Page 52 of Identity Unknown

“Vuelos de la muerte. Death flights. Unfortunately, they’renothing new,” Gus agrees. “During Argentina’s Dirty War thousands were killed in a similar fashion.”

“The MO’s always the same,” Benton explains. “Once on board the aircraft the victims were stripped of their clothing and all personal effects. They were drugged into compliance before being pushed out over an ocean, a river, the mountains, where they’d most likely never be found.”

“Also a Russian specialty, and at various times practiced by the Japanese, the Indonesians, the French, the Colombians,” Gus adds. “Typically, the hostages are first injected with an anesthetic like Pentothal.”

“Known as truth serum in the old days,” says the NSA.

“And used in executions by lethal injection,” I inform them. “Sodium thiopental isn’t made in the U.S. anymore, but we’ll screen for it and other drugs.”

“It’s estimated that between the late seventies and early eighties, tens of thousands of people were disappeared in this fashion,” Gus goes on. “Death flights, poisonings, prison camps, torture, mental asylums create fear and destabilization that lead to a collapse of civilized society. It plays right into the hands of ruthless dictators.”

“Except the body was found in this instance,” Marino reminds everyone. “There wasn’t much of an effort todisappearit. No matter what, it would have been found eventually.”

“The goal isn’t to conceal what happened to Sal Giordano, quite the opposite,” Benton says. “The point is the ruination of any semblance of peace of mind. The very thing that terrorists like Carrie Grethen are gifted at.” He brings her up and I’m not surprised.

“I understand we don’t know where she is,” I reply, watching Marino’s reaction to the news.

“What the fuck?” he says under his breath. But I hear his amplified voice fine, as can everyone else.

“We lost track of her in December and don’t know where she is right now.” Benton has no expression on his face but I sense the contempt he feels for her. “However, we have an idea what she’s been doing.”

“Starting with Russia’s role in Israel’s war against Hamas and the resulting global mayhem,” Interpol says. “The Kremlin has provided material support to that terrorist organization and others in part to sow chaos.”

“And to pull the U.S. into another war in an ongoing effort to weaken us,” General Gunner says.

“Then Carrie Grethen could be in the Middle East,” Marino suggests.

“Or she may still be in Russia,” the CIA’s Gus Gutenberg replies.

“Or here,” I add.

“We simply don’t know,” Gus says.

“How the hell could you let that happen?” Marino yanks off his soiled outer gloves, throwing them into the trash. “Jesus Christ! The entire U.S. government can’t keep their eye on one person? And now she could be here? In Virginia? Even as we speak? Like we need to worry about that again?”

“Nobodyletit happen,” Lucy says. “When she decides to go dark, that’s what she does. She’s invisible when she wants to be.”

“Let’s be reminded of a few facts.” Marino works his gloved hands into a new outer pair. “There are plenty of stories about people and livestock being dropped out of UFOs, UAPs, flying disks, whatever you want to call them.”

“Endless stories and no credible evidence,” says AARO.

“It’s easy to blame Carrie Grethen for everything,” Marino continues. “Well, unless she’s got access to a UFO that can beam people up while they’re driving, then maybe we should be looking for something else.”

“Nobody’s said anything about people being beamed up.” AARO again.

“You want to explain how his truck went off the mountain with no one in it and the engine running, the doors locked and the seat belts still fastened?” Marino argues.

“Wouldn’t be all that hard to stage in an old pickup truck like that,” Lucy says.

“Seat belts as in plural?” Bella’s voice inside my hood sounds perplexed.

“Those in the front seats,” Lucy tells her.

“Did he have someone with him at the time?”

“Not that anyone knows of,” Lucy answers. “When he was witnessed getting into his truck and driving out of the restaurant parking lot after dinner, he appeared to be alone.”

“At eight-thirty, it would have been dark,” Bella replies. “Maybe the witness didn’t get a good look.”

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