Hemingway - Zoe Dawson Page 0,50
vowed that he wasn’t involved, and because of her impeccable record, she was given the okay to reveal who she was and what was going on.
It had shocked and hurt him. She had never wanted to do that to him. But now that they were intertwined, it was going to be inevitable. There was no going back.
She was in for a long haul. NCIS forensics were going to process everything quickly, and they were going to have some clue to go on to run these guys to ground. So far, her list had already produced one member of the NWO. Craig had been number three on her list. Daniel Wilson number one and Walter Manning eighth.
She parked in front, grabbed her ID, gun and badge from her glove box and walked through a weathered, brown double-wooden gate with a white stucco fence surrounding the property, then she followed a salmon-colored flagstone path past a giant Saguaro cactus up to the Spanish mansion’s reinforced wide wooden door. Located on forty-five acres of land not far from San Diego, this ranch was as much undercover as its covert operatives.
The three-bedroom house had been converted into offices with a state-of-the-art tech center, gym, and shooting range. Rebecca acted as the operations manager, overseeing agents Makayla Ballentine, Kai Talbot and Griffin Crawford, who had recently Chris Vargas when he’d been transferred to DC to head up his own team after his joint JAG/NCIS investigation of pilot deaths aboard the aircraft carrier USS James McCloud.
This mansion and land used to be a citrus grove and was subsequently called The Grove, and it had a detached structure that was used for interrogations referred to as the Woodshed.
Using her ID to open the door, she stepped inside, her boot heels reverberating against the polished wood floor.
The agents’ desks were located in the great room with French doors, fitted with bullet-proof glass on both sides, overlooking the front and back of the property.
Mak looked up when she walked in, both the doors to the enclosed area behind them where the tech center sat, and Rebecca’s office were located were closed. She settled into a chair across from Mak’s desk. Behind her, a table and chairs in a conference style seating along with a fifty-inch wide screen, currently showing Craig Hennessey’s picture and his application and paperwork for BUD/S along with his performance stats were displayed.
“Pendleton got back to us already about the cause of death,” Mak said, handing a folder over to Shea.
“Strangulation,” Shea saw in the space provided. “From behind?”
“Yes. He was attacked from behind and his attacker used a military choke hold to kill him.”
“DNA?”
“Yes, recovered from under his fingernails. We are currently working on getting a warrant for a blind search of the Armed Forces Institute of Pathology database of blood samples used to identify a service member if they die while serving their country.”
“How long do you think that will take?”
“Can’t tell. Because of the threat to the candidates, Rebecca is pushing for it, so I’ll have to leave that in her hands. In the meantime, what does your gut tell you?”
“I’m not really a homicide investigator, but I have good instincts.”
Mak nodded. “You do. Your thoughts on a prime suspect?”
“Daniel Wilson.”
Mak leaned back in her chair. “He was standing watch.”
“Was he? I think you should dig into that alibi. My money is on him as the ringleader just as Max stated.”
“I’ve worked with Max before, and he has good instincts as well. But it’s all about what we can prove.”
“If we can break Wilson, then we can get the names of the others in their terrorist group. I might not be an investigator, but I’m a trained interrogator. Just give me time with Wilson, and I’ll get you the names.” With her heart pounding from the stakes of this undercover assignment and its increasing urgency, she leaned forward. “The lives of dedicated and heroic men are on the line, Mak.”
“I am aware. My husband, Errol Ballentine, is Max’s teammate. I worked with Atticus Sinclair on an op, and I have a soft spot for the SEALs. So, you’re preaching to the choir.”
“Believe me, lady. We’re all over it,” a masculine voice said behind her. She turned to find a tall man. Black hair was brushed off his face, making his stunning pale blue eyes stand out, dark stubble accentuating his full lips. He wore a fitted red hoodie that stretched across a well-muscled chest and over thick biceps along with a pair of