“How come you’re sitting in the dark?” I asked.
He shrugged. “I guess I didn’t plan on staying out here that long.”
“I brought you some food.”
“That was nice of you.” He held out his hand.
“I can take it inside.”
“Thanks.”
The lack of enthusiasm in his voice made me so sad. I went back out and sat beside him on the swing. This was one instance where I was glad we were sitting in the dark.
“I was so embarrassed,” I said.
“I know. I was too.”
“I’m sorry you had to experience that. It’s why I’ve stayed away.”
“Do you know why I was embarrassed?”
I shrugged.
“Because he recognized me. I saw that same look I’ve seen on the faces of so many people. I’m sorry you had to witness that.”
“You’ve done nothing wrong, though.”
“Have you?”
“It’s different.”
Irish put his arm on the back of the swing. “You’re sorry I had to witness someone shaming you, right?”
“Who would want to hang around with someone who gets called a heifer?”
“Who would want to hang around with someone who gets called a traitor?”
“But you aren’t.”
He drew me into him. “And neither are you, Flynn.”
My eyes filled with tears, and when he put his other arm around me, I let myself sink into his embrace.
“I wish I could take all your hurt away,” he whispered.
“I wish I could take yours away too.”
“You know what works?”
“What?”
“For me, anyway, spending time with you. You have a way about you that soothes me, Flynn. I smile more. I don’t think about the dark stuff as much.”
“I feel the same when I’m with you.”
“If that’s the case, why aren’t we spending more time together?”
Even in the dark, I could tell he was smiling.
“We should be,” I said, resting my head on his shoulder.
31
Irish
Two days later, Buck and Stella were on their way to New York City, where they hoped to find the location of her aunt’s safe-deposit box.
Because of something in his father’s will, Buck couldn’t be away from the ranch for more than forty-eight consecutive hours, or he and his siblings would lose their inheritance. I didn’t understand it—at all—and said so when Flynn tried to explain it to me. All I knew was that Hammer, the attorney the Invincibles kept on retainer, said it was legal and binding.
What that meant was they had forty-eight hours to fly to the East Coast, find the safe-deposit box Stella believed contained evidence regarding Operation Argead, gather that evidence together, and fly back. I hoped it would be that easy, but I doubted very much it would be.
I was getting ready to text Flynn to see if she had free time later in the day to get together, when Cope knocked on the cabin door. When I opened it, he pushed past me, carrying his open laptop.
“You are not going to fucking believe this.” He set the laptop down on the table.
“What?”
“Look for yourself.”
“China has granted US whistleblower Xander Harris permanent residency rights,” began the intelligence bulletin.
“Who the fuck is Xander Harris?”
“Keep reading.”
The report mapped out Harris’ timeline beginning when his father was deployed to the Gulf War. Xander, given name William, was eight at the time. His father was deployed again to Afghanistan when Xander was sixteen.
Right out of college, paid for with his father’s GI Bill, Xander secured a job working for the US government as an IT and cybersecurity tech.
I looked up at Cope. “Has Decker seen this?”
He pulled out his phone while I continued reading.
Two years after Harris was hired, his father committed suicide outside of a VA hospital, after reportedly being denied care for Gulf War Syndrome and PTSD.
Three months later, he left his job with the government and went to work for Enigma Computers, based in Hawaii.
“That name sounds familiar. Why?”
Cope shrugged. “Decker is on his way here now. He should land in about an hour. And to answer your earlier question, he’s read the bulletin.”
“Is that why he’s on his way?”
“Affirmative.”
I continued reading. Nine years ago, Xander Harris relocated from Hawaii to Hong Kong.
I sat back in the chair. “Holy fucking shit.”
“What?”
I pointed to the paragraph of the bulletin that referred to the timing of Xander’s relocation from Hawaii to Hong Kong. “Cope, do you think…”
“I know what you’re going to say, and I’m as hopeful as you are.”
“But?”
“Cautiously hopeful.”
“There’s still a matter of how this relates to what Stella’s aunt may have uncovered.”
“If that amounts to anything.”
“Have we always been this negative?” I asked.
“Maybe not nine years ago. I don’t know. Maybe we’re just realistic.”
“Hey, where’s Ali?” It dawned on me that Cope had been here close to thirty minutes.
“Lying down. She’s…uh…not feeling well.”
Obviously, there was something more to it I was missing, but right now, I had more important things to be concerned with.
I dove as deep as I could into William “Xander” Harris’ background, which was like diving into a quarter inch of water. “Fisk buried him,” I said, assuming Cope wasn’t finding any more than I was.
“China calls him a ‘US whistleblower,’ but I can’t find anything whatsoever about what he blew on.”
“Maybe we’ll have better luck once Deck gets here.”
A few minutes later, we heard him before we saw him. “Goddamn motherfucking sonuvabitch. I grew up on a ranch; you’d think I’d know to be on the lookout for horse shit.”
I went out on the porch where he was scraping his boot on the step.
“Hey, Irish.”
“Hey, Deck.”
He stormed past me, threw his laptop on the table more than set it, and pulled a chair out.
“We got anybody close enough to China to get in and kill this little motherfucker?”
I looked at Cope, who was looking at me.
“Yes, Rile, I am serious.”
Only then did we realize he was talking on his cell, although I didn’t see it, nor did I see any kind of earpiece. Then again, this was Decker we were talking about. Maybe he had something implanted in his brain that allowed him to simply make a call by thinking it—or some other shit only he’d dream up.
Decker sat down, took a deep breath, and rested his hands on the edge of the table. “Something tells me this is our mole.”
I nodded, and so did Cope.
“The question is, how do we tie him to Kerr?”
“Our thoughts as well.”
“I gotta tell you, fellas, I’m thinking about reading Doc Butler in on this.”