Open Season by Cameron Curtis (great novels TXT) 📕

be found dead in bed the next morning.”

Koenig protests. “But everyone would know it was a murder.”

I shrug. “Sure, as they would had he used a gun or a knife. He needed an alibi. To be somewhere else at the time she died. The effects of an overdose are so variable, she would go into a coma and die hours later. It suited his purposes perfectly.”

“Except,” Koenig says, “people would suspect a medic. Someone with familiarity and access to drugs.”

“This is a combat zone,” I say. “Morphine is the easiest drug to get around here. Yes, he has extensive experience with morphine. In fact, that is a perfect argument for his innocence. An experienced battlefield medic knows how much morphine it takes to OD a five-foot-seven, one hundred and thirty-five-pound woman. He wouldn’t load her with enough to tranquilize a horse.”

“Why?” General Anthony asks. “I cannot believe anyone would commit murder to derail a peace deal.”

“That is one question.” My voice is soft. “The other question is—who was Lopez working for? Lopez is not a big fish. Whoever wants Trainor dead may try again.”

“Shahzad wants to restart talks,” the general says. “When we get back to DC, some hard decisions need to be made.”

I hate the duplicity Stein has drawn me into. “Above my pay grade, General.”

“You two.” The general sounds tired. “Return to quarters and get some sleep.”

“With your permission, General, I’ll sleep here,” I tell them. “I think it best Sergeant Trainor not leave my sight.”

33

The Survivors’ Club

Bagram

Saturday, 0200

I’m sitting in a visitor’s chair next to Robyn. There’s a knock on the door. Under an open copy of Newsweek, I hold the Mark 23 on my lap.

Takigawa and Ballard enter.

“Mind if we join you guys?” Takigawa says.

“You can put the iron away, Breed.” Ballard is carrying a shorty... an HK416 with a ten-inch barrel. He wears a chest rig with spare mags. Takigawa carries a Mark 23 in a hip holster. Bulges in the pockets of his field jacket look like hand grenades.

“We thought you might be a bit paranoid,” Takigawa says, “so we came together. Here we are, the brothers and sister of the Kagur Valley survivors club.”

Ballard sits in a visitor’s chair on the other side of Robyn’s bed. Rests the carbine across his knees. “To feel unsafe, you’d have to believe all three of us… Lopez, Takigawa and me… are dirty.”

“There was a time I wondered.” Robyn’s face darkens.

“You’ll leave here alive,” Takigawa says. “Then you’ll know.”

“Where’s Koenig?” I ask.

Takigawa grins. “Back at the barracks, sleeping like a baby.”

“We figured you guys would have to sleep sometime.” Ballard adjusts his glasses. “Anyone wants a crack will have to get through us.”

“You guys are great,” Robyn says. “I appreciate it, really.”

“What happened to you?” Takigawa asks Robyn.

“I was asleep. The guy came in, held me down, and stuck a needle in my arm. I fought him off. One of the ladies came in to see what the noise was all about. After that, you know more about it than I do.”

Ballard shakes his head. “Robyn, you were right about Lopez all along. I’m sorry.”

Robyn shrugs.

“I don’t understand why Lopez would go bad like that,” Takigawa says.

“It had to be money,” I tell him. “That picture of a Shelby on his bedroom wall? I think that’s his car. A replica sells in the six figures. Originals sell for seven.”

“He never bragged about it,” Ballard says.

“He wouldn’t. And he keeps it under wraps back home. Had a photo blown up and made into a poster. To remind himself what he was working for.”

Takigawa blinks. “I can’t believe any of us would kill an American soldier for money.”

“Think again,” Ballard tells him. “The special operations community has grown in the last fifteen years. Bound to be bad apples in the box.”

“How many times have we bullshitted about how easy it would be to rob a bank? With our capability, nobody could stop us.” I meet each soldier’s eyes in turn. “With the drawdown, operators are being discharged into the population. Lopez may have been thinking ahead to retirement.”

I close the Newsweek, set it on a side table. “Guys, excuse me. I have to make a phone call.”

Ballard smiles, pats his rifle. “No sweat.”

I stick the pistol in my waistband and tug my shirt over it. Take my phone and go into the hospital waiting room. I collapse into an armchair, stretch my legs, and hit Stein’s speed dial.

“You’ve been busy,” Stein says.

“Stein, if you know anything more, you have to tell me.”

“I don’t know anything more.”

“Lopez shot Grissom, then gave him the push. Shot Robyn in the back, then tried to OD her. This doesn’t end with him. They’re going to try again.”

“Since when is it Robyn?”

“Don’t deflect. These people are serious about killing her. This last attempt was clumsy and desperate. Anything can happen.”

“Get her to DC and I’ll have enhanced security. Until then, you’re on your own.”

“There’s a Delta detail in her room right now. God help anyone who surprises them. I’ve got a nerd with birth control glasses and an HK416 pointed at the door. A crazy samurai with a .45, and hand grenades in his pockets. Now I’m worried some Tali with a Stinger will take a shot at our plane.”

“Got something to worry about there.”

“We aren’t thinking about this the right way.”

“You mean I’m not thinking about this the right way.”

“I’m being nice.”

“Be yourself.”

“Who stands to gain if the peace deal with Zarek collapses?”

“Shahzad, Al Qaeda, whoever was running Lopez.”

“Who can project power?”

“Al Qaeda.” Stein hesitates. “You’re not serious.”

“Think we’re the only ones who can go to war as a coalition? Whoever wants Robyn dead can partner with Al Qaeda. America’s borders are porous. They have sleeper cells.”

“You are serious.”

“If you want Robyn to meet the highest authority, think outside the box.”

34

Safe House

Falls Church

Saturday, 1730

The rotation of the Earth can be your enemy or your friend.

Ask any sniper who has to deal with the Coriolis effect. Over long