Page 42 of Monk
“Afghanistan?”
I nod. “He was part of a joint FBI-CIA interrogation team,” I tell him. “He was stationed at my FOB just outside of Jalalabad. It’s been a few years, but I know it’s him. I’d bet my life on it.”
“Son of a bitch,” he murmurs.
His eyes dart left and right, looking for movement among the trees. I shake my head.
“Nah, I don’t think they’ve got a team moving in on us. My guess is he’s embedded with the Bastards. Long-term undercover,” I say. “Yeah, they’ll eventually sweep us up as part of his investigation, too. But if I have to guess, he’s on his own. Checks in regularly with his handlers and reports anything interesting.”
Cosmo pauses, and I can see his mind working. This can be really bad for us. Actually, it already is. If we say nothing to Spooner, when they get rolled up, the FBI will come hit us next. If we do tell Spooner he’s got a rat in his crew, we’re associating ourselves with the murder of a federal agent. Fucked if we do, fucked if we don’t.
His eyes land on me again. “You’re one hundred percent sure.”
“Damn straight.”
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath.
“Assuming the rat goes missing, you think Spooner would serve us up if the feds put the squeeze on him?” I ask
He shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. I’d like to say no. I’d like to say he’d no sooner cooperate with the feds than we would. But when somebody’s ass is on the line, you never know.”
“If we say nothing, it’s a certainty the feds will be knocking on our door in the not-too-distant future,” I say.
“And if we do say something, there’s only a chance they will. And just as good a chance they don’t.”
“The odds suck either way.”
“Yeah, tell me about it. But I don’t see any option other than to roll the dice. One’s a guarantee, the other’s only a maybe.”
I blow out a loud breath and rub my jaw, the stubble making a dry, scratchy sound. Spooner walks back over to us with a duffel bag in hand. He moves to hand it over, but Cosmo takes a step back.
“What are you doin’?” Spooner asks.
“Before we do anything, we need to have a talk,” Cosmo says.
I move to the side, standing close enough to the pair to hear and provide input as necessary, but far away enough to keep an eye on the rat and give myself a clear line of sight if ever I need to put him down. Cutting a glance over at Max, I can see he’s getting antsy, so I give him a gesture meant to say, “calm the fuck down”. He does—more or less.
“You need to do a little housecleaning,” Cosmo says.
“The fuck are you talkin’ about?”
“Your new guy. Who is he?” Cosmo asks.
“Adam. Good guy. All in on the cause with us,” Spooner says.
“What do you know about him?”
“Well, I didn’t do a credit check on the guy,” Spooner laughs. “But one of my guys vouched for him.”
Cosmo cuts me a look and I shrug. “Probably got pinched and this was the deal he cut to stay out of prison.”
Spooner rounds on me and draws himself up to his full height. His expression darkens. “The fuck did you just say?”
“Mellow out, Spooner. Hear him out and whatever you do, keep your shit together,” Cosmo says. “Seriously, do not lose your shit.”
The big man pulls a face at me, clearly not appreciating the implication of what I’ve just said. I’m still trying to wrap my head around what’s going to happen when I tell him he’s got a rat in his crew. I try to think of some way to soften the blow, but there’s really nothing for it other than to be honest and direct. Or maybe I just don’t know any other way to be.
“Your new guy… he’s a fed,” I say bluntly.
