Nick manipulated the photo, bringing the hand into close-up. It was slightly pixelated. Then another manipulation, some kind of magnification, and the close-up showed the open palm in incredible detail. Summer could even see the calluses.
“Shooter’s calluses,” Jacko murmured and the other men nodded. Jack had told her that Jacko was the “designated shooter” of the group—a gifted sniper. If anyone could recognize shooter’s calluses it was him.
“So our genius guy sent this photo to an experimental 3D printer he’s been working on with a private sector company, and they manufactured a hand out of polymer and took its prints.”
“I want that printer,” John Huntington told Nick. “Right now. I don’t care what it costs.”
“We’ll see,” Nick answered. “But the important thing now is that we had prints and we found a match.”
A match! The man who’d killed Zac! The man who probably killed Marcie.
“I want to see his face,” she said but before she finished a face was up on the monitor. It was an ID card and it bore the seal of the CIA.
Summer brought a hand to her mouth. The blood drained from her head, she saw spots. Her lungs wouldn’t work. A loud buzzing filled her head. She couldn’t read the name her head swam so hard.
The man who’d killed Zac, who’d probably killed Marcie, who was after her, worked for the CIA. It was official.
“Wait!” Jack studied the photo. “I know him.”
“Yeah. I imagine you do, though he was recruited while you were stationed in Singapore. Philip Kearns. In the Clandestine Service from 2010 to 2014. Fired for inappropriate use of Agency resources and blackmailing a CI. Corruption, in other words. But our forensics guy found a couple of bank accounts that are linked directly to Marcus Springer’s black funds. It’ll take a warrant to pull the files and we might have to go to a higher court, but by God we’ve found a smoking gun here.”
“Springer is mine,” Jack whispered and the hairs on Summer’s arms rose at the ferocity in his voice. “I want him.”
Nick shifted in his seat. “Totally get you, big guy, and I can’t fault you, but the Director’s not on board with personal vengeance. But I promise you, Jack, I promise, that when we get through with him, Springer will do life in solitary confinement at Leavenworth. And we’ll make sure what remains of his life is miserable.”
“So, this man—” Summer waved at the screen. “This guy killed Zac.” Her eyes welled over. “And Marcie?” she asked through a tight throat.
Nick shook his head. “Missing. We can’t find her. She’s not in her apartment. We can’t pull out all the stops, not yet. Can’t put out a BOLO, that would blow the op. Springer’s got eyes and ears everywhere and we’re trying to keep under the radar, but we have several men working on finding her.”
Summer wiped her eyes. “I’m so afraid you’ll find her body.”
“So are we.” Nick apparently wasn’t a guy to mince words. “But we will find her and we’re working fast. I still hope we can find her alive.” On camera, his gaze shifted. “Hey, Delvaux. I’m counting on you keeping Summer alive.”
Jack’s grip on her shoulder turned painful for a second, then he eased up. “I will. You can count on it.”
“Plus us,” John Huntington added.
“Yeah,” Metal growled. “She has a team. She’ll live to publish everything and expose the fuckers. Every single one. We’ll aim for the needle for every single one of them.”
“How’s Felicity doing?” Nick asked. “We’re hoping for leads.”
“Felicity’s doing fine,” she called out without taking her eyes off the screen. Summer was fast with a computer but Felicity was another order of magnitude fast. Her fingers were a blur and images changed on the monitor so fast Summer couldn’t follow. “However, Felicity has been on the job exactly twenty two minutes and forty seconds and not even Felicity can work miracles. There’s some heavy duty encryption here, by pros. It’s going to take a while to unpack.”
Metal sighed. “She’s not going to sleep or eat until she starts cracking this.”
“Look,” Jack said quietly and everyone’s heads swiveled to the bank of wall monitors. A skyscraper was smoking and, as they watched, started tumbling to the ground, shards of concrete and glass falling through the sky like shiny, heavy rain. The top twenty stories tilted and wrenched away from the base, exposing beams and office furniture, like a doll’s house with the walls cut away.
Everyone stopped, including Felicity.
Someone turned the sound back on.
“—hoaxes all day but this is real,” a shocked newscaster was saying. She was dressed in a parka and the wind blew her hair around her face. At the end of the street behind her was the tumbling building.
She looked familiar to Summer. A journalist she’d watched before. Hathaway Building in Boston Destroyed slid across the bottom of the screen. “I’m standing not three blocks from the building and I can feel the heat of the fire. Four thousand people work in the Hathaway Building.”
9/11 was on everyone’s minds.
“Goddamn it.” Metal’s normally super cool expression turned ferocious, narrow-eyed with rage. Jack told her Metal had lost his entire family in the Twin Towers. His father and brothers on the day itself and his mother a week later, dead of a broken heart.
“These are Americans doing this,” Nick said. His face and voice were cold, too, the skin of his nostrils white with stress. “They are going down.”
Summer looked around the room. All the men stood stock-still, icy rage on their faces, bodies stiff with tension. After looking up, Felicity had turned back to her computer, pretty face pale and hard, fingers blurring even more quickly.
Whoever the shadowy forces arrayed against them were, they were powerful. But Summer felt something even more powerful in this room, a great spirit rising. Some combination of the intelligence, training, toughness and will of the people in the room. She counted herself and Nick in this. Something greater than the sum of its parts. Something strong and invincible was taking shape.
Power was right here with them, and was projected by Nick from the monitor. A common will was forming, made of strength and intelligence. A desire for revenge and a thirst for justice. Everyone was pulling together for a common goal—bringing monsters to justice.
This was exactly what Area 8 was about. And though Area 8 was gone and might never return, its spirit was right here in this room. And it was formidable and it would prevail.
Chapter Twelve
She was the best-dressed fugitive ever, Summer thought, standing on the steps of Isabel’s new home. She and Jack were going to stay in Isabel’s fiancé’s house, next door. Joe and Isabel had been next door neighbors but apparently Joe had all but moved in with Isabel. Joe gave Jack the keys, said, “Don’t burn it down, otherwise do what you want,” and disappeared into Isabel’s home.
They were invited over to dinner so they both showered and changed. Jack changed into something that looked exactly like what he’d been wearing before, only clean. She on the other hand had ordered a green cashmere sweater with matching cashmere bolero, heavy silk trousers and soft Gucci boots. She had five bags of this stuff.
Isabel opened the door and rushed into Summer’s arms, hugging her tightly. Summer hugged her back, incredibly moved. Isabel had been so nice to her the summer she’d first returned to the US.
Isabel pulled back, smiling and crying. She swiped impatiently at her face. “Summer, it’s so good to see you and so good to know you’re safe.” She turned to her brother and reached up to hug him, too. Like Summer, she had to stand on tiptoe to do it. “And you too, you big lug. You’re definitely too mean to kill.” The tears were falling freely now and Jack didn’t answer, just hugged her tightly, rocking them back and forth.
They’d been through the wringer.
Their family lost, Isabel grievously wounded, Jack forced into hiding for six months. They deserved every moment of happiness they could wring out of life.
Isabel pulled away from Jack, smiling through her tears. “I’m really glad you ditched the homeless look.” She wrinkled her nose. “You smelled.”
“Good old stink of piss.” Jack’s voice was light, but Summer could tell he was moved at seeing his sister again. “Don’t knock it, it saved my life. No one gave me a second glance. Otherwise I’d probably be a floater in the Potomac.”
Isabel shuddered.
Joe ambled up behind Isabel, put an arm around her shoulders. “Hey, Jack. Good to see you again. Summer, nice to meet you in person. Honey, is the pork roast supposed to be black?”
Isabel’s eyes rounded and she rushed into the kitchen with a cry.
Joe shrugged. “Be prepared to be amazed at the food,” he said to Summer. “I’m responsible for the drinks, though, so we’ll start with cocktails. Scotch or Prosecco?”
“Prosecco, definitely.”
“Great. More Scotch for me and Jack.” He poured two scotches in whiskey glasses and some Prosecco in a flute for her.
The guys started discussing something to do with security and Summer wandered into the kitchen. It was well-organized with amazing smells coming from it. Several platters were on a counter, the contents looking incredibly tempting. Summer reached out a hand then pulled it back.
Isabel pulled some meat out of the oven—no traces of black at all—and put it on the stove top. “Go ahead,” she said. “I don’t mind previews. And Joe and Jack will demolish everything as soon as it’s on the table, so go ahead and grab your share.”
Summer used a small fork to pick up something and put it in her mouth. It was small, round, fried. And delicious.
“What was that?” she asked.
“Olive ascolane,” Isabel replied. “Homemade, not the frozen variety. Meat-filled fried olives. An old recipe from Abruzzo. Try the special bruschetta.” She held out a thin slice of roasted bread with a white cream on top and Summer nearly moaned. “Oh, God.”
Isabel smiled smugly. “Yep. Homemade sourdough bread and a ricotta mousse with truffle on top.” She bit into her own slice, placed her elbows on the island countertop and leaned toward Summer. “So. You and Jack.”
Summer fought a blush and coughed as the sip of Prosecco went down the wrong way. “Well, uh...”
A dollop of the incredible mousse had dropped onto the counter and Isabel scooped it up with her finger which she put in her mouth. “You know, Mom and I were just delighted when we got word that Jack was dating you in college.”
Well, Summer had a response for that. “We dated for a week, Isabel. Then Jack dumped me.”
Isabel sighed, lifted her eyes to Summer’s. “Yeah. Because that’s what Jack did back in the day. But that’s not Jack anymore. Trust me, Jack is an entirely different person now.”
Summer nodded. She didn’t know what to say.
“And I can tell he’s in love with you.”
Summer really didn’t know what to say to that. No words were possible. Though her heart gave a treacherous thump in her chest.
“Honey?” Joe’s plaintive voice came from the living room. He stuck his head in the kitchen. He was a remarkably tough-looking man. Thin—he was still recovering from battle wounds that had nearly taken his life—but very muscular, he was one of those men who looked like he could withstand more or less anything short of a nuclear bomb. So it was a miracle that he somehow also managed to look like a starving homeless waif. He even batted his brown eyes at them. “We’re starving out here. Any hope of sustenance soon?”
Isabel’s face lit up when she saw him. It was amazing to Summer. Isabel had been very kind to Summer but she was an upper class woman through and through. Summer had never seen her unnerved or embarrassed. She’d never seen Isabel taken with any particular man, either. Isabel had always been cool and collected and even a bit unemotional.
It was astonishing to see her so open and affectionate with Joe. He walked into the kitchen, kissed her when she lifted her face to his, and stroked her cheek.
Summer looked away. Nobody should intrude on their private happiness. Isabel so deserved this. She’d lost her entire family except for Jack in the Washington Massacre. She’d been so wounded she’d been in a coma. It was hard to think of what she’d been through.
But it had brought Joe into her life. He loved her. And she had not only Joe but a whole group of incredible people around her.
Summer was only tangential to the group yet even to her it felt like warming cold hands at a big bonfire. She could only imagine what it was like inside the circle.
Jack stuck his head in. “Hey, you two, stop locking lips and start taking care of us. We need food!”
Isabel broke away from Joe, falling back down on her heels. He was a tall man, almost as tall as Jack.
“Food, glorious food!” Isabel sang and she started ferrying out platters of the stuff. Summer helped and soon the dining table was groaning with food.
Thin slices of roasted pork with a strawberry reduction glaze. Grilled zucchini with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Roasted pepper couscous.
A reverent silence descended as they started eating. Everything was amazing. Peak experience after peak experience.
“I can’t believe you get to eat like this every day,” Summer said to Joe.
“I know.” He smiled smugly and cut himself a slice of gratinéed chard. “I’m even eating greens now. And liking them.” He turned to Isabel. “I will never leave you,” he intoned solemnly. “You can lose your hair and your teeth and gain three hundred pounds and I will never, ever leave you.”
Isabel cleared her throat, ran the tines of her dessert fork over the tablecloth. “Speaking of eating like this every day...” She looked at Summer then at Jack. Her heart was in her eyes. “There’s a house for sale just down the block.” Her voice was hoarse. She waited a moment, sipped her wine. “It’s really nice. The moment you’re declared living, Jack, what’s left of the sale of the family home is yours. I could—I could never bring myself to take what would have been your share. I simply couldn’t do it. It’s still in the bank and it’s yours. And it would cover more or less the cost of this house I’m talking about. A really nice family lived there, it’s got to have good vibes. Portland is a great place to live. We could be a—a family again.”
Isabel’s voice broke as tears fell down her face.
Joe put his hand on Jack’s arm. “Much as it pains me to say this, I actually look forward to having a lunk like you as my brother-in-law. And if you lived close by—” He looked away for a second, jaw muscles clenching. Joe looked so amazingly rough, the kind of guy who wouldn’t show emotion, but now he was clearly moved. “If you lived close by, we really could be a family. I’ve never had much of a family myself, so I wouldn’t mind trying it out. Can always toss you away if it doesn’t work.” His eyes were suspiciously moist. “And Midnight and the Senior have said several times they’d like you to come work for them. They have too many hard-working former SEALs, they said. They need some sneaky slacker former CIA pukes.”
Jack was frozen. Why wasn’t he saying anything?
Isabel glanced at Summer. “And Summer can run Area 8 from anywhere, right? I mean, I know she reports on a lot of DC stuff but that’s why God invented airlines, right? And she’s going to write a book about this anyway, might as well write it here in Portland.”
Wait a minute. Were they including her in this? Why? This was a Delvaux thing, she wasn’t involved in any way. How could she just up and move to Portland? And she and Jack weren’t—weren’t whatever it was Isabel thought they were.
Summer opened her mouth and Jack’s cell pinged. For a second he didn’t move. Summer was about to answer for him, when he thu
mbed his screen. He looked—stunned. As if he’d received a huge shock and still wasn’t over it.
“Metal,” he said. “Hey. Is Felicity making any progress?”
Metal’s face appeared on the cell’s screen. “Yeah. Felicity is sending the entire contents to Summer’s laptop and yours. You guys know him better than we do and you might be able to pick up things that won’t ping our radar. But Felicity’s got one important thing. You got a bigger screen?”
“Yeah.” Joe hauled out a big tablet. “Send it to me.”
“Okay. Sending now. While your system is getting it, let me tell you that Nick says a lot of stuff is going on in DC. The Director is about to come out in the open about Marcus Springer. He’s about ready to file for a warrant for Springer’s arrest, but he’s waiting for more evidence. The FBI accusing one of the heads of the CIA of treason is not going to be easy and the Director knows he might lose his job over it. But he says it would be worth it to take Springer down. Okay, I’ll pass you over to Felicity.” The screen changed and Felicity’s pretty, angry face came on.
“This guy had candy-ass security,” Felicity said, frowning. “I take it almost as a personal insult. So I sent the contents to Nick and to the Director of the FBI because there are several interesting bank account numbers and figures and there’s some interesting email correspondence from an anonymous IP. He also talks a lot about an Event, capital E. He doesn’t say when the event will occur or what it will be. We don’t know if by Event he means these fake attacks today plus the real attack on the Hathaway Building. So I’m going to keep going through his files as will the FBI. But I did discover one very interesting thing.” Onscreen, she showed a tablet with a big number on it.
37.8267N 122.4233W
“What’s that?” Summer asked. “Wait! That looks like—”
“GPS coordinates,” Jack, Joe and Felicity said at the same time.
“What does that correspond to?” Jack asked.
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