“Not in any database you’d have had access to,” Vargas assured her. “But you aren’t far.”
“Why the blind arrival? Our instructions indicated Mitchell would be moved anyway—”
“Mitchell will be relocated, but this estate will not. Maintaining its secrecy maintains its usefulness. But that’s not what you came here to discuss,” Vargas said, what little patience he’d had for her questions hardening like cold tree sap. “Your pickup has been removed and your things collected—when you’ve got what you came for, we’ll deliver you safely to Puerto Limón.”
“Where’s my pack?” It hadn’t been her first concern, but now that things began to settle, and adrenaline began to ebb, Cooper felt the loss of her rifle.
“Safe, as are you,” Vargas explained.
“Yeah, I feel real fuckin’ safe.” Will jerked his head toward the pistol at Vargas’s side.
“Your feelings are inconsequential. You are safe—Mr. Harrigan’s contract with Atlantic Insurance & Investments guarantees it. As I’ve said, we will leave you at your truck when our business is concluded.”
Will’s body went tight, and he clenched his fists. Cooper slipped her fingers over the back of his hand, lacing them with his when he relaxed. She got it. Fear and adrenaline and bad memories were riding him to the edge of panic and anger was an easier emotion.
But one he couldn’t indulge in. Not right now.
“Fine,” Will said, loosening his stance. “Let’s start there. How’d a guy like Felix Harrigan manage to set up all of this?”
“Mr. Harrigan inherited his grandfather’s account with our firm—we were only too happy to accommodate his request.”
Will shook his head. “That doesn’t square up. Felix was from the bad side of Boston—”
Vargas barked out a laugh. “Is that what he told you?”
“He had the accent to prove it.”
“Mr. Harrigan’s father was, indeed, from South Boston. His mother, however, was Rebecca Gershwin.”
“And?” Will asked.
“General Gershwin’s daughter.”
“Wait—as in the former vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff? That General Gershwin?” Cooper asked.
“The same,” Vargas confirmed. “The Gershwins are an old family, and they’ve had an account with us for a number of years.”
Yeah, the guy said years, but Cooper heard decades. But she tamped down on the questions. AI&I wasn’t what had brought her here.
Next to her, Will shifted and rubbed a hand over his beard. “He led me to believe he was poor. Used to tell me stories about the old neighborhood . . .” Hurt added depth to toneless words and Cooper reminded herself that this man, this brave, selfless, resilient man, couldn’t take any more lies or betrayals.
“Not untrue,” Vargas admitted. “His mother was disowned for the marriage. It wasn’t until General Gershwin passed several years ago that Mr. Harrigan would have received his inheritance—and his grandfather’s account with us.”
Will visibly relaxed, even as Vargas stepped away from the wall. “But again, it appears we’ve gotten off track. Come inside. Sit down and ask your questions.”
She glanced at Will, who shrugged, then followed her toward the door.
“Please, have some water,” Mitchell said, gesturing to the bottles he’d set on a side table. “I know the knockout gas must have left you dehydrated.”
Cooper picked up a bottle, handed it back to Will, then screwed off the top of her own. She followed Mitchell into a sprawling living area and through to a dining room and a table laden with food.
“Help yourself,” Mitchell said, taking a seat on the other side. He sipped from a glass of orange juice, condensation beading and slipping down the side, then asked, “Where would you like to start?”
“I . . .” It should have been an easy question. Everything, everything had led to this moment. Cole’s attack. Eighteen months on the run. Every contract hit she’d accepted just so she could keep going, keep searching. For this. For answers. A laugh that tasted like bile bubbled up her throat and with it, one question rose above the rest.
“Why?”
Mitchell set his glass down with a chuckle. “How banal—money, of course. And power, I suppose, though really those are often one and the same.”
“No.” Cooper cut him off with a quick jerk of her head. “Why Cole?” She’d always wondered—of all the teams in the CIA, why them? Had it just been their shit luck that they’d been singled out? Or had Cole volunteered for something she hadn’t known about?
“I’m afraid you’ll need to be more specific.”
“Why was Cole selected—”
“I’m afraid I don’t remember most names—far too many to keep track of—and my files are stripped of identifying details like names and social security numbers. I’ll need you to be specific—which testing group was your friend a part of?”
Cooper gripped the back of a heavy, carved chair. “There was more than one?”
Mitchell had the audacity to laugh. “Dozens. Endless applications meant endless studies—your friend Cole is merely the tip of the iceberg.” He speared a piece of melon as if he hadn’t just admitted to large-scale illegal medical testing. “But I’m curious if he, like your friend there,” he said, tipping his head toward Will, “was one of mine.”
“One of yours?” she asked, her voice distant and hollow as she slowly turned her head toward Will, her brain whirring to keep pace.
“What are you talking about?” Will asked, the blood draining from his face.
Mitchell laughed. “I don’t know why, but I expected you two would have put more of this together.” He turned his dark brown gaze on Will. “Didn’t you wonder why Harrigan was killed? Why Miss Reed was ordered to take out an entire team?”
“I was told they were selling state secrets,” Cooper said quietly. “But they’d actually discovered what you were doing. They were going to expose the experiments.”
“Yes, and you were used to prevent that from happening.” Mitchell paused, his eyes studying her as if he were waiting for a question or realization. When it didn’t come, he continued. “Killing that team was neatly done—the CIA prevented the leak and destroyed the evidence in one fell swoop.”
“What evidence?” Will ground out. “And what does that have to do with me?”
“Blood work, obviously. Living tissue samples.” Mitchell waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, nothing that would appear on a standard test, but if someone was looking for something? A single vial of blood from any of those men could have exposed everything.” Mitchell studied Will, ran his assessing gaze over every inch of his face, then down his body. “You were part of a different testing group, and so far as the CIA knew, ignorant of the trials.” Mitchell shrugged. “At the outset, the CIA took a more conservative approach to cleaning up that mess. It wasn’t until later that the program was ordered fully shut down and dismantled, all participants either placed under surveillance or scrubbed entirely.”
“Conservative?” Cooper choked out. “I was used to kill an entire team of men and you call that conservative?”
“A half-dozen people versus nearly fourteen hundred program participants? Yes. I’d call that conservative.” He rolled his eyes. “Not all of them were ordered destroyed—”
“You’re not talking about tissue samples and test results,” Cooper snarled. “You’re talking about people.”
“All the same.” Mitchell inclined his head. “Once the CIA realized their program had been compromised, they went about systematically destroying the evidence—and ensuring that people like me couldn’t blow the whistle. When I ran, I never expected to get another program update, let alone see the results of three years of study. Yet here you are, Mr. Bennett. I’d recognize my work anywhere.”
“What did you do?” he asked, his voice so cold and sharp that Vargas moved farther into the room.
“Nothing you shouldn’t be thanking me for.” He chuckled.
“Did you really believe that you survived a year in captivity on strength of will alone?” Mitchell shook his head.
“How did you—”
“Please.” Mitchell waved him off. “Vargas was very thorough—not much slips past AI&I, as I’m sure you’ve realized. I know a great deal about you, Mr. Bennett, though there was less to find on you, Miss Reed, outside of your indiscretion in Afghanistan, of course.” He grinned at her, as if that were some sort of accomplishment, then turned back to Will. “How many times were you tortured? Beaten? How many times did infection set in and fever take over?”
A muscle ticked in Will’s jaw, and Cooper could practically hear him grind his teeth.
“Once or twice.”
A smile curled the edge of Mitchell’s mouth. “More than that, I’d bet. Based on what I’ve heard, exposure alone should have killed you. Jungle rot should have taken more than that ear,” he said, nodding toward the side of Will’s head. “How many times were you at death’s door? How many times did a fever sweep through your body?” His voice turned serious. “It burned hotter, didn’t it? Longer.”
“You did that,” Will realized aloud.
“Yes. We delivered a genetically modified serum as part of a standard round of vaccines. A relatively simple modification to your immune system, at the end of the day. You recover quickly and can subsist on less.” Again, Mitchell ran an assessing gaze over Will’s body. “A year in captivity—you should be more than half starved. But already you’re bouncing back. Putting on muscle. When was the last fever?” he asked, his tone pure scientific curiosity. When Will didn’t answer, he guessed. “Days, I’d bet. A week or two at most. Quite remarkable, even if it is self-congratulatory to say.”
“You had no right!” Will shouted.
“And yet, here you are. Alive and healthy because of it. Any tedious questions you have about the trial itself are in the files I’ll provide you. So let’s move on, shall we?” As if entirely oblivious to Will’s seething rage, Mitchell turned to Cooper. “I only oversaw a handful of the trials—which program was Cole a part of?”
Cooper glanced at Will, but when he just jerked his head in a nod, she said, “I only know the basics. It involved scopolamine and—”
“Ah, yes.” He pulled a laptop from the seat next to him and opened the lid. “One of the obedience studies.”
“He’s not a dog,” Will snapped, jerking a chair away from the table and then collapsing into it. “Or some beast for you to train and command at will.”
Mitchell’s gaze never left the screen. “Of course he was. You all are,” he corrected, his fingers flying over the keys. “The military’s elite. Their dogs of war—something I believe your kind take pride in.” He stopped typing and a slick, oily smile cut a line through his face. “Tell me, Mr. Bennett. How many men and women do you think volunteered for our trials? Fifty percent? Sixty?”
“You had volunteers?” Cooper whispered.
Mitchell shot her a strange look. “Of course, though they all thought the program was sanctioned and classified. And who could blame them? It’s what we all want, isn’t it? To be special, exceptional even. To be the very best at what we do—” he cut his gaze to Will—“isn’t that what drove you into Delta? Or Miss Reed into sniper school? Everyone wants an edge, and most are willing to gamble to get it. Even with their lives.”
Mitchell grinned. “Now, give me the details on your friend Cole. These files are redacted for personal information, but of the few dozen participants in this particular study, we should be able to narrow it down. Blood type?” he asked.
“O negative,” Cooper supplied, and Mitchell narrowed the search.
“Height?”
“Six-one.”
“Hair and eye color?”
“Brown and brown.” It hurt, summing Cole up in body parts and blood type. As if he were nothing more than a lab rat, barely distinguishable from all the rest.
He was so much more. To her. To his friends. To his family—a wife who loved him and a daughter who probably didn’t remember him.
“Age?”
“Thirty-two.”
“And voila,” Mitchell said with a final keystroke. “Patient A-46971. Part of our cognitive programing trial.”
“She asked you a question,” Will reminded him on a snarl. “Why was Cole chosen?”
Mitchell glanced up from the computer. “I’m reviewing the patient history—”
“He wasn’t a patient! Or your personal fucking science project!” Is. Present tense, she reminded herself. Cole wasn’t dead or gone or forgotten. He still had a life and a future. “He’s a person and he didn’t ask for this.”
“No,” Dr. Mitchell agreed. “He didn’t.”
Coop let out a ragged sigh. Will reached for her, lacing their fingers together beneath the table.
“The goal for this particular trial was to decrease distractions in the field,” Mitchell explained.
“Distractions,” Cooper repeated woodenly.
“Too often missions are compromised by personal feelings or morals. Even loyalty between team members can become detrimental to the overall objective—”
“That’s crap,” Will said. “Spec ops teams rely on loyalty to get the job done. Knowing the guy in front of you would take a bullet, that the guy behind you would fall on a grenade—it’s everything.”
“A strength to be sure,” Mitchell agreed. “And a hindrance, too. Tell me, Mr. Bennett, how, exactly, did you end up a captive of one Colombia’s most infamous cartels?”
Beside her, Will went stock-still, anger hardening every muscle.
“You were captured on a mission, were you not? A raid against a Vega compound, if I have my facts right.”
A muscle jumped in his neck, but Will nodded.
“Let me guess—altruism, loyalty, brotherhood,” Mitchell all but sneered the words. “A gambling man would lay odds that at least one of those things led to your capture.”
Cooper glanced at Will, rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand.
“We had a man down.”
“And you stayed behind,” Mitchell crowed. “Compromising both yourself and the mission. Now tell me, Mr. Bennett, do you have any idea what it costs to train a man such as yourself? No? How about a SEAL? Or a sniper?” He nodded at Cooper. “Millions, in case you were wondering. Which makes men and women like you one of our military’s most valuable commodities. Expensive to train. Devastating to lose. And do you know why?” He sat back, his finger stroking the edge of his laptop. “Because men like you are rare. Not every recruit will qualify for specialized training. Even fewer will make it through the course itself.” He turned his gaze to Cooper. “How many people were in your class at sniper school?”
“Forty-three,” she admitted.
“And how many graduated?”
“Five,” she whispered. It was a number she’d once been so damn proud of. Now it tasted like ash in her mouth.
“The trials aimed to triple that. To take the people who had the raw potential for greatness and refine them into something more.”
“But Cole had already graduated sniper school. He already was on the cutting edge of our profession.”
“And yet, he had a history of disobeying orders, didn’t he?”
Air went thick and heavy and poisonous in her lungs. No.
“The goal for this particular trial was always two-fold. First, to increase the number of Special Forces candidates and ultimately broaden the pool of assets—”
“People, you son of a bitch,” Will snarled. “They are people.”
“To you, maybe, but to the men in Washington making minute-to-minute decisions? You’re just names on a list and pawns on a board. Assets and weapons to be leveraged in the war against whichever backwater nation is uppity this week.” Mitchell tittered, as if she and Will were painfully naive. “A valuable asset, to be sure, as all rare things are.”
“And the second goal of the trial?” Cooper asked, though she suspected sh
e already knew.
“Obedience,” Mitchell said on a shrug. “Single-minded devotion to the mission. No guilt or remorse or inconvenient sense of conscience.” He met her gaze head-on. “Tell me—how many times did you hesitate before pulling that trigger? How many times did you wonder if the person at the other end of your scope deserved the fate you were meting out?”
Cooper glanced away from his assessing gaze and pulled her hand, which had gone cold and slick with sweat, from Will’s.
She’d wondered. But rarely, and only after she’d pulled the trigger and completed the mission. For so long she’d considered her ability to compartmentalize a strength. But maybe if she’d courted doubt, maybe if she’d had a fucking conscience, maybe, just maybe, a team of good, decent men wouldn’t be dead.
She turned her gaze back to Mitchell and found him studying her with a small smile. “Don’t let it bother you, Miss Reed. Your devotion to the job does you credit and makes for a fascinating psychological profile. It was, however, a trait your partner didn’t share.”
“What are you saying?” Will asked. “That you chose Cole because of the occasional misgiving? We all have those. We all work around them.” As if he’d read her mind, Will glanced at her. “Before the kill or after, we all wonder if we did the right thing, Cooper.”
“And how much easier would your job be if you never had to?” Mitchell asked. “You’ve seen the darker side of progress, Miss Reed, and for that, I’m sorry. But what about all of the positive implications?”
She choked on a laugh. “There’s no upside to mind control.”
“Then you lack imagination.” Mitchell speared another piece of melon, chewed, then said, “Human genome mapping isn’t new. The last two decades have been nothing short of groundbreaking when it comes to identifying genetic markers, isolating the diseases and disabilities they cause, and finding new ways of treating them. But very little of that science has been applied to the brain.”
“For good reason,” Will ground out. “You’re playing with people’s identities. And for what?”
“How about a cure for PTSD?” Mitchell asked, raising an eyebrow. “Or simply the ability to prevent it in the first place?”
Fearless (Somerton Security Book 3) Page 20