Ambush (Michael Bennett #11)(62)

I heard Angelo’s voice in my mind. Dalton. They wanted to know . . . about him.

“Where is Rick Dalton, Sarge? Are you sure he isn’t the Alpha?”

Sarge shook his head, then dropped his elbows to his knees. “Remember when you told me he was dead?”

A shiver hitched a ride up my spine. I’d seen Rick’s ghost—or a chemical response to stress, per my therapist—months ago, back when everyone else thought he was still alive and well in Iraq.

Sarge rubbed a hand over his mouth. “You had that one pegged. He’s dead. He’s been dead. Turns out he went down during the same mission that nailed your pal, Ayers.”

A layer of goose bumps rose on my over-hot skin.

Maybe I actually had seen Rick’s ghost. Which would be an argument in support of my sanity.

I’d share with my therapist: I really do see dead people.

I startled when the computer pinged, signaling it had finished with diagnostics and was ready to do my bidding.

I handed Kane’s brochures over to Sarge. “Before he was killed, Kane was looking into two companies—Valor and Vigilant.”

Sarge glanced through them. “You think one of these companies sold the EFPs to Iran?”

“Valor specializes in large precision weapons.”

“These brochures all you got on them?”

“So far. Let’s see what I can find online.”

I logged into the router, then opened up a browser and entered VALOR INDUSTRIES in the search field.

Sarge scooted his chair close to mine.

“Clyde’s still watching,” I said.

“Don’t I know it.”

We tracked my search together.

I found a metalworks company and a packaging business. Not so much as a whisper of a weapons industry.

“Try another browser,” Sarge said.

I tried three more. Same result.

Sarge rubbed his chin. “If they were responsible for the fuckup in Iraq, maybe they decided to get out of the business.”

“I’m guessing companies like Valor don’t close their doors when things get a little hot. More likely they get their customers through word of mouth.” I opened another browser. “Let’s try Vigilant Resources.”

Clyde swiveled toward the door just then, and Paul called out, “Dinner is served.”

I pushed back my chair and opened the door. Paul stood in the hallway holding a tray with a bowl of green chili and tortillas wrapped in foil along with a glass and a bottle of dark beer.

His eyes landed on Sarge, taking in Udell’s battered face. “Didn’t know you had company.”

“Brought him in through the back. You mind doubling up on the food and drink?”

“Sure. Clear some space, and I’ll set this on the desk.”

Bless Paul and his easy nature. I moved my computer to one side, and he set down the tray with a flourish.

I forced a smile. “The food smells wonderful.”

“Best green chili in Denver. Hell, in Colorado.” He offered Sarge his hand, and they swapped names. “You look like you could use a drink. What’s your poison?”

“Whatever she’s having. Thanks, man.”

“No problem.”

Paul departed. A minute later he was back with another bowl of chili and several more bottles of beer.

A glance at me. “Get you anything else?”

“You’re too good to me.”

“Remember that when you finally dump the cop.”

Or when the cop finally dumps me.

“Holler when the beer runs out,” Paul said on his way out.

I closed the door behind him, spooned some chili into my mouth, then returned to the computer.

Vigilant Resources’s website came up at the top of the search. We read silently while I clicked around the site.

Vigilant offered intelligence, security, and consulting services in both the physical and cyber arenas, their services geared more toward corporations and government entities than private citizens. I zoomed in on a photo of a man in Arab dress standing next to an unsmiling man in black with the caption SAUDI ROYALS VISIT NORWAY. Maybe a few private citizens, if you counted Arab princes with billions at their disposal. Services listed included bodyguards, discreet investigations, K9 training, software solutions and cyber countermeasures, and access to a worldwide network of professionals.

“Holy shit,” Sarge said. “These guys got it all.”

A line buried under a Managed Support menu option caught my eye. I pointed with my spoon.

Sarge read aloud. “‘We work with government and intelligence services, here and abroad.’”

“Services like the CIA?”

Sarge nodded. “I’d figure. And NSA, DHS, NIC, NCS, DNI. Etc., etc. Abroad, you got everyone from the Saudis to the Slovenians. Want me to go on?”

“You know how much I hate alphabet soup?”

Vigilant’s main office was in Washington, DC, which made sense for a company with US government contracts. Their lone satellite office listed an address on the south side of Denver, in the Tech Center. That office had opened six months ago.

Sarge and I looked at each other.

“Why Denver?” Sarge asked. “Why not bigger places like, I don’t know, New York or Chicago?”