“And I told you to stay the course.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“What else?”
“That’s pretty much it.”
“Any more communications from Wingo on his son’s email?”
“There was nothing. Wingo hasn’t tried to contact him again.” She looked curious. “What exactly happened over there? You never said.”
“Wingo lost the cargo, but my people lost him. He’s out there. Probably trying to figure out what happened and attempting to get back here. He has made contact with his immediate superior. Said superior did not believe his explanation. He is a marked man. DoD is putting major resources toward finding him. We’re of course looking for him too.”
“So he won’t stay out there long.”
“But we don’t need the DoD to find him, because they might just believe that he didn’t take the cargo. Then they start to look elsewhere. I want their focus on him.”
“So you need to find him first.”
“As you remarked before, easier said than done.”
“Then we better get to it.”
“Agreed.”
He pulled his knife, cut her hands and feet free.
He flipped her his Glock 9mm.
She checked the mag, chambered a round, pointed it at him. “Sorry, Alan.” She fired the weapon. Or at least attempted to. But there was no bang and no bullet was propelled down the barrel.
“Helps to have a firing pin,” said Grant, who seemed unsurprised by her attempt to kill him.
He struck, the knife passing across her neck, severing all her major arteries. He backed away from the blood spray. Her gaze was on him and he continued to watch her. Waiting.
Jean fell to the floor and a few seconds later finished bleeding out.
He stared down at her for a few moments. “Consequences, Jean.”
He wrapped her in plastic and tied her up tight like a present.
The dug grave was waiting in the woods a quarter mile away. As he put the last shovelful of dirt over the hole, he said a silent prayer and considered the fact that Sam Wingo was a widower for the second time.
He doubted the man would care about that right now. He had other things to worry about. He walked back to the cabin, cleaned up, and got back into his car.
He didn’t like losing Jean, but some things were sacrosanct. You followed orders. You didn’t make the rules up as you went along. There was a chain of command for a reason. A very sound, historically verified reason.
And Grant was, above all, a disciplined soldier. It didn’t matter that he no longer wore the uniform. It wasn’t about something you wore. It was all about what was inside the clothes. Discipline. Honor. Respect. Reliability. Professionalism.
Jean had violated all of these.
He didn’t have the option of court-martialing her.
There was really only one option left. He had employed that option but only after she had failed his loyalty test. He was a fair man. If she hadn’t tried to kill him, she would still be alive. She had and she wasn’t.
He drove on.
He had a list. He had checked it twice. It was time to move the ball forward.