Page 26 of Defended By the SEAL
“I’m concerned about communication,” said Moto.
“Me too.” As soon as this phone line went down, they would be effectively cut off from the outside world for the foreseeable future. “Make sure the guys bring sat phones and radios. There’s no power, and technology’s hanging onby a thread.” He imagined a crooked telephone pole carrying a wire over a flooded bridge. It was just a matter of time before here went from bad to worse, and they needed to be prepared.
He got off the line with Moto and looked around the office. If they wanted answers about Tom’s true intentions, they’d better start searching for them, and his office seemed like the perfect place to start. Coming to his feet, he mused, “I wonder where Mama hid the cookie jar.”
He left the door open so he could hear anyone who approached, then began searching quickly through the file cabinet. Files relating to Signet Firearms filled the top three drawers, and he skimmed through them briefly, flipping through financial statements, reports, and new product R&D.
One entire drawer was dedicated to government munitions contracts, the numbers involved making Cowboy’s eyebrows hitch up as he swore an impressed oath. Charlotte hadn’t been exaggerating. Signet was a major player in the defense industry, and not only in the US—there were contracts with several smaller NATO nations, too.
Which made their biggest threat clear. If the intel was off-base and Vanderhoffen was still involved this PFP group, he might try to use Signet to supply the terrorists with easy access to weapons. And if he wasn’t still involved with PFP, Sarkisyan likely wanted Tom dead for giving him up to the feds.
Cowboy furrowed his brow, momentarily lost in thought. “But he hasn’t found him yet.” Tom must have done a decent job covering his tracks. You didn’t have to be in WITSEC to disappear, he knew. All it took were money and the right contacts to buy a new identity—the latter of which had likely been available to Vanderhoffen at the time.America was a big place in which to hide, especially if your face was the only thing that could give you away.
Cowboy skipped over the US contracts, but scanned every other contract in the cabinet, finding nothing that struck him as out-of-the-ordinary. He eased the drawer closed, then sat on his haunches. “If I was selling weapons to terrorists, I wouldn’t file it under business as usual.” He opened the bottom drawer. These files were different, taking up only half the cabinet. The words “Bowdoin College” stood out from one tab, making him think they were Tom’s personal files.
Research
Lighthouse
Copyrights
????????
He took out his phone and snapped a picture. It looked like Russian, but he was no linguist. He pulled out the folder. Pages upon pages of handwritten text used the same language. Typed pages in the same language, which appeared to be reports of some kind. He snapped photos of all of them. A small black book was filled with writing, like a diary, and he began photographing those pages, too.
He texted several of the photos to Moto. They wouldn’t go through right now, but he had to keep trying. He had to get a translation. He looked around the room for a fax machine, disappointed when he found none. For now, the text was the best he could do.
The sound of footsteps alerted him to someone coming. He returned the files and papers to their place and closed the drawer just as Charlotte walked in.
The relief on her face was clear. “Grams is awake. She’s shivering terribly, but mentally she seems fine.”
“No more talk of chickens?”
“Nope.”
“That’s great.”
“I’m going to make her some hot tea with honey. Thank God there’s a gas stove.” She gestured to the file cabinet. “You find out anything?”
He shook his head. “A bunch of documents in a foreign language. Maybe Russian. You don’t happen to speak Russian, do you?”
“Four years of French, sorry.”
He pulled out his phone and checked the texts to Moto.
Failed to send.
Click to try again.
He clicked it. “Trying to send photos to HERO Force to get a translation. Not having any luck.”
“Maybe when the storm clears a bit.”
“Which won’t be for hours. Moto says we’re in for plenty more before then.” He filled her in on what he’d learned about Tom’s background.
“So he’s one of the good guys, then.”
“Maybe.”
