Rogue Threat (33 page)

Chapter 39

Matt groaned with displeasure as the phone interrupted a promising moment with Peyton’s head resting peacefully on his chest.

“Hello,” he said without much enthusiasm.

“Matt Garrett?” the familiar voice said.

“Yes?” Matt replied, trying to place the voice. He felt Peyton stir and pressed his right arm into her to keep her from moving too much. This could be about Zachary.

“This is Colonel Rampert,” the voice on the phone said, “from special operations.”

Matt motioned to Peyton with his hand, and she moved tight against him. She leaned next to his ear, straining to eavesdrop on the conversation.

“Yes, Colonel. What can I do for you? Are you okay?” He could hear a distinct thumping noise in the background, though he couldn’t quite place it. Images of Rampert conspiring to start the war in Iraq sprang into his mind quite easily, much to his surprise.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking. Well, two things actually,” Rampert said. Matt noticed his voice was not the same, crisp commander’s voice he had heard in the airplane.

“Okay, go ahead,” Matt said.

“First, you performed very bravely during that mission, and I’ve recommended you for a Presidential Medal of Freedom.”

Matt, newly suspicious, paused, thinking,
Okay there’s the bait.
“And the second?” he asked.

“Well, I thought you’d be happy about the nomination for the medal. It’s the closest thing a civilian can get to the Medal of Honor. You put your life on the line for us.”

“I could really give a rat’s ass about a medal,” Matt said, impatient.

Rampert paused and then said, “The second item is that we need to get our operative back. I need to talk to you about what you saw in the cabin.”

“Your operative is my brother,” he said. “So let’s be honest. And I was hopeful that this call was actually a notice as to his whereabouts.”

After another brief pause, Rampert said, “I understand. I can tell you more about your brother. I’ve got a helicopter heading up that way right now.”

“How soon will you get here?”

“About five minutes.”

“Need directions?”

“No, but thanks.” Rampert sounded amused.

“How many of your friends are you bringing with you?” Matt said.

“Don’t worry about it.”

He could hear the ice in the colonel’s voice. He pictured the man in his battle gear, stone-cold eyes set on the horizon through the windscreen of the helicopter. Something was different. Amiss. Matt’s instincts were wailing louder than the obnoxious chop of the helicopter rotors he heard in the background.

Why was Rampert so interested in getting his hands on Zachary? Could it be the “no man left behind” credo to which he and others in the special operations communities adhered? Or, as his instincts were telling him, was Zachary a liability? He imagined the colonel smiling wickedly like the haunting sliver of a diminishing moon on a cold February night.

“Now, I’m going to discuss with you how to get him back,” Rampert said. “And it’s imperative that no one else know about any of this. We are way beyond Top Secret here.”

“Well, Colonel, how do I know to trust you?”

Matt listened to the chopping noise of the helicopter rotor blades, muted through the telephone transmission.

“I can help you. I know some things that perhaps you don’t. It is important that we talk. And, of course, you can help me as well.”

Matt hung up the phone and looked at Peyton.

“We need to move fast. Rampert’s almost here.”

Peyton looked at him. “You’re serious, aren’t you.”

They quickly gathered themselves.

Inside the living room, Matt walked toward the gun case and opened the glass door. He grabbed two weapons, a Remington shotgun and an AR-15 semi-automatic rifle. He handed the shotgun to Peyton.

“Give me the one with no range, huh?” she asked.

“Just have it somewhere you can get to it. If Rampert’s the voice on the tape, this could get ugly.”

Matt and Peyton stood in the living room and watched through the bay window as the helicopter hovered briefly before shooting straight down to the ground.

“Look at that,” Matt said. “Makes me think Rampert’s our man. But there’s Lantini, too. Are they working together?” His questions were more rhetorical than anything, tumbling from his mind like an overstuffed closet door suddenly opened. Lantini the planner, Rampert the operator. Made sense.

They watched Rampert disembark from the helicopter and walk around to the front porch. They heard a knock on the door.

Matt looked at Peyton. “You can’t say the man doesn’t have style.”

“Figured all your friends did this.” Peyton smiled. There was something electric about her smile, as if she was about to enjoy something. Beyond the emerald-sea beauty, there was hardness in her eyes.

“I’m going to check and see who this is.” He walked down the hall, attempting to be as calm as possible. He had initially been worried about Peyton’s loyalties, but he could see now that he could concern himself with other matters.

Matt opened the door with his right hand, his AR-15 in his left. Colonel Rampert stared back at him wearing an Army combat uniform, or ACU, as Zachary called it, and a maroon beret that somehow made him seem even more menacing.

“Good evening, Colonel. May I help you?”

“Yes, may I come in?”

Matt considered his request. Standing next to the colonel, Matt saw that he was the man’s equal in stature. Matt’s shoulders were probably broader, though the colonel may have been half an inch taller.

“Listen, if you invite me in, I can answer some of your questions about Zachary,” Rampert said.

“The first thing I want to know is, Why is Winslow Boudreaux buried next to my mother out back?”

“I’m sorry about that, Matt, truly I am. And I can tell you more.”

Matt slowly opened the door.

“Are you always this hospitable to your guests?” Rampert’s words were accusatory.

“You’re not a guest.” Matt’s adrenaline was pumping. His muscles were taught. He was ready. Memories of the Philippines and the surges of emotions were flashing back in his mind.

“This house reminds me of my parents’ home,” Rampert said, following Matt down the hallway.

Peyton stood across the living room, shotgun clearly visible by her side.

Rampert nodded at her. “Peyton.”

“Colonel,” she responded.

“Please, have a seat,” Matt offered, pointing at the wooden chair across from the overstuffed sofa. “Drink?”

“No, thanks, I’m in uniform.” He smiled wryly.

“Okay, so talk,” Matt said, sitting on the sofa, the AR-15 propped against the end table. Matt watched Peyton pick up the shotgun as Rampert reached for his pistol. Matt snatched the rifle, feeling the breeze from Peyton swinging the shotgun up to her eye level.

“I’m putting my weapon on the table!” Rampert’s voice was authoritative.

Peyton’s shotgun was leveled at Rampert, but he knew it was not a stretch to move it an inch or two. He played out a course of action in his mind where Peyton and Rampert were teaming against him for the tape. It was not implausible.

“Is she really necessary?” Rampert asked, hooking his thumb over his shoulder at Peyton.

Matt paused a second. “Peyton, it’s okay.”

“You people are sure jumpy. What the hell is going on?” Rampert said.

“After a bunch of Rolling Stones last year yanking everyone’s chain, are you kidding me?”

“Well, that’s over with,” Rampert said.

“So you found Lantini?”

“Of course not. He went deep. Completely disappeared. His trail is colder than bin Laden’s.”

“Don’t play mind games with me about bin Laden and The Shot,” Matt said.

Rampert shrugged and looked at him. “Since when did you start following instructions Matt? You had the shot.”

Matt turned away, sensing this was Rampert’s negotiating routine: get him off balance and then make some outrageous demand. “Tell me about Zachary; what you think you know.” Matt wanted to get to the point quickly.

“Well, I assume that there is some quid pro quo going here, and that you’ll reciprocate in kind with information that will help us.”

“This is the quo, my friend. The quid was me letting your ass in the house,” Matt said. His face was stern, jaw set, eyes locked with Rampert’s.

“Right, well, perhaps we can make some progress, then. This is top secret stuff, but I’m trusting you. So here goes. Your brother commanded the rifle company in the Philippine action, and he was executing exceptionally well. I had a small team in the wood line near the last battle. We were calling in the attack aircraft. If it hadn’t been for Zachary and his company, the Marines would have been crushed. His company destroyed just about every enemy attack helicopter and artillery piece. Classic light infantry stuff. Our strength against their weakness and all that. But they finally wised to Zachary’s tactics and chased him with the likes of an infantry battalion. It was about 300 bad guys massing against them.

“I had Winslow Boudreaux with me, along with Hobart and Van Dreeves, the two men with us in Canada. Winslow was about fifty meters away and caught a mortar shell not five feet from where he was standing. The explosion nearly vaporized him. Your brother’s action was about a hundred meters away, and we saw him get hit about the time the weather cleared enough for us to get the A-10s in there to provide air support.”

Matt watched Rampert speak with authority and authenticity. Matt could picture the scene Rampert described as if he had been watching a movie. A thin film of sweat broke across his brow. Matt was traveling back in time.

“Anyway, Winslow was dead. Hobart and Van Dreeves covered me while I pulled your brother out of the fray. His radio operator was also dead. Good man as well. We recovered Zachary. Van Dreeves, who is primarily a medic, literally saved his life. We kept him on oxygen and plugged his holes until the medevac aircraft got there a few minutes later. Last thing I did was switch dog tags and uniforms between Zachary and Winslow. Don’t ask me why, I just did it.”

Matt was having a hard time remaining calm. The emotions were so overwhelming that they seemed to be tripping over themselves. It did occur to him that Rampert was luring him in with the seduction of the story.
Hold on. Don’t feel like you’ve got to give anything back
.

“We learned that Zachary was going to make it, but he was in a coma. He had taken a gunshot wound to the head, mostly a glancing blow, but enough to knock him out for a couple of months. He had other wounds that, coupled with the two to his head, caused enough nervous system damage for his brain to shut down for a while, until he could recover from the trauma. At first, we were simply trying to keep him alive, but then he started making a miraculous recovery quite unlike anything any of our doctors had seen before.”

“So instead of contacting us,” Matt interrupted, “you let us believe Zachary was dead. What right did you have?” His fire was back, his trance broken.

“First of all, young man,” Rampert said, leaning forward and sensing his first small victory, “your brother would certainly be dead if it were not for Hobart, Van Dreeves, and me. I was the one who placed my team in that spot to support Zachary’s company.”

“That’s your job. Your duty.”

Matt’s eyes broke away, if only for an instant. Rampert had the momentum now. He knew that Matt felt guilty that while Zachary had been able to save him, Matt was not there for Zachary in the Philippines.

“Maybe so, but
I
was there. Where were you, boy, when your brother needed you?” Rampert said, knowing exactly Matt’s remorse and grinding the thought in a bit. “I pulled him back to safety and got him the medical help he needed. I’ve got proprietary rights, you might say.” Rampert smiled a thin, evil grin.

Matt fumed in silence at Rampert’s smugness. “That’s bullshit.”

“Maybe so, but, there’s more,” Rampert said.

Matt stared at Rampert, waiting.

“I was doing some deep black stuff during the Persian Gulf War. I’ve been face to face with Ballantine. I know what he wants.”

“I know what he wants also,” Matt said, regaining his composure. “My question is, why do you need Zachary so badly now?”

“Ahh. The $64,000 question, as they say.” Rampert was acting the petulant bully now. “Your brother knows things that, left unguarded, could be very troublesome.”

“Such as?”

“We’re not going there, but the things he knows, if they come back to him, will be difficult for some to deal with. And he will become a liability.”

“A liability? Proprietary rights? You talk about Zachary like he’s a piece of real estate.” Matt’s voice was low, nearly a growl.

“It is what it is.” Rampert gestured with his hands. “I’m truly on your side. I’m out to protect Zachary. I’ve invested the last year doing just that and I have no desire to stop now.”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

“I can’t answer that. So tell me what you know about what happened at Moncrief.”

Matt began, “I had Zachary in my arms. He was shot in the back, by Ballantine, I presume. Then a grenade came through the window and stunned us for a couple of minutes. I saw Ballantine drag him away before I was able to do anything about it. I chased them down to the river about the time Ballantine took off in the Sherpa.”

“How do you know it was Ballantine who did all this?” Rampert asked.

“I don’t. I’m assuming. Anyway, we need to be checking the area around Vermont and New Hampshire. Even Maine. Possibly New York,” Matt said.

“We’re watching the area with unmanned aerial vehicles, U2s, and other assets. Nothing so far. It’s a pretty big area, you know,” Rampert said.