Page 81 of Vaquero
Dooley motioned her to the recliner positioned alongside Dom, who was sound asleep. Oddly, Corpsmen Giacomo and Shaw were missing. There was no one else in sickbay but Meg and the captain.
He pulled up a rolling, swivel stool and straddled it, facing her. “I understand you held top-secret clearance while you served in the Army.”
She nodded. “Yes, I handled some intelligence. Very little, though. Mostly I was back-up for Lieutenant Underwood. He was the official intel guy.”
“Well, you’re not in the Army now, and that clearance no longer applies. But Senator Sullivan authorized me to read you in and share what little we know.” Dooley flicked his fingertips against his pant leg, as if ridding himself of an invisible piece of lint. “We believe Doctor Hazelton is an undercover agent working for the Matryoshkas. She’s recently been to Smolensk, as well as Minsk, both hotbeds of Matryoshka activity. While her legal name in the United Kingdom is Barbara Hazelton, we now know there is no Barbara Hazelton, at least not a thirty-four-year-old blonde who lives in London. The real Barbara Hazelton died on Rhode Island in 1979. The woman with Agent Juarez and Walker is Eva Bell. Yet even that name is misleading. Her parents were Russian immigrants who immigrated to England in the early nineties. Her real name, the name she was given at birth, was Eva Prostakov. Do you know what sleeper agents are?”
“Of course. They’re spies, operatives living in targeted foreign countries, some as young children. Their parents are the actual agents, but they indoctrinate their kids to perform as double-agents, too. On the outside, these families appear normal. But inside, they’re assassins waiting for orders to strike.”
“Exactly. Eva Bell’s parents were two such Russian immigrants, Elena and Sacha Prostakov. Soon after they arrived in England, they applied for citizenship, denounced their Russian citizenship, and changed their last name to Bell. They’d brought one daughter with them when they arrived, four-year-old Eva. For thirteen years, they lived in Aldershot, southwest of London. When she turned seventeen, Eva came to America for her engineering degree, then returned to England to work for the UK’s Proliferation and Nuclear Policy Institute.”
“And now she’s on the helo with Julio and Hotrod.”
His lips pinched. “Exactly.”
Meg took hold of Dom’s limp little hand, thankful for the small comfort touching him offered. She could barely swallow. “Is she still alive?”
“Yes. She’s been neutralized for now, unfortunately, not until after she tried to kill Hotrod. According to Sullivan, once they’re retrieved and off that island, Agent Juarez has been charged to immediately return her to FBI Headquarters in Washington, D.C.”
“I see.” Well, that figured. There went Meg’s plans for Julio’s return party. Darn Senator Sullivan and darn that liar, Hazelton. “But the FBI? Not CIA?”
Dooley shook his head. “No. Sorry, there’s more.”
God, what else?
Drawing in a deep breath that did nothing to calm her nerves, he said, “Someone sabotaged the Blackhawk that went down near Buckingham Palace last week. Thirteen Green Berets were killed. All evidence points to that saboteur being Hotrod. The Bureau is assisting in that investigation.”
Meg shook her head vehemently. “Was he even there?”
“No, but a SEAL like him wouldn’t need to be, would he?”
“He’s a former SEAL? Uh uh. Not Hotrod. He’s Army, a Nightstalker pilot. He wouldn’t do such a thing. Who told you that?”
Dooley’s lips pursed. “His Navy record. What else?”
“I don’t believe that. He can’t be Navy.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” She blinked, no longer sure what she knew.
He cocked his head. “Be very careful what you say next, Miss Duncan. We’re not in the States, and anything you say can and will be used against you. Not by me, though. You can trust me. Just don’t talk about this with anyone else. This is top-secret. You never know who’s listening.”
A shiver raced up her spine. “I won’t.”
“Good. So, tell me. Have you known Hotrod long enough that you’re willing to put your reputation, possibly your life, on the line to save his?” Dooley sat there expectantly waiting, his hazel eyes so sharp they seemed to be boring holes in her skull.
“I just met him,” she qualified, “but Hotrod seems so… legitimate. So honest. He helped Julio and me destroy the army that was trying to steal the plutonium from Hazelton, err, Eva Bell, and Charlie Brown, umm, err, Gregor Jorgensen.” Man, it was getting hard to keep track of everyone.
“Go on.”
Meg explained how she, Julio, and Hotrod had hidden high in the trees where they could easily launch rockets across the pit into the invading soldiers. How she’d gotten sick, and how Hotrod had taken the initiative to leave the cover of those trees, approach the warzone, make sure it was clear, then coordinate a safe exfil back to the Blackhawk. He’d looked so good. So brave. How could a man like him be guilty of sabotage? Not that he wasn’t qualified to do such a thing, but, no. Meg shook her head. She couldn’t imagine such a thing. Not Hotrod.
“So, in your limited experience with a man you’ve worked withonce” —Dooley emphasized that word to belittle her— “you’re willing to vouch for a man like Walker Judge?”
“Who?”
“Hotrod’s real name is Walker Judge, ma’am. He’s the disavowed Navy SEAL currently convicted of murdering his commanding officer in San Diego. There’s a nation-wide manhunt to locate him. The bastard’s on the FBI’s most wanted top ten, and he had the nerve to show up on my Goddamned ship.”
Meg sat back in her seat with a breathy, “He’s what?” American news didn’t often reach the forests in the Highlands of Minas Gerais. Not that a story about a disavowed Navy SEAL would’ve meant anything to her if it had. She’d been too busy caring for her kids to worry about the outside world’s problems.
Dooley nodded, but no satisfaction glimmered in his hazel eyes. He looked down at the floor. Shook his head. Then lifted his chin and looked into Meg’s face again. “That’s right. Somehow, Walker learned how to fly a Blackhawk, and he’s impersonating a Nightstalker pilot. Or, worst-case scenario, some stupid flyboy aided and abetted him. But now, he’s put me and my ship at risk. You see, I’ve worked with the man before. I should’ve recognized him the moment he landed, but I didn’t. Not that he introduced himself like he damned well should’ve, or stuck around much while I was on deck. I’ve worked with the son-of-a-bitch on more ops than I care to mention. Some I can’t talk about. And I still didn’t recognize him.”
“So, you’re telling me Julio is stranded out there with a Russian spy and a murderer? Oh, and that Walker Judge is not only guilty of murdering his CO, but sabotaging another Blackhawk that caused the deaths of thirteen Green Berets? Anything else? Treason, maybe?” This whole story seemed so bizarre.
His eyes turned from golden hazel to a deadly dark brown. “No, ma’am. I’m telling you Julio now has one helluva warrior at his six. Least he will have, as soon as Walker wakes up.”
That sounded a lot like pride. “Wait a minute. What?”
“Unfortunately, Hazelton got off a shot that tranquilized Walker. Ketamine. But as God is my witness, Walker never sabotaged that helo in London, and he didn’t kill his CO either. Don’t ask me how I know. I just do.”
