by Blake Pierce
“Easier said than done,” Bill said. “We don’t have that list anymore. We turned it over to the CID agents as soon as we found it in Graham’s room.”
Lucy cleared her throat.
“Uh, that’s not necessarily a problem,” she said.
With a shy grin, she held up her cell phone and showed Riley and Bill a photo of the list. All the names were perfectly visible.
“I took this picture the minute I laid eyes on it,” Lucy said.
Riley laughed.
“Good, work, Agent Vargas,” she said. “Now we’ve got to find these guys as fast as we can.”
“That shouldn’t be hard to do,” Lucy said.
She opened her laptop and began to type.
“Fort Mowat’s records of active recruits are available on its website. I can find the platoons and groups that each of these guys belongs to.”
Riley stood watching Lucy deftly searching for information.
She gets better and better at this job every day, Riley thought.
Lucy turned the laptop screen so that Riley and Bill could see it.
She said, “I’ve got them. The names fall into six units overall.”
Riley looked at the breakdown of names closely.
“OK, then,” Riley said. “We need to divide up, pay visits to all these units, and talk to all these soldiers. Maybe we can find out something. At least we can warn them. But remember—we are not only warning potential victims. We are also weeding out a potential killer. He may very well be one of the pack. So anybody we talk to just might be the real shooter. And we know how ruthless he can be. So be careful.”
Bill shook his head.
“Col. Larson will never allow this,” he said.
“I’ll take care of that,” Riley said.
“How?” Bill asked.
Riley didn’t reply. She was about to do something highly improper, and it was best for neither Bill nor Lucy to know exactly what it was.
She took out her cell phone and typed a text message to Col. Larson:
My apologies. Of course you’ve got the right man. My team and I will fly back to Quantico ASAP. It’s been a pleasure working with you.
Riley looked up and saw Bill staring at her. He obviously had a pretty good idea what she’d just done. But he knew better than to ask questions.
Then Bill said, “I’ll call the pilot and tell him to cancel that flight.”
“Great,” Riley said. “But do it while we drive. We’ve got no time to lose.”
They all hurried out of the cottage and into the car.
If they got things right, they could prevent another murder.
CHAPTER FORTY TWO
A few minutes later, Riley parked the car near the barracks, and she, Bill, and Lucy split up to check out individual names from Graham’s list.
Riley’s anxiety was rising.
We’ve got to work fast, she thought.
Word could soon get back to Col. Larson that the FBI agents were still on the base asking questions. There would be hell to pay whenever that happened.
Riley was looking for two privates—Damien Temple and Otto Corbin. She went to their barracks and asked their drill sergeant their whereabouts. The sergeant directed Riley to a skeet shooting range a short distance away.
When Riley walked to the range, she found two young men firing shotguns at their flying targets. It was pretty advanced shooting, and they were hitting the targets consistently.
“Are you Privates Temple and Corbin?” she called out as she approached them.
“Yeah, who’s asking?” one of them asked.
Riley produced her badge and introduced herself.
Neither of the young men looked especially impressed.
“Mind if I have a try?” she asked them.
The private with the nametag TEMPLE shrugged at the one with the nametag CORBIN. Corbin just nodded.
“Yeah, be our guest,” Temple said. With a cocky grin, he handed her his double-barreled shotgun. “She’s loaded and ready.”
Riley took the weapon, lifted it, and called, “Pull!”
Two clay targets flew from opposite directions toward each other in the air. Riley fired one barrel, picking off one of the targets, then fired again a split second later, hitting the other target effortlessly.
Both men looked impressed as Riley handed the gun back to Temple.
“What can we do for you?” Temple asked.
Riley knew that she was in uncertain territory. She honestly wasn’t sure whether Brandon Graham had even known what he was doing when he put these two guys on his list. Graham had psychotic tendencies, after all. He might only have imagined that he’d recognized their voices during the hazing. Were these guys even members of the secret society?
And how was Riley going to get them to tell her anything?
She would have to bluff it out to learn the truth.
She could say some things that were true, but she had to act like she knew more than she did.
“I’m here to talk to you about the pack,” she said.
Temple and Corbin looked at each other.
“We don’t know what you’re talking about,” Corbin said.
“Oh, I’m pretty sure you do,” Riley said.
And that was a fact. Their expressions instantly betrayed to Riley that they knew all about the pack.
Temple said, “If we did, why would we talk to you about it?”
“Because one or both of you might wind up dead if you don’t,” Riley said.
The two men gaped at her with surprise.
Riley said, “I’m sure you know about the recent murders on this base.”
Corbin shrugged uneasily and said, “Yeah, but wasn’t some guy arrested just a little while ago?”
“It’s the wrong man,” Riley said.
Corbin shuffled his feet and Temple’s eyes darted around.
They’re getting nervous, Riley thought. That’s good.
Riley said, “Let’s not play games here. You’re both part of the pack. And the shooter is targeting pack members. You’re on a list of targets.”
She saw them exchange skeptical glances, and added, “The lists exists. I saw it. That’s the reason I’m here. Sooner or later, the killer is going to get around to you.”
Riley knew that she was playing a kind of verbal poker game, and she had to keep bluffing strategically. To get them talking about the pack, she had to act like she was already an expert. That required some speculation and guesswork.
She said, “Look, the pack is no secret. Maybe you don’t realize it, but you’re kind of famous. The CID has known all about you guys for a long time. So has everybody in the chain of command here at Mowat, all the way up to and including Col. Adams. They don’t talk about it out of respect for what you stand for. It’s not like your outfit is illegal. Of course, the abductions do push the envelope a little. But you can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs, right?”
The guys were staring at Riley with fascination.
“I’m from a military family myself,” Riley said, “and I respect what you guys are doing. The Army’s not what it used to be, is it? Training’s not what it used to be. War is more dangerous than ever, but how are you supposed to get prepared for it these days? Everything’s all about sensitivity and political correctness and socialization, all that kind of touchy-feely crap.”
“You’ve got that right,” Corbin grumbled.
“The Wolf Pack is here to fix that,” Temple said.
Riley knew that her tactic was working. She just needed to stay on the same track.
She said, “Of course, not just anybody can be a true wolf.”
“No way,” Corbin said, shaking his head. “But we look for guys with potential, whether they know they’ve got it or not.”
Temple added, “And once they’ve survived the hazing—if they survive it—they’re ready and eager to join the pack, the elite of the elite.”
Corbin was starting to look une
asy now.
He said to Temple, “We shouldn’t be talking about this. Even if she knows about it already. We swore an oath. You don’t talk about the Wolf Pack. Ever.”
“I respect that,” Riley said hastily. “I’m not asking you to divulge any secrets. I just need you to tell me anything you can to help me find the killer. After all, he’s picking off pack members.”
Corbin’s brow knitted inquisitively.
“But why? Why are we targets?”
“It’s got something to do with hazing,” she said. “Somebody thinks you go too far.”
“Somebody we actually hazed?” Temple said.
“That’s right,” Riley said. “But not somebody who cracked. He thinks hazing is unworthy of an elite military society. He’s taking out the worst hazers because they offend him.”
Corbin and Temple looked at each other.
They both shuddered.
These are a couple of the bad ones, Riley thought.
Temple said, “So the killer actually is a wolf? A member of the pack?”
“That’s my theory,” Riley said. “Look, I’m not asking you to give away your entire membership. But can you think of any fellow wolves who have been disgruntled in any way? Who have seemed hostile toward guys like yourselves?”
Riley could tell that Corbin and Temple were seriously thinking it over.
Finally they both shook their heads.
“I can’t think of anybody,” Corbin said.
“We’re a tight bunch,” Temple said. “It’s hard to believe that we’ve got a traitor in our midst. I can’t imagine who it might be.”
Riley sensed that they weren’t holding anything back from her.
“He wouldn’t consider himself a traitor,” Riley corrected. “He would consider you all traitors. In fact, he would consider himself to be the best of you.”
They stared in silence, shifting, clearly uncomfortable.
She said, “The killer is using an M110 sniper rifle.”
The soldiers’ eyes widened.
“Wow, that’s some kind of firepower,” Temple said.
Riley asked, “Do you know any wolves who might have access to something like that?”
The soldiers shook their heads.
Riley said, “Well, one of the wolves does have it. And whoever he is, he must be hiding it somewhere. Can you think of where that might be?”
Corbin and Temple thought for a moment.
Then Corbin pointed off into the distance.
“Probably the old assembly building,” he said. “There’s a lot of room to hide things there.”
Riley almost slipped and started asking questions about the building.
Was it the “Den” that hazing victims had talked about?
Then she remembered—she was in the midst of bluffing, acting as though she knew about this kind of thing already.
Don’t tip your hand, she reminded herself.
“Thanks, guys,” she said. “I’ll check that out.”
She walked away from the shooting range, looking in the direction where Corbin had pointed. From what the hazing victims had told her, she knew that it had to be a big building, probably an abandoned one.
It shouldn’t be hard to find, she thought.
*
Private Stanley Pope’s whole body was tingling with shock. Special Agent Riley Paige was headed straight toward him, and he didn’t want to be seen. He’d been following Agent Paige ever since she’d gotten out of the car back at the barracks, wondering what she and her fellow BAU agents were up to.
He’d heard that somebody had been arrested for the shootings. So why were the FBI agents still poking around?
Pope was standing inside a little building that offered a few tables and chairs, water, and a bathroom for those taking a break from shooting. He couldn’t get any closer to the shooters without being spotted, but he was too far away to hear what any of them had been saying.
What did those dumb bastards tell her? he wondered.
Last night when he’d found her on the beach, he’d been careful about what he’d said.
He’d never forgotten his oath.
He hadn’t breathed a word about the Wolf Pack.
But Pope knew from hard experience that Paige was as smart as she was tough.
She might have tricked Corbin and Temple into telling her a lot more than they should have.
That could be bad—really bad.
But now Agent Paige had left the men on the shooting range and was walking fast in his direction. He could see that she was getting out her cell phone.
Pope stepped away from the window of the building, not at all sure what he’d say if she came inside and found him there. But Agent Paige hurried on by as she talked on her phone, not even looking up.
“How are things going on your end, Bill?” she asked.
She stopped in her tracks, listened for a moment, then continued the conversation. Pope was back at the window, listening.
“That’s too bad,” she said. “But maybe I’ve had some luck. Could you take a few minutes away from your interviews to check something out with me? I’ve found out where the Den is. It used to be an assembly building, and now it’s abandoned.”
After another pause, she said, “Great. It’s over in the southwest corner of Fort Mowat, so it’s closer to where you are than where I am. I’ll meet you there.”
The call ended, and Agent Paige hurried on her way.
The hair on Pope’s neck rose.
She’s found out about the Den! he thought. And now she even knows where it is!
What would happen if she and her partner went there? Who might they find there now?
He couldn’t imagine, but it wouldn’t be good.
Fortunately, he knew a short cut, and he could get there before they did.
Pope stepped out of the building and broke into a run.
CHAPTER FORTY THREE
Lucy Vargas hesitated outside the door of the big abandoned building. This was where she’d been told she would probably find one of the soldiers on her list—Private Titus Mulligan. His drill sergeant had said that Mulligan did voluntary cleanup work over in the old assembly building.
The three-story brick building loomed over the area like a giant ghost. It didn’t look like it had been in use for a long time. She wondered why it hadn’t been torn down.
Then she remembered something that Private Shealy had said about his brutal hazing …
“We wound up in some building.”
She wondered—was this it?
There was no way to know. Her job was to find Private Mulligan and warn him that he might very well be a target for murder.
Or, as Agent Paige had warned her, he might actually be the killer.
Lucy placed her hand on her weapon. If that turned out to be the case, this time she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.
*
The wolf climbed the stairs to the balcony overlooking the old assembly area. It was dim in the abandoned building, with only a little light entering through the doorway and high windows that had been mostly painted over.
Wolflike, he sniffed the musty air. Even now when no one else was here, he could almost smell the delicious smoky scent of candles from a recent ceremony.
He liked hanging around the Den, and he had taken it upon himself to keep it as well swept, tidy, and clean as a condemned building could possibly be. After all, this secret haven of the Wolf Pack wasn’t going to be here forever. Wealthy and influential wolves of years past continued to do everything they could to keep it from being torn down. But sooner or later, this fine and noble old building was doomed to perish.
After all, that was the sad fate of all things fine and noble. Nothing that was good lasted for as long as it ought.
Meanwhile, as long as the building survived, the wolf had made it his personal task to keep its dignity intact.
But the physical building wasn’t the only thing that needed cleaning. The Wolf Pack membership
itself needed scrubbing. Some members were not living up to true military standards.
Those goddamn hazings, he thought.
That stupid, boorish behavior had no place here among the elite. The hazings were the sole source of corruption in the otherwise pristine secret society.
He found it hard to believe that the other wolves couldn’t see that. Standing on the balcony, he remembered what had pushed him into action—the hazing of Private Brandon Graham. Just below where he was now standing, Graham had been put to an outrageous test.
He remembered his admiration for Graham’s fighting spirit as he took on his fellow initiates. His admiration had grown when Graham remained the only man left standing. That should have been the end of it. In fact, a man like Graham should have been admitted to the Wolf Pack with no initiation at all. Anybody could see that Graham belonged among them. His training record alone had been enough to prove it.
Then it had all come to an end with that stupid ritual on Larry’s Leap, an absurd ordeal that proved nothing about Graham as a man or a soldier.
When Graham had finally cracked, the wolf realized that the Wolf Pack required purification. It was up to the wolf—and to him alone—to take out the worst of the hazers, to avenge Private Graham for the injustice done to him.
Standing there on the balcony, the wolf again felt rage burning through his system, fury at stupidity and corruption.
His memories were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening.
No one else should be here at this time of day.
A line from his sworn oath ran through his mind…
I will protect the Wolf Pack from outsiders by any means necessary.
When he heard the voice call out, he stepped back from the balcony and went to retrieve his weapon.
*
As Lucy entered the front door, she called out, “I’m Special Agent Lucy Vargas, FBI. I’m looking for Private Titus Mulligan. Are you here?”
Her voice echoed through the dim, drafty building.
No one answered.
She stood in the hallway, wondering if maybe the tip she’d gotten was wrong.