our operatives, the two of them as well as one other were buried under tons of rubble.”
“When you met with us last time,” Sparrow said, “you knew that Jettison was alive. We told you we found his blood.”
“I wasn’t sure,” Walters said. “Now I am. I have never asked for anyone else’s help in a matter of the Order.” His neck straightened. “I’m not doing that now. I’m offering our intel to you in an effort for both of our organizations to work together to rid us of these rogue operatives.”
“Your intel?” I asked.
“Yes, Mr. Murray, Morehead and Jettison were not the only ones we lost on that mission. There was another, named Lawson. All three were reported buried and deceased in the rubble. Over a year ago, Lawson was located stateside, hospitalized as a John Doe, and suffering from delusional episodes. The Order found him and has since relieved him of his mental incapacity.”
“Now Lawson is really dead,” Mason clarified.
“Yes, Pierce, he is. You see, his delusions weren’t figments of his imagination. No one survives who tells our secrets. A red flag came about when he named a deceased terrorist. Think of it as someone admitting to killing Hoffa. To the good fortune of the medical team, he wasn’t believed.
“After our last meeting, I went back and read through the entirety of Lawson’s file. It was incredibly comprehensive. With the information I gleaned, I have come to the conclusion that the three of them, Lawson, Jettison, and Morehead, planned their demise because of one particular connection they shared.”
“What was that?” Sparrow asked.
“It’s noteworthy to mention that all three received the same medication Pierce received,” Walters said. “And even upon Morehead’s recovery from the fire, she had no recollection of her life before the Order. It’s my theory that her interest in you” —he turned to Sparrow— “is not you or Chicago, other than to cause problems, diversions, and interruptions. You welcomed Pierce back after he was granted a release from the Order few others have obtained. That makes you her enemy.
“It was discovered too late that she was in DC recently. You see, Morehead has an unacceptable flaw for an agent of the Order. She wants recognition. The Order isn’t about the individual but the republic. I believe the continued woes you’re facing are because she wants to be appreciated for her ability to disrupt your world. You mentioned that your wives had been given a pharmaceutical similar to what” —he turned to Mason— “your wife created?”
“Yes.”
“It was a calling card. Morehead worked closely with your wife for years on that formula. She wants you to know it’s her.”
“You said that Laurel was to stop her research,” Mason said. “It sounds as though Morehead isn’t following that order.”
Walters nodded. “One of her many transgressions.”
“How does this connect to Jettison?” I asked.
Walters turned to me. “It is my assessment that Morehead’s motivation is twofold. The first is her crusade.” He turned to Mason. “She has deep-seated resentment regarding your wife. In her mind, your wife escaped her plan. Even more motivating than her need to complete what she began by killing your wife, Morehead and Jettison want to learn how you did it.”
“How I did what?” Mason asked.
“How you regained your past. Morehead knows that you did, and I believe that is the true motivation behind her obsession. She wants to remember.”
“I researched Jettison with his DNA,” I said. “Couldn’t Morehead do the same with her own?”
“Yes, Mr. Murray. What did you learn?”
“Jettison was a member of TACP, tactical air control party specialist, with a long list of commendations.”
Walters nodded. “What else?”
“He was married and upon his death he left behind parents, siblings, and a child he probably never knew existed, born roughly nine months after his last leave and six months after his death.” I shrugged. “His wife may not have even known she was pregnant until after she received word of his death.”
“Everyone has a past, son,” Walters said. “It’s one thing to read about it, like a history lesson. It’s another to recall it.” Walters addressed Mason, “If we’d told you, Pierce, that you had a mother and sister, how would that have made you feel?”
“With all due respect, Top, neither you nor the Order,” Mason said, “gave a shit about what I felt or how any of the operatives feel.”
“That’s true. Why?”
Mason’s feet were spread, his back and neck straight, and his hands holding each other behind his back. Without the expensive suit, cowboy boots, and