What Happened to the Bennetts(79)

“He called her for a picture?” George chuckled. “No, not Hart. He called her to get to you.”

The notion flipped my thinking. “So it’s not that Hart was having an affair with her, then tried to kill me. It’s that he started the affair to get to me?”

George wagged a thick finger. “But remember he’s working for the senator.”

“So there must be a connection to Ricks. Something I know about Gitmo or something I have that Ricks wants.”

“They could be looking for it.”

“Or trying to hide it.” I met George’s eye. “You burned down my office. All my Gitmo files are gone.”

“Shit happens.” George cocked his head. “Now you mention it, it was Milo’s idea.”

“He could have been trying to destroy a document or get to me somehow. Maybe there’s something I know, or they think I know, that they want to keep quiet.”

“That’s when shit happens, to cover up for an election.”

I tried to put it together. “So, Milo was working for Hart, and Hart was working for Ricks?”

George smirked. “What’s the difference between a senator, a lawyer, and a career criminal?”

“Is this a joke?”

“Yeah. It’s on you.”

I couldn’t deny it. “Here’s the only problem. I don’t have anything from Gitmo. They don’t let you leave with anything. Everything was top secret. Classified. Every exhibit, every transcript, every photo, chart, whatever. I don’t have any classified documents.”

“What about unclassified?”

“Sure, but what of it?”

“Like what?”

“Administrative stuff. Schedules, travel plans, emails, correspondence. It could be something I have, but I don’t know what. It was a long time ago. They’re saved in the cloud, in archives.” I starting thinking. “Can I have my phone back? I can access my files from anywhere.”

“Everybody with the phones.” George rolled his eyes. “I hate that shit.”

“I can search the files on my phone.”

“Not anymore. I told the boys to trash it.”

“Thanks.” I gave him a look. “Can I use yours?”

“It don’t have Internet.”

“Do you have a laptop?”

“What am I, a schoolteacher?” George snorted. “What do you think, we’re gonna work together? What are we, the Hardy Boys?”

“Don’t you want to know what’s going on?”

“I know enough.”

“So what about Milo?”

“Oh, I’ll find him,” George shot back.

“Where do you think he is?”

“Not your business.”

“Do you think the FBI knows?”

“No, he’s AWOL, but I know where to look. I got four guys loyal to me. Milo’s got four, too.”

“How will I know when you find him?” I realized we were talking about the murder of another human being. I didn’t know if I had become a worse version of myself, or better.

“Oh, I’ll give you a ringy-dingy.” George mimicked a phone call with his hand.

I let it go. “I assume I’ll find out from the FBI.”

“Right, they’re reliable. They flipped your daughter’s killer. Did they ask you? Did they give a shit? Wise up, Bennett. They got their priorities, you got yours. Their priority is them. Yours is your family.” George rose heavily, motioning me up. “Time to go.”

I stood up. “Where are we going?”

“Not ‘we.’ You.”

I didn’t like the new chill in his eye. “You’re letting me go, right?”

George thought a moment. “Why not?”

Why not? I had just won a coin flip for my life.

“I’m letting you go,” George repeated, musing. “Can’t remember the last time I said that.”

I shuddered. “Look at you, goin’ to heaven.”

George guffawed. “Good one, altar boy!”





Chapter Fifty-One



I sat on the van floor with my back against the wall, feeling every bump on the road. It hurt if I moved to the right or left, and my skull throbbed. The thugs had handcuffed me and put the hood back on.

I was alone with my thoughts. All I had was questions. What happened in Gitmo? How was I involved? What possible document could I have that could get me killed? What was Milo after? Hart? A senator running for president?

I remembered back to the early days at Gitmo. I first went down there in the spring of 2002. The government had opened Guantánamo to high-value detainees, the so-called “worst of the worst,” about seven hundred men from Afghanistan, Iraq, Pakistan, the UK, and all over. The FBI conducted the early interrogations, but then the CIA had taken over.

The government formed panels of military judges, which began to hear proceedings regarding detainees. I transcribed the proceedings, which were endless, and none of them got anywhere near trial during my time there. The big case back then was Al Qahtani, a Saudi electrical engineer who had trained in bomb-making with Al Qaeda in Afghanistan. He was charged with terrorism and conspiracy with Osama bin Laden, Abu Zbaydah, and other higher-ups, but the trial never got underway, bogged down in endless procedural wrangling.