseph."

  A hospital?

  Well, that didn't bode well, did it? "Jelly—"

  "Hang on, Prez. I need a sec."

  "No problem." It wasn't as though she had somewhere to be.

  She could hear Jelly distancing the phone from his mouth as he rolled down the window of his SUV to greet someone in German.

  Regan turned to frown at the close-up photo of a Bavarian pretzel featured on the monthly calendar attached to the wall as she waited for Jelly to resume their conversation. Saint Joseph's. Was Ertonç ill?

  Was that why the general had moved his visit forward by a good five weeks? Had a difficult-to-secure appointment opened up? His body language when he'd taken that call had been unusually guarded. Not to mention, returning that call had been the first thing he'd done once he'd dismissed her.

  Before she'd even left the room.

  If Ertonç was ill, was he trying to hide his failing health from his chain of command? Possibly to preserve his career? It did appear to be all the man had left. If so, it could also explain why John had purchased that phone.

  "Okay, I'm back. Apparently, I'm parked in the wrong spot. But I managed to badge my way out of the ticket."

  "Excellent. Just don't tell Brooks." Their CO had enough reason to whale on her partner. "But about the calls—" Regan headed out of the kitchenette into the bedroom proper. "Could Mikel tell if they came from a particular area of the hospital?"

  Regional medical facilities often covered a lot of real estate. Especially one that treated as many patients as the Klinikum Sankt Joseph. She'd take any help she could get in narrowing down the search radius.

  "Yeah, that's the part you're not gonna like. Western-most wing. Only thing there is oncology."

  "Cancer?" Well, crap.

  As much as she hated to admit it, it fit. The general's features had been drawn during that speech and again during their meeting. In light of those moments at the window, she'd chalked up his wan appearance to a fresh bout of grief. What if there'd been another cause? One that had driven home his loneliness and sorrow as he stared out at that soldier and realized that, no matter how much he'd already lost in his life, he was about to lose even more. This time, his life. Whether she was able to thwart LaCroix's plans or not.

  Either way, she was wrong about having nowhere else to be.

  "Prez?"

  Regan stopped in front of her closet to retrieve Rachel Pace's camouflaged uniform, tossing the ACUs on the still-rumpled covers of her bed. "I'm here. Do me a favor? When you get to the office, tell Brooks I may be awhile."

  "Will do. You headed where I think you're headed?"

  "Yup." Klinikum Sankt Joseph was half an hour away. She might not have an appointment. But there was an excellent chance Ertonç did.

  * * *

  Forty-five minutes later and a mere fifteen seconds after turning into the hospital's main parking lot, Regan had even more proof that the burner phone was connected to John. It was attached above the left rear bumper of the silver Wrangler parked three feet to her left: a Kansas plate. John's Kansas plate.

  He was here, in this hospital.

  Intriguingly, General Ertonç was not. Not unless there'd been a last-minute change of plans.

  The moment she'd hung up with Jelling, she'd texted Mira about the general's schedule. Ertonç was locked into back-to-back meetings at Hohenfels, then Vilseck, until sixteen hundred that afternoon.

  So why was his US Army liaison here at the klinikum and not at his side?

  Arranging last minute details for the general's appointment? Or was Ertonç's health worse than she'd feared? Had John arrived in advance to prep the hospital for a pending VIP admission?

  John was right; she had connected with Ertonç during those raw moments in the conference room. More than enough to sincerely hope he was okay.

  Time to find out.

  Uncertain as to what awaited her inside the building, Regan opted to drive the Tiguan into the adjacent lot, taking care to park in a slot that wasn't visible from the Wrangler or the path John would naturally take when walking back to it. With Rachel Pace's headgear firmly in place, she bailed out of the car and headed straight for the ER's main doors. She'd canvass the klinikum floor by floor if she had to, but she would locate John—and then she'd decide if it was prudent to reveal her own presence to him.

  Success came sooner than she'd thought, and exactly where she'd feared.

  Oncology.

  Regan stepped out of the elevators and immediately faded into the antiseptic corridor off her right, edging back deep enough to ensure John couldn't see her—not that he was looking.

  The captain stood twenty feet away, on the opposite side of the central-hub nurses' station from where that call had originated. Unlike her, he wasn't bothering to keep a low profile. It would've been difficult if he'd wanted to. Not only was John also in ACUs, he was deep in conversation with a dark-haired, lightly bearded Middle Eastern male sporting a white physician's coat.

  Curiously, she had the distinct impression that John and the doctor knew each other, and well. Though they looked to be roughly the same age, the doc was at least half a foot shorter and a good hundred pounds lighter than the captain.

  Both appeared unfazed by the inequity as they stood toe-to-toe, locked in a polite, though seemingly fundamental, disagreement.

  Even more curious, John appeared to be losing.

  Regan could feel his frustration from where she stood. He was doing his damnedest to keep it hidden, as he had the night before with his anger with LaCroix before she'd driven away. But hints were bleeding through, mostly in the faint tension in his shoulders and jaw. Though she wasn't close enough to verify, she suspected that telling pulse of his was clipping along at a daunting pace.

  What were they discussing?

  Even if she'd been close enough to catch more than every tenth word, she wouldn't have known. The men weren't conversing in German, English or Turkish, near as she could tell. According to the captain's record, John was also fluent in Pashto, Arabic and Farsi. They didn't appear to be using those either.

  Whatever the language—and subject—John refused to give up. He dipped his head as he made another seemingly earnest attempt at persuading the doctor, but the man held firm. Another longer and frustratingly quiet comment from John, and the doctor finally appeared to weaken.

  Several more earnest comments followed before the doctor's grudging nod signaled his surrender to…what?

  She was contemplating brazenly heading over when one of the nurses at the station glanced up from her phone and politely interrupted the men.

  Regan opted to inch closer instead.

  Unfortunately, her street-gleaned German didn't include medical jargon. She was able to catch the doctor's name, though.

  Karmandi. She'd heard it before…but where?

  Karmandi responded to the nurse in German and turned to John, switching back to whatever language they'd been using as he appeared to make his apologies before turning to head down the opposite corridor.

  Now what?

  Brazen was still her best bet. Given the ticking bomb attached to the case, and quite possibly the general's life, it was her only bet.

  Retrieving her phone from her trouser pocket, she opened her text app to a statesid
e friend's innocuous conversational stream as she strode, seemingly absorbed, out from her secluded spot and around the nurses' station—smack into John's titanic back.

  He spun about, his hands shooting out to engulf her arms as he steadied her. "Rachel?"

  "John?"

  Pure, unabashed pleasure flooded his features. "What are you doing here? This is a—" Fear punched to the fore as the realization of precisely where they were drove home. Panic joined in as John's gaze swept her from head to toe, searching for something he clearly did not want to find—broken bones, bruising, blood.

  Relief followed as he found none, only to evaporate when confronted with the reality that if she'd had an accident, she'd have gone to sick call like any other soldier at Hohenfels. She wouldn't be here, thirty minutes away, at the Klinikum Sankt Joseph. On this floor.

  "This is the cancer ward. Are you…okay?"

  It was her stomach's turn to knot as she felt his panic return. Surge. She was going to hell. That revealing catch in his voice had sealed it.

  She pushed the guilt aside. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

  "Because you're here." Just like that, his demeanor shifted one hundred eighty degrees as professional overtook personal. "If you're okay, why are you here? Now?" Suspicion shredded his remaining concern. "Are you following me?"

  Brazen. She had to see this through.

  She'd caught the sergeant's expression last night along with John's as she'd backed out of his drive. LaCroix was ready to blow. Given his skills, that was a particularly dangerous state for the man—and General Ertonç.

  "Why would I be following you?"

  "I don't know. But if you're not, what could possibly bring you here?"

  "My story."

  His stare darkened, sharpened. "The general?"

  She nodded. "I'm following a lead." She pushed a light shrug to the fore, damning herself that much more. "Well, more of a loose end. Either way, I need to get it tied it up before I can file my article." She held up her phone. "The general had his on the table during our interview. A number came across the screen during a call. I, ah, have this thing for numbers."

  "A thing."

  "Hmm. I see them once, and I remember them." Even upside down and sideways. "It comes in handy in my line of work." She could only hope he never found out just how handy. "I didn't realize it at the time, but I'd scribbled the number in the margin of the draft I showed Captain Vaughn. He asked, so I told him where it came from, and that the call had unsettled the general. Vaughn was curious too. He said I should follow up, see where it led. And it led—"

  "Here."

  It wasn't enough. She could still see the tension lingering in the press of John's lips, that nearly imperceptible lock to his jaw. Not surprising, since he knew damned well that the phone was a burner.

  "How did you trace the number?"

  "Oh, that was easy. I didn't." She waved her phone once more, before tucking it in her cargo pocket. "Captain Vaughn has a contact with a local phone company. The guy came through with the information this morning. Unfortunately, all he could provide us was the location of the calls. I'm still not sure why there wasn't a name on the line, but I figured what the heck, I'd stop by and see if anything stood out. I guess it did—" She nudged a smile laced with warmth and more than a bit of infatuation to her lips. "Because I found you."

  The remaining tension eased. He'd bought it.

  Time to switch tactics, before he changed his mind. "So, why are you here?"

  Just like that, another instant, one-eighty shift. This one, defensive. The quintessential man who'd been caught in the act. If there wasn't so much at stake, it would've been amusing. But there was, and it wasn't.

  How to get him to admit it?

  Brazen.

  "John…does General Ertonç have medical issues? Is that why he's really in Hohenfels? And why he arrived so early? Does he need treatment?"

  "No." That was it.

  It was enough. Not a single micro-expression flitting across his face betrayed that succinct response. John was telling the truth. But there was something else threading through his features. Relief. She was close enough to gauge that telltale pulse now too. Its normal, sedate pace had spiked. John might not be lying, but he was concealing something. Something big.

  Before she could press him further, his phone pinged.

  "Just a sec." He retrieved the phone from his pocket as he turned away, using those irritatingly hefty shoulders to shield the screen as he checked his text app. A split second later, his pulse skyrocketed.

  "What's wrong?"

  Preoccupation and worry overshadowed his smile as he turned back, the app already closed. The number on that sent text, gone. "Just a minor snafu." He might've been telling the truth before, but he was lying his ass off now. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I have to go. But I'd like to finish this conversation. Tonight? We never did have dessert."

  The hell they hadn't. But she did need another crack at getting inside LaCroix's room, with or without John's assistance. Or knowledge.

  She matched his terse smile and raised him a nod. "Sure."

  "Great. I'll call you."

  Her subsequent nod went unseen, at least by John. He was already striding around the nurses' station. The younger nurse stared after him, pensively tracking his determined movements as he passed the dormant elevator to take the stairs.

  The nurse who'd spoken with that doctor.

  Karmandi. Numbers she remembered. Names, not so much. But that one, Regan knew she'd heard before, and recently. To discern when and where, she'd need a first name. Fortunately, that was easy enough to get.

  Regan stepped up to the counter as the younger nurse sighed and turned back. "Entschuldigen Sie, wie lautet Doktor Karmandis Vorname?"

  "Olan."

  Hmm. No reaction from the recesses of her brain. She smiled her thanks regardless and turned to follow the captain's path around the station.

  Like John, she ignored the elevator. Her boots echoed as she entered the stairwell to descend the concrete steps…and only her boots.

  Whatever had been in that text of John's, it must've been serious enough to have caused him to descend at double-time, because he was gone.

  Despite the phone burning a hole in her pocket, Regan forced herself to wait until she reached the klinikum's main ER doors. Only when she spotted John's silver Wrangler pulling out of the lot, did she retrieve her phone and punch in her fellow CID agent's number.

  Jelly answered on the first ring. "Whatcha got?"

  No idea. Yet. "Do me a favor—open your laptop and run the name Olan Karmandi though your case file research and tell me what pops." Something would. She was sure of it. But what?

  "That with a 'K'?"

  "Yes." She'd run across it recently, all right. And in print. Because she could see the spelling in her head.

  "Give me a sec. I'm not at my desk."

  Jelly's off-key whistling filled her ear as she headed for her Tiguan. She had barely unlocked the driver's door and slipped inside when Jelly's whistling sputtered, then died a violent death—strangled by his curse.

  His subsequent calm, "Hey, Prez, where'd you get that name?" gave her more pause.

  "Here at the klinikum. He's a doc in oncology. I just watched Garrison hash something out with the man. I don't know what. Why?"

  "'Cause the name's Kurdish. But that's not all. It's also the last name of the PKK terrorist who took credit for that explosion in Inçirlik last year. Royar Karmandi rigged the bomb that took out both the general's sons."

  Holy shit. That's where she'd seen it.

  Were Olan and Royar related?

  Even if they were—especially if they were—why was John meeting with the doc? More importantly, why had Ertonç sent John here on his behalf? Because Ertonç had sent him. Those phone calls in the conference room all but proved it. Not to mention John's purchase of that phone in the first place, along with his body language with the general up on the stage—and at dinner in his k
itchen last night. John hadn't lied. He did respect Ertonç. So much so, he'd come to the klinikum in the general's stead.

  To do what? Negotiate?

  It was the only scenario that made sense. Backchannel overtures were common enough in both geo-political and military arenas. Hell, in light of the volatile natures of war and detente, those overtures and the equally classified conversations that followed were often essential.

  This one fit right in.

  General Ertonç had known John for years and obviously trusted him. John also clearly knew the doc. And there was John's branch. If there was an overture to make, a Special Forces soldier was a solid choice to make it. It would also explain John's proactive protective posture toward the general, as well as his secrecy regarding that posture. It could even explain John's deteriorating relationship with his houseguest, Sergeant LaCroix. And his purchase of that burner phone.

  But something was missing. Something critical.

  Why would Ertonç even want to broker a deal—any deal—with a Kurd, let alone a Kurd possibly related to the one who'd taken credit for murdering both his sons? And did that rationale have anything to do with LaCroix?

  "Prez? You still there?"

  "Yeah." Just distracted. Seriously so. "Jelly, can you—"

  "Run Olan through the system and see what comes back?"

  "You read my mind. Dig deep. I want everything you can find on the doc. Where he lives, who he sleeps with, and how often. Hell, I want to know what brand of toilet paper he prefers, and how much he pays for it. But I especially want to know if he's related to our good friend Royar."

  "I'm on it."

  "Also, let Brooks know I've got another date with the captain lined up for this evening. Until then, I'll be holed up at the Lodge."

  The irony bit in. A mere hour ago, she'd planned on heading into CID and hitting up Brooks with yet another request for a tap and tail on LaCroix. And when Brooks refused—which, in light of her serious lack of progress in the hard evidence department, he would have—she'd planned on going all out on the alternative: a request that she be allowed to bring John in on the case. Given the scene she'd witnessed in the captain's driveway last night, it might've worked.