Page 62 of PSYCHOlogical

“Your oh-shit meter went to redline. Correct?”

“Correct, Sir.”

“Well, mine is in the red zone right now, Briggs.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, even though I had an idea of where he was headed.

“It’s no secret we take orders from the Office of the DNI,” he said, his tone nearly a whisper. “They’re in charge of the strings, and we’re the respective puppets. I don’t think for one goddamned minute that we’re the only puppets they’re in charge of.”

“I’m at a loss, Sir.”

He closed his eyes. His jaw tensed. A nearly silent growl escaped him. When he opened his eyes, the intensity had returned. “It’s my professional opinion that the Office of the DNI was involved in the elimination of Pike and Wallace.”

He was more intelligent than I gave him credit of being. Now that he’d mentioned the theory, I could press him for information regarding what he knew—and what he suspected—without causing him to raise his brows at my interest.

“Holy shit, Sir,” I exclaimed. I gazed at the floor for a moment, and then feigned a revelation. “I can see the DNI’s office killing Wallace, because he’s a shit-bird, and a worthless excuse for a man. Why Pike? Why eliminate a talented and experienced operator?”

He sat down. “I’m convinced the DNI is eventually going to eliminate us all,” he whispered. “This is only the beginning. Those two were involved in something shady, I’m telling you.”

“I’ve wondered the same, Sir.” I sat in the chair across from him. “May I ask what brings you to that conclusion?”

He glanced out his window, faced me, and then leaned forward. “When I got here this morning, it was 1530 in Somalia. I made a few inquiries regarding Shephard. After speaking to the commander of SEAL Team Two, I found out several things. One, Shephard was supposed to arrive in Somalia to support the SEAL’s efforts. Two, he did not show up. Therefore, his KIA status—which I received from the DNI—is complete and utter bullshit. He’s dead, no doubt, but he wasn’t killed in Somalia. In my opinion, he was the first in this program to be targeted.”

I covered my face with my hands and exhaled an audible breath into my palms. When I opened my hands, I gave Lt. Colonel Martin a wide-eyed look. “Do you think this was an in-house operation?”

“Marines don’t kill marines, Briggs. This is some cloak and dagger operation out of Washington, D.C. Be advised, the DNI has many operations like this one. I’m sure one or more of them utilize a handful of worthless washed-up fucks from the Army’s special forces. One of those immoral pricks must have done this.”

“Is there anyone you can go to for answers?” I asked. “To find out what happened?”

“Not a soul,” he said. “We receive orders from a ghost.”

I acted surprised. “A ghost?”

“A fucking ghost. A man I’ve never met, and never will meet. The DNI’s office is covering their asses, and rightfully so.”

“You have no idea who he is?”

He shook his head. “The only man who might come close to knowing was swapping spit with Pike right before they hit that telephone pole on River Road.”

I sighed. “What’s the plan, Sir?”

“Keep your head on a fucking swivel,” he said. “If anything seems out of order, kill first, ask questions later.”

“Kill first, ask questions later.” I gave a sharp nod. “Aye aye, Sir.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Val

Ipulled the tines of the fork past my tightened lips. “I’ve never cared for cauliflower before,” I admitted. “But this is so good.”

“Thank you,” Vincent said. “Parmesan, olive oil, and garlic. It’s simple.”

I raised a bite of the cooked-to-perfection filet. “The steak is perfect, too.”

He grinned. “Thank you.”

“A man that can cook,” I said. “A rare find, indeed.”