Walker (In the Company of Snipers #21) - Irish Winters Page 0,139
By then, Alex had crossed both arms over his chest, subtle body language for ‘convince me, asshole.’
“Only what I read—”
“It happened just weeks before the night Walker left Julio stranded on a sandbar off the coast of Brazil, Boss,” Persia interrupted, her fingers still firm on Walker’s shoulders. “The Nightstalkers were there demonstrating a hot infil from their Blackhawk over Buckingham Palace, for the Queen. It was a big deal, and had been vetted through DoD. Media was everywhere. Security was extremely high. The Blackhawk had just cleared the palace roof when it exploded. Nine spectators were injured, one critically, and all thirteen Green Berets on board were killed. The Army pilot and co-pilot escaped with injuries, but the pilot is blind. He’ll never fly again. Allegations surfaced instantly that escaped convict Walker Judge had jury-rigged a small explosive device onboard the helo. That he’d detonated it via remote control. Parts and pieces of a cell phone were found in the wreckage. A single fingerprint was on one of those pieces.” She squeezed Walker’s shoulders. “His.”
“Where was he when this happened?” Alex asked.
“Working for me out of Fort Campbell,” McQueen replied. “Already had him flying coach with Trevor Duncan. Learning to fly helos.”
“He was in Minas Gerais, Brazil, Boss. I can prove it,” Persia added.
“Who claimed the fingerprint was his?”
“Probably NCIS,” Walker answered sarcastically, at the same time Persia replied, “NCIS, Boss.”
When he looked up at her, it seemed her brown eyes were melting all over him. Man, he needed a break from all this cloak-and-dagger bullshit. Dragging her onto his lap and kissing the hell out of her would help.
“I’ll check to see which NCIS agent handled that investigation, Boss,” Persia told Alex. “I’ll backtrack the chain of evidence, too.”
“I’ll check security footage at San Diego Airport, get a copy of our guy coming and going,” Izza chimed in. “Want me to check with Buckingham Palace? See what Scotland Yard knows?”
“Do that,” Walker said at the same time Alex barked, “Yes.”
Alex shot him a dirty look. Walker just shrugged. “They didn’t call me Chief and Boss for nothing,” he offered semi-apologetically. Ideally, he shouldn’t be investigating his own case. But he also shouldn’t have had to.
“What I want to know is what motive NCIS claimed Walker had to execute those Green Berets. That’s a damned stiff charge to make against someone they lost on their way to Leavenworth.”
“Doesn’t seem to me these yahoos needed honest proof or logical motive,” Brimley added. “None of this makes sense, and it doesn’t take a master’s degree to see through all these bogus charges.”
A gust of breath escaped Walker’s lungs. There he was again, Brim coming to his rescue.
“Guys,” he said, his voice hoarse. “For the record, I’m innocent of all these charges. I didn’t kill Goff, those Green Berets, or the people at Prince Khalid’s wedding. Do I know how to set remote charges? Yes, but I’ll wager all of you can do that, too. Hell, I’ve never been to London or Jordan. Check my orders. Please, check everything I’ve ever done or said. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Forget Khalid and that mess in Jordan,” Sullivan muttered. “Alex and I already know who bombed the wedding. We can also prove Prince Khalid paid two million US dollars to erase his bride’s family from the face of the earth. We have someone inside Saudi Arabia, sorting the details, right now. Just need to out whoever’s hiding Khalid before we go to the AG and prove our case.” AG as in Attorney General.
“My friend, the King of Jordan, will have something to say about Khalid murdering a prominent Jordanian family,” Alex remarked drolly. “That’ll be fun, watching the Saudi royal family facing off with him.”
“What I want to know is how Captain Spenser Cole figures into this mess,” Sullivan mused, twisting one end of his mustache. “Walker’s right. Him being fingered for Goff’s death the second his feet hit California, feels like a small part of a bigger plot. What are we not seeing?”
“Damned if I know,” Alex replied, his sharp eyes all over Walker again, slicing him into bite-sized pieces. “Beau’s working the Spenser Cole angle. My TEAM will get back to me with Sitreps before dinner. If they’ve got anything, I’ll let you know.”
Made Walker wonder if he had something stuck in his teeth the way Alex’s gaze scoured his face, like he wanted to peel his skin away and dig a spoon into his brain. Just how powerful were these two