Hell for Leather (Black Knights Inc. #6)(58)

“Indeed,” Zoelner agreed, still frowning down at Chelsea. “I believe you’re right, Ozzie. So, Agent Duvall, before you think to try to feed us anymore of your serious, f*cked-up, I’m-just-here-as-your-liaison, stovepiping shit, please understand that although we’re used to backdoor dealings, double crossings, and backstabbings from the likes of your kind, we—”

“You used to be one of my kind, Z,” Chelsea interrupted.

“Exactly.” Zoelner nodded. “Which is why I, along with my colleagues here, won’t hesitate to take everything we know and the huge amount we obviously don’t know straight to POTUS. See what he thinks about The Company’s shenanigans here.”

Delilah had to think about that one for a bit. The Knights were always using weird acronyms. But then it hit her…POTUS. President of the United States.

“I was following the orders of my s-supervisor,” Agent Duvall said, shifting uncomfortably.

“And throwin’ us under the bus in the meantime,” Mac added. Delilah could feel the tension radiating through him as if she was holding on to a live wire.

“I wasn’t throwing you under the bus,” Chelsea insisted with a huff, crossing her arms to mirror the men’s stances. “I was following orders. Surely you guys remember what those are. Surely you haven’t been calling your own shots for so long that you’ve forgotten—”

“Agent Duvall,” Mac rumbled, “Zoelner’s already explained this to you, but let me put it another way. We’re not farmers, so stop tryin’ to sell us a load of fertilizer and just tell us what the hell is goin’ on here.”

Okay. And, yeah. Despite being a card-carrying member of the sisterhood, Delilah had to agree with Mac’s insistence. After all, she herself was more than a bit curious as to what the hell was going on here.

Chelsea frowned up at them, hesitated a second more, then finally shrugged. “Have you guys been keeping up with the headlines chronicling the misadventures of an ex–CIA agent named Luke Winterfield?”

“Of course,” Ozzie said. “He just fled to Nicaragua, right?”

“I thought it was Honduras,” Zoelner said. Delilah had been under the impression it was Guatemala.

“It doesn’t matter where he is.” Chelsea waved an impatient hand through the air. “What matters is that along with copies of the files pertaining to the locations of our government’s black sites, we also suspect he took copies of…other files.”

A curious sense of dread bloomed in the pit of Delilah’s stomach.

“What other files?” Mac demanded.

“A lot of other files,” Chelsea admitted. “But the one we’re most concerned about right now, in this situation, is labeled BA Repatriate.”

“BA…” Zoelner’s chin dropped down as if someone had unhinged his jaw. For a moment, Delilah thought he resembled a handsome Pez dispenser. “You don’t mean broken arrows.”

Chelsea nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

The room grew so still, so quiet, Delilah could hear the hum of electricity in the lamps beside the sofa. Mac was literally vibrating beside her. And that bloom of dread in her stomach? Well, it grew to the size of redwood. “I don’t think I really want to know, but…” she licked her lips, “what are broken arrows?”

“I take it you’re not a big John Travolta fan,” Ozzie said.

Huh? “What in the world are you talking about?”

“You know that ’90s movie with the train and the—”

“Broken arrows are missin’ nuclear warheads,” Mac cut in succinctly.

Delilah shook her head, digging a finger in her ear. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I thought you said missing nuclear warheads.”

In answer, Mac gave her a squeeze. It was meant to be comforting, she was sure, but the gesture missed the mark. Holy hell, did it ever! Because that simple little squeeze was an affirmative that, yes, in fact she had heard him correctly.

“We have missing nuclear warheads?” she screeched, jerking out from under his arm so quickly she thought perhaps her head spun in a circle. She had to lower herself to the arm of the sofa lest she wilt to the dirty shag carpeting.

“If by we you mean the U.S. of A. then, yes,” Ozzie concurred. “Eight at last count.”

“No.” Chelsea shook her head. “It’s five now. The two lost in the Mediterranean in ’56 were recovered nearly forty years ago. And the one that rolled off the deck of the USS Ticonderoga and fell into the Pacific Ocean was finally recovered in ’76.”

“Huh.” Ozzie raised his brows. “Well, what do you know? That’s good news.”

Good news? Good news? The U.S. was still missing five freakin’ nuclear warheads, and Ozzie considered this good news?

That’s it. She’d suspected it before, but now she knew for sure. The Black Knights were crazy. Without a doubt, do not pass go, do not collect $200, batshit crazy. But right now the more pressing question was, “What in the world do five missing nuclear warheads have to do with my uncle?”

Chelsea turned to her, reaching up to adjust her glasses. Again Delilah couldn’t help but think the woman would be better suited to a kindergarten classroom. “You know your uncle did a stint in the Marines during Vietnam, right?”