The Summer House(52)

They are all staring at the white numerals, and Sanchez says, “Sorry, I don’t see it.”

“That’s right,” York says, an edge of triumph in her voice. “Because you’re missing it.”

She moves her finger, taps the area that shows the television set hidden underneath the counter. She plays the video back and forth, back and forth, and on the screen within the screen, there are faint images of a man and two women arguing, and then one woman pushing the man into an in-ground swimming pool.

“That,” York says. “See that?”

Nobody says anything, and from the look in their eyes, they don’t have to.

“Anybody recognize the program?” she asks.

Again, silence.

York takes a deep breath. “It’s one of those reality television shows. This one is on Bravo. It follows a group of rich and spoiled housewives. This particular episode ends with a fight between two women, with one woman pushing the other’s husband into the pool. I went back online, checked the local television listings, and found out when it was aired in this area. Guys…the time stamp’s been played with. The episode showing that fight scene was at 6:40 p.m. last Wednesday night, not at 7:40. The Rangers…maybe they were leaving to go visit that house, maybe even break the arms of the drug dealer. But the timing is off. And somebody did it on purpose.”

She waits.

She runs the video once again, and the four men lean in. She warms inside when Cook says, “My apologies. You did one hell of a good job.”

And he quickly changes the subject.

“Sanchez?”

“Sir,” he says.

“You got into that dog owner’s house with your usual bag of tricks, correct?”

“Yes, sir, I did. No excuse.”

“None needed,” Cook says. “Get back into that bag of tricks. I know what you carry, based on our last trip to Germany. Go on back to all of our rooms, especially room 11. Tell me if you locate any ears or eyes.”

“On it, sir,” he says, and he goes over to the other rental car, opens the trunk, moves things around for a minute or two, and then quickly walks back to the row of doors, holding in his right hand a small black box that has two stubby antennas.

Even in the heat, York feels frozen. Just a minute ago it seemed like everything was done, finished, she and the crew heading back to Quantico in humiliation and disgrace, her Army career crippled. Being called home, following orders, nothing else to do.

Now?

This pure mystery—of whether or not the four Army Rangers murdered a houseful of civilians last week—has now grown darker, more complex.

And more dangerous—no doubt about it.

Sanchez comes back, takes one more look at his device.

“Confirmed, Major,” he says. “We’ve got GSM listening devices in each room, and two in room 11, our workroom. No doubt about it. We’ve been spied on since we got here.”





Chapter 43



WHILE SANCHEZ WAS doing his work, I was already deciding what was going to happen next.

Again, my squad is looking at me, seeking answers, seeking direction.

I’m not going to disappoint them.

“Decision time,” I say. “Lieutenant Colonel Broderick has ordered us to shut down. He also told me he wanted to know about our travel plans by noon today. That’s in about six hours.”

I pause for a moment and continue. “You’re going to continue talking and discussing in all of the rooms like normal. You’re not going to set any traps or talk for twenty minutes about the weather. Nothing that will raise suspicions. But make sure you don’t reveal exact times or places where you might be going. And that includes the interior of the rentals. Those might be bugged as well. They just may have GPS surveillance trackers stuck to the undercarriages. Sanchez, check them out.”

Sanchez nods.

Huang says, “But…what’s the point? If we’re supposed to leave in six hours?”

I shake my head. “No, you didn’t hear me right, Lieutenant. I’m supposed to tell Colonel Broderick of our travel plans by noon. Not anything else.”

Again, a moment of silence. I say, “This is where it’s going to get interesting, gentlemen. And lady. You know what’s ahead for all of you. You can retire to your rooms and take the rest of the day off. That might be the right choice. Or you can keep on working this…this case, whatever the hell it is.”

Sanchez from the LAPD is the first. “I’m in, boss.”

“Me too,” comes Huang, the psychiatrist, followed by Pierce, the attorney, who says, “You can’t keep me away from this one.”

Connie nods. “We’ve just broken something here, with the listening devices and doctored surveillance tape, the CIA involvement. This lady’s not for turning.”

I’m surprised at how quickly overwhelmed I am, at seeing this diverse group of Army folks come together so easily, right after I chewed out their collective asses. I’m not sure if they know exactly the career black holes they’ve committed themselves to entering, but I’m so damn proud of them that I can’t talk for a moment.

I cough. “All right. A few more items on the to-do list. Connie, you go back to that convenience store, and you grill that owner, you grill him hard, about what happened to that tape. Who was behind it, and why. Sanchez, I know that house belongs to a hoarder, but like I said before, I want you to go in and find something to lead you to where she is. All right? Find something. Then I want you and York to get back to that funeral home. See if the family of Stuart Pike has called to make arrangements. I don’t know how you’re going to do it, but I want you to grab that body for a future autopsy by someone who doesn’t run a funeral home. I want to know more about when his wrists were broken, and how. It seems like the Rangers did it on purpose. Let’s make sure.”