Page 36 of Red Line

“Not so easy. The shithead beneath us shot a hole into the fuel tank, so things got a little hairy from there. We set down. And we weren’t alone.”

“Grey was on the phone, so I guess you turned the fighters around?”

“In the end,” T-Rex said. “Grey is alive and well, working to keep America safe by finding and stopping terror funding.”

That whole thing of getting dragged out of the prison from a helicopter flying down the street? That was some wicked badassery performed by all. Man, Nomad would have loved to have been part of that mission. That would have been a story to tell his grandchildren when he was sitting in his wheelchair, eating mush with a bib tied under his chin. “So, honestly, you don’t think it’s a great big coincidence that we went into Syria after Poole, and she’s working on the border?”

“I seriously doubt it,” T-Rex said. “Hand me that water, will yah?”

Nomad uncapped the bottle and handed it forward.

After a swig, T-Rex added. “From what I know of Red—and these are things I picked up working with John Grey and John Green, Red’s focus is on finding the western millionaires that buy conflict relics, thereby funding ISIS at the height of the Syrian war. Some of that money went into Afghanistan. But the relics that were being sold came mostly out of Iraq and Syria.”

“Okay, that’s how she rubs elbows with social circles.”

“Rumint—” Havoc used the term for rumor-intelligence “—says that her father was from a royal family, and he worked for the American State Department.”

“No royal blood in my family. But if she’s about my age, then maybe I know her. Does the rumint place her in any particular location? Are we talking European royalty?”

“No. Jordan? Syrian, maybe?” Havoc shrugged.

“Grain of salt,” T-Rex said slowly. “And don’t spread rumint about Middle Eastern royalty around Ty.”

“There’s a story there?” Nomad asked.

“Not mine to tell, brother,” T-Rex said. “But yeah, from what I heard Grey and Green saying, with Red’s background, she could be your sister.”

“I don’t think so,” Nomad said, “at least not from the shape of her lips and chin.”

“We need a better photograph.” Havoc reached up to adjust the lenses on his night vision.

T-Rex swiped to bring up the GPS map. “We’re getting close to the turn, Havoc. I’ll let you know. Okay, let’s talk this through. You’re Red; what would you do?”

“If I was in the field, hurt and disoriented,” Nomad said, trying to imagine a polished socialite moving through this kind of situation. And he couldn’t. “I’d go to ground until I could figure out how to reach out to my team.”

“Unless you had a gaping wound,” Havoc said. “Is this where I turn?”

“Almost there.” T-Rex was focused on the phone. The men were silent until T-Rex said. “Okay, here.”

“Depends on how gaping,” Nomad said. “I carry a tube of bonding glue. Wash it out, stick it back together.

“The intel file says that Red’s been sick and not containing the illness with the normal meds they carry.” T- Rex pointed out his window. “And turn again here.” He waited for Havoc to get on the new road. “It’s straight on. So in about thirty minutes, you can start looking for a nice little space to tuck us into so we can get some shut-eye.”

“Wilco.”

“No more information about the illness?” Nomad asked. “This isbeforethe bombing.”

“About the same time,” T-Rex said. “Grey noted that when they were on a video call, Red didn’t turn on her camera to show her face.”

“Did she think that if they saw that she was in rough shape, they’d make her stand down, and whatever she was up to wouldn’t get covered?”

“If that’s true,” Havoc said, “she must have been latched onto something important.

She might know of a local doctor who would let her slip in after hours. That might be where she’s holed up.”

“Great, how do you suggest we find this local doctor?” Nomad asked.

“Wouldn’t all the doctors be at the hospital dealing with the mass casualty event?” Havoc asked.

---