Page 44 of Raven's Curse
Bodie stopped typing on his keyboard. “Just decrypting it, now.” He hit a few more keys. “Seems the last hurdle is a retinal scan. I’ve sent the files to your phone.”
“Trust Nick to lean into his paranoia.” Greer clicked on the file, waiting for the data to appear. “Okay, he narrowed these kinds of torture techniques down to a group out of Iran and one near the Carpathians. The first are more religious zealots. Extremely violent. Mostly go for those mass causality scenarios Nick hinted at. They’ve definitely got the know-how and the backbone to pull this off, but a single person hunting people one at a time… That’s personal, and I’m not sure how they’d know about my involvement. Unless you guys also have a connection I’m unaware of?”
Foster shook his head. “Our top contenders are based in southern Russia and Eastern Europe. Missions that went seriously sideways. Multiple casualties. Though, if we think this is a former military man gone rogue, I’m not sure any of them fit. All military causalities were fatal.”
She perked up a bit, staring at Nick’s notes regarding his second option before meeting Foster’s gaze. “Those Eastern Europe missions. I don’t suppose any involved a group called the Legion?”
Foster froze. Looking her dead in the eyes for several moments before scratching the back of his neck. Glancing at his buddies as if he’d seen a ghost.
She stood. “Shit, that was your SAR team that went in with Dalton’s crew.”
Chase closed the distance. “You were involved in that?”
“I profiled the colony. Was able to predict a convoy. Got one of their own to turn, then green lit the entire mission.” She closed her eyes, images from the drone’s IR footage playing in the darkness. The ones that still haunted her. “Of course, he didn’t know about the reinforcements their leader had called in until the bastards interrupted your extraction.”
She swallowed, nearly puked. “I swear we didn’t call for that missile strike. If it was the CIA or DoJ, it wasn’t anyone in that room.”
“Hey…” Chase reached out, took her hand. “That wasn’t your fault. And we rescued all the hostages. Sometimes ops go sideways. Every soldier knows that going in, and we accept the risk.”
“Just more blood on my hands that never quite washes off.” She squeezed his fingers. “I don’t suppose any of those extremists were highly trained?”
Chase snorted. “They were decent, but I didn’t see anything to suggest they were our perp’s level of good.”
“And the men who didn’t make it back?”
Zain stepped forward. “Dalton? He and his crew were hardcore. Had been Green Berets for over a decade. A medevac team went in shortly after the strike. They found dog tags, blood and bone fragments. They were all presumed KIA.”
Greer nodded. “Agreed. But as I recall, they never recovered the bodies.”
“From what we were told, there wouldn’t have been much to recover.”
Greer bit back the bile burning the back of her throat. She’d been watching that mission stream from a drone in the war room — had lived every second of it. While it had been only figures moving in that eerie green wash of night vision, she’d witnessed the missile strikes. Had felt the loss when the smoke had cleared and the entire area had been leveled.
Chase inched closer. “Hypothetically, if they had survived, do you think someone like Dalton could have been converted?”
She glanced at his buddies, then Bodie. “Despite their training, their strength, people can only hold out for so long. Some prisoners avoid the inevitable break by getting themselves killed, either by trying to escape or provoking their captors. Or they learn how to fake it enough, they integrate while biding their time. The ones who eventually crack…” She sighed. “They’re taken apart down to their primordial ooze, then put back together with half the pieces missing.”
“And you think that could have happened to those men?”
“Honestly? If it were all of you, I’d say no. You’re definitely the kind who’d die trying to escape. As for Dalton… I don’t know. But we’ve got military weapons, strategies and skill partnered with cult-level torture tactics. With words they’ve used in their manifestos inscribed on dog tags. It’s worth considering.”
Bodie stood. “If you give me their names, I’ll see what I can find.”
Greer moved over to her whiteboard and grabbed the marker. “There were four. Marcus Hodges, Carlos Rios, Royce Carver and Eric Dalton. If I remember correctly, Hodges was their comms tech, Rios their weapons’ specialist, Carver was the team medic and Dalton was team leader.”
Chase stayed close, as if he knew she was teetering on the edge. “Rios was in rough shape before that strike, as was Dalton and Carver. Only Hodges would have been able to run, but he didn’t strike me as the type.”
“Carver would be a logical choice with his medical background, but those kinds of torture techniques could have been ingrained during captivity. Who was their best sniper?”
Chase tapped his chin. “Any one of them could have made that shot, but Dalton and Rios had both trained as snipers.”
Foster carded a hand through his long hair. “As much as I hate this idea is even on the table, it definitely warrants investigation. If nothing else to put their sacrifice to rest. What about that guy you turned?”
Greer stopped writing for a moment. “He died in the second assault.”
“You’re sure?”
She glanced back at Foster over her shoulder. “I saw it all play out in real time. So, yeah. I’m sure.”
