Master Chief made a thoughtful sound in his throat. “Problem is, to get into Lowery’s apartment, we’d have to break in. The military police have cordoned it off.”
“Then we break in,” Saul suggested, like that was child’s play. “I can tell from the stains if he blew his own brains out or if someone else did it.”
As a sniper with sixteen kills under his belt, Saul understood the physics of bullets better than most, and Lucas would trust his conclusion. If Saul believed Lowery had been murdered, Lucas would pay for a forensic expert of their own to say as much.
“I’ll break in,” Master Chief volunteered. “I’m too senior to have my rank stripped from me if I’m caught—not so for the rest of you. I’ll bring the reconnaissance camera and take pictures. Can you tell enough from those?” he asked Saul.
“If you take plenty of pictures,” Saul affirmed.
“Hey,” Theo interrupted, “do we know who Jaguar’s defense counsel is gonna be?”
Lucas hesitated, revealing his disappointment. “He hoped to get the premier JAG, Captain O’Rourke, but, as you can guess, O’Rourke was already detailed to the prosecution. Jaguar’s got a young JAG named Carew, who was top in her class in law school.”
“Why doesn’t he hire a civilian lawyer?” Theo demanded.
Lucas shrugged. “Jaguar says this one’s smart as a whip, and he trusts her.”
“But she’s inexperienced,” Saul protested.
“Which means she’s eager to prove herself,” Lucas pointed out. “That’s Jaguar’s decision, and he’s already made it.” He reached for his glass and lifted it high. “I’d like to propose a toast.”
The others followed his example, snatching up their half-empty beverages.
“To Jaguar,” he stated. “May justice prevail for him.”
“Here, here.”
With gusto, the men clinked their tumblers.
Lucas’s toast was, in fact, his most fervent prayer. Unlike Master Chief, who was good at praying out loud, Lucas wasn’t. But without God’s help, Lucas feared his role model, the man who’d taught him everything he knew about being a good troop leader, was about to suffer the gravest punishment any SEAL could imagine—dishonorable discharge.
After tossing back the rest of his drink, Lucas set his glass on the table and pushed to his full six feet, six inches. “I need to call it a night, guys,” he apologized, towering over the table. “It’s been a long week.”
“Good night, sir.”
Reading compassion in the faces looking back at him, Lucas turned away and took the quickest exit off the veranda, jogging down a flight of stairs that conveyed him to the parking lot.
The rain began to fall just as he jumped into his Ford F250, black with an extended cab. With the windshield wipers slapping a fervent tempo, he drove to his modest condominium in a newly constructed neighborhood, not far from the main gate.
No sprawling mansion for Lucas, not anymore. He’d given up his privileged lifestyle when he’d promised to live the rest of his life for God. Being rich and worldly hadn’t given him any satisfaction. Living humbly and in tune with his Maker felt much better.
Pulling up to his house, Lucas eyed the dark windows with a pang. No one was waiting for him, but—hey—that was fine. Since he’d broken off his engagement with Monica, he no longer had to worry about his fiancée cheating on him. None of his teammates had ever dared to point it out, but Lucas could see for himself how much she flirted with other men. Her ultimate betrayal was stealing critical evidence from Master Chief’s desk at Dwyer’s behest. He had confronted her the same day he’d heard about it, but she’d admitted to nothing and stormed out.
Dashing through a light rain, Lucas let himself in, snapping on the lights and averting his gaze from the empty living room and dining room. Just a few weeks earlier, he and Monica had picked out all new furniture in anticipation of their spring wedding. Apparently, though he’d paid for it, she’d felt entitled to keep it for herself. All that remained in the wake of their breakup was the dinette set in his kitchen, a sectional sofa too heavy or too large for her to tote away, and his 48-inch screen TV.
Let it go, he advised himself as he stowed his combat boots in the coat closet. Heading up the stairs to his bedroom, he stripped off his uniform as he went.
His thoughts returned to Jaguar and the unfair charge that had been preferred on him, as that action was called in the military—like anyone would prefer facing charges. At least Lucas had something to think about other than how the woman he’d been planning to marry—the woman who’d managed to capture his affections while pulling the wool over his eyes—had chosen loyalty to Commander Dwyer over loyalty to him.
With a shake of his head and with his pride still stinging, Lucas headed straight for his shower. While soaping away traces of his grueling day at work, he asked himself what part of his carefully crafted marriage plan had gone awry. Obviously, it was falling for the wrong woman.
Monica was beautiful, well educated, and raised in a two-parent home, meeting all of Lucas’s criteria. She’d attended church with him and alleged to be a true Christian—a crucial quality in his book. Clearly, she had hidden who she really was, until it was almost too late. At least, she’d hidden it from him, if not from his teammates who had seemed relieved to see her go. So what, exactly, had he overlooked that had nearly cost him everything?
Perhaps, her career had meant too much to her. Yes, that had to be it. She’d enjoyed a prestigious position as a civilian secretary for the most elite strike force in the world—SEAL Team Six, also known as DEVGRU. But when it came to choosing between stealing at the behest of Commander Dwyer or doing the right thing and not stealing, she had made the morally wrong choice, ensuring she kept her job.
Amazingly, Dwyer had given her an alibi, even though Master Chief had practically caught her red-handed. Dwyer claimed Monica had gone to Spec Ops on Labor Day to shut down his computer. Dwyer had then transferred her to a different office within DEVGRU. At least Lucas didn’t have to look at her every time he went to work.
Next time, if there is a next time, he told himself, I won’t choose a woman whose career matters more than her relationship. I’ll pick a sweet, uncomplicated woman who puts God and family before everything else.
With that new plan in place, Lucas turned off the shower feeling better about himself and his future.
FBI Special Agent Casey Fitzpatrick was as Irish looking as his name suggested. His auburn hair was the first thing Lucas noticed as he and Saul entered the man’s office to greet him, then his colorful attire and spry frame. He had left his sky-blue suit jacket hanging on the back of the chair and rolled up the sleeves of his button-up shirt—white with blue-and-pink stripes.
“Call me Fitz,” the agent said as they all introduced themselves.
With bright green eyes and lines of experience etched into his freckled face, Fitz reminded Lucas of a fox, a man who’d been around the block a time or two.
“Have a seat,” he added, waving them toward the leather armchairs facing his polished oak desk.
The chairs creaked in protest as Saul and Lucas dropped into them. Lucas’s gaze went straight to the certificates, diplomas, and awards festooning the opposite wall. Fitz had been recognized by the New York City Police Department for meritorious service. He had graduated with a bachelor’s degree from one prestigious university and a master’s degree from another. On top of that, he’d received an award given by the FBI. The odds of finding Charlotte Patterson and possibly proving Jaguar’s innocence seemed suddenly less bleak.
Returning to his high-backed chair, Fitz took closer stock of his visitors while rubbing a medallion that hung from a sturdy chain around his neck.
“I used to watch you play football, didn’t I?” he asked, focusing on Lucas first. “You’re Jonathan Strong, aren’t you?”
“Yes, sir. But I go by Lucas now.”
Fitz’s eyes glinted with interest. “What caused you to change your car
eer?”
“I made a promise to God,” Lucas said. People either wanted to know more, or they changed the subject.
Fitz fell into the latter category, looking over at Saul. “Native American ancestry?” he guessed, noting Saul’s mahogany ponytail and the gold hoop adorning his left ear.
“Yes, sir, my grandfather was Creek.”
“Where are you from?”
“Oklahoma, sir. Broken Arrow, Oklahoma.”
“Well, you’re an impressive pair,” the special agent said, sitting back and glancing down at the notes in front of him. “I understand from speaking with your master chief that a colleague of yours is in a pickle. You all believe your commander, Daniel Dwyer, has been stealing weapons in advance of other SEAL teams. Unfortunately, proof of Dwyer’s thefts went missing along with NCIS intern Charlotte Patterson as she was delivering it into the hands of the DIA. You still require that proof since your colleague, one Lieutenant Jonah Mills—aka Jaguar—is being prosecuted for assaulting his commander with a weapon while not on duty. Did I get all that right?”
“Yes, sir,” Lucas said, impressed with the man’s grasp of the situation. His hopes rose in anticipation of the news Rivera had passed on—that Patterson had been located.
“I think we can help you,” Fitz admitted. “But first you’ll need to do something for me.”
“Bring Patterson back?” he guessed.
“That’s not all,” Fitz warned. He leveled them with a look that commanded Lucas’s full attention. “I’m about to tell you something that stays within these walls,” he added quietly.
Lucas glanced at Saul, then sent Fitz a silent nod. “Agreed.”
“We are aware that your commander has been stealing weapons.”
Relief welled up in Lucas only to freeze at Fitz’s next words.
“For the time being, however, we can’t let Dwyer know that he’s been made. We want the man he works for. Dwyer doesn’t call the shots with The Entity, as this group has been called. Someone else is in charge, but we don’t have enough proof to arrest him. We’re getting there.”
Lucas exchanged a charged look with Saul.
Fitz elaborated. “The Entity is comprised of a handful of powerful men, military and civilian, most of whom have top-secret clearance and access to classified information. As such, they are influential and highly organized. They have allied themselves around a common goal—stockpiling weapons that would otherwise find their way into the hands of our enemies. As such, they view themselves as peacekeepers. After all, you SEALs seize weapons for the same purpose, but you destroy them; you don’t horde them. These men were neither elected nor chosen to protect our country. Their actions are illegal, and they must be stopped.”
“Commander Dwyer is no peacekeeper, sir,” Lucas assured the agent. “We’ve come up with at least three people he’s killed or tried to kill. We assumed he had killed Charlotte Patterson, too.”
“She’s not dead,” Fitz assured them, pulling his keyboard closer. “Let me tell you how we found her.”
Intrigued, Lucas watched as the special agent opened a document on his computer and scanned it.
“The first thing to turn up was her vehicle, a brand-new Ford Mustang, left on the side of the road in the wake of an apparent hit-and-run. We found her purse and identification in the vehicle but nothing else—certainly not the iPad she was taking to the DIA.”
Fitz pulled his desk drawer open, withdrew a badge on a lanyard, and slid it across his desk toward Lucas. “This is what she looks like.”
Lucas realized he was holding Charlotte Patterson’s NCIS badge, identifying her as an intern. She had short auburn hair and cherry-brown eyes that shone with intelligence and daring.
“Patterson herself had disappeared,” Fitz continued. “We were stymied for days, until the Coast Guard came to us with footage of a man carrying a woman matching Patterson’s description aboard a yacht. Using taped satellite imagery and marine radio communications, we managed to trace the yacht’s route to a small island in the Bahamas, privately owned and purchased by Roger Holden in 1997.”
“Who is Holden?” Saul growled, surprised by his own feeling of outrage on behalf of the woman whose photo he was looking at.
The FBI agent smiled thinly. “A Texas oilman turned senator. When his radical right-wing platform caused him to lose his seat in Congress, he left the country, stopped paying taxes, and forfeited his US citizenship. Interestingly, his plantation home is walled and protected by twenty or so armed men.”
“You think he’s a member of The Entity,” Lucas guessed. “What if they stash the stolen weapons on Holden’s island?”
“We intend to find out,” Fitz assured him. “But the island is out of our jurisdiction. That’s why I need you to recon the island for me, grab Patterson, and bring her home. I’ll supply everything you need logistically, but our collaboration has to be completely off the records. The Entity has eyes and ears everywhere, even in the Department of Justice. I can’t risk exposing what I know. Do you agree to my terms?”
Lucas considered the logistics. Planning operations—planning anything, really—was his forte. Apart from his failed marriage plans, which somehow had been firmly in a blind spot he hadn’t even known he had, he was recognized for considering every contingency, every conceivable outcome.
“How many men are needed?” he inquired.
“The fewer the better. The whole operation shouldn’t take more than two men or last more than twenty-four hours. Apart from his security guards, Holden’s property is fairly penetrable. I have all the intel you need to plan your approach.”
Lucas turned and met Saul’s glinting eyes. The Reaper couldn’t resist a challenge involving stealth under a time constraint.
“I’ll need to look at the intel.” Lucas wouldn’t make promises he couldn’t keep.
Fitz pointed a remote control at the large monitor hanging on the wall next to them. “Can’t say I blame you,” he said, powering it on and simultaneously switching off the lights.
For the next twenty minutes, Lucas and Saul examined photos of Holden’s island. Satellite images showed a sheltered bay for boats, which was the only way to access the island as it wasn’t big enough for a runway. Other images appeared to have been taken from a boat, using a long-range lens.
“Look right here.” Using a laser pointer, the agent pointed to a second-story window in the photo they were perusing.
Lucas spied a pale face peeking out from under a raised shutter. As blurry as the image was, the shock of red hair identified her.
“That’s Patterson,” he said, comparing the image with the photo in his hands.
“We think so, too,” Fitz agreed.
The slide show abruptly ended, and Fitz turned on the lights. “These images, plus everything else you need to know, is on this thumb drive.” He dipped a hand into his suit pocket and passed it off to Lucas, while gesturing for the badge back.
“I’ll keep that for now. Time is of the essence, gentlemen.” He eyed the SEALs expectantly. “Can you help or not?”
Lucas looked over at Saul, who sent him a minimal nod of assent.
“We can,” Lucas agreed. He looked at his watch. “Today’s Thursday. We can leave by tomorrow night.”
“That will work. Meet me Friday at 8 p.m. at the private airfield next to Norfolk International. A friend of mine owns a jet. He’ll fly you to his second home in the Bahamas and brief you on the way down. From there, you’ll take his boat as close to the island as he can get you. You can go the rest of the way by dingy. Bring your wetsuits and your personal weapons.”
Lucas nodded. Something Fitz had said earlier prompted him to ask, “You said there was more we had to do than just rescue the target.”
“Ah, yes.” The agent slid his hands into his front pockets. “I’ll need you to protect Patterson until The Entity is rounded up. You see, she has a photographic memory, which means anything that was on Elwood’s iPad might also be in her head, at lea
st for a short while longer. After three weeks or so, the memories fade and she’s less of a threat.”
“Is that why she wasn’t killed, just kidnapped?”
Fitz narrowed his eyes. “I can’t answer that question,” he answered inscrutably.
Can’t or won’t? Lucas wondered. “You’re asking us to protect her until her memories have faded,” he reiterated.
“Until I tell you she’s safe,” Fitz amended. “It won’t be for long.”
“Why can’t you put her in a safe house?” Saul asked.
Fitz gave a short laugh. “The Entity would know it in a heartbeat. They’re too well connected. They would also realize she’s been talking to the FBI, and the leader would pull the plug. I can’t have him leaving the country where I can’t get to him.”
The words inflamed Lucas’s imagination. Just how big and far-reaching was The Entity? And who was their leader?
“I guess it makes sense for us to protect her,” he reasoned, “since she promised she could help Jaguar. Maybe she still can.”
Fitz put a finger up. “About that. You realize any mention of The Entity would compromise my investigation.”
Lucas regarded him, thunderstruck. “How are we going to prove Lieutenant Mills’s innocence without bringing up Dwyer’s connection to The Entity?”
Fitz grimaced apologetically. “You may not be able to. But here’s my offer. In exchange for protecting Patterson, I promise if Jonah Mills is convicted, his conviction will be overturned after I make my arrests.”
Lucas’s expectations wavered. “I’m sure that would be appreciated, sir, but in the meantime, Mills is being kept in the brig away from his family. He could be dishonorably discharged.”
Fitz shook his head. “I’m sorry. I really am. Maybe you can cast Dwyer’s testimony into doubt some other way. But, as I said, you are forbidden from mentioning The Entity, whatever you do.”
Every Secret Thing Page 2