Dylan sprang off the bed, almost catapulting himself into the wall. “And what about my son? Where does he play in all of this?”

  “You’ll tell Perry that you’re working with me but as a double cross, to help pay back for what happened at the river, for what you saw, and you say you’re doing it for your son. You make him come with you as part of the deal. Even if Perry doesn’t believe you, he’ll still want to give it a shot. He wants the computer chips, and he’s arrogant enough to think that even if you are lying, he’ll still be able to get what he wants.”

  Dylan paced around the bed, shaking his head, rubbing the creases on his forehead. “It’s too risky. There has to be another way. We can go to your boss, maybe—”

  “I already did,” Cooper said. “This is the best chance we have, Dylan. And we need to capitalize on it quickly.”

  ***

  Once Cooper had left, Dylan collapsed on the couch next to Mark, exhausted. The fatigue of the past week had left a twitch in his left pinky, along with the corner of his right eye, one that he couldn’t control no matter how many times he rubbed it.

  Mark hadn’t said much. Dylan wasn’t sure if that was from shock or the meds he was on. Most of the time he’d just sat there, shaking his head and muttering curses under his breath. “It’s a shit storm any way you cut it, Captain.”

  No matter what Dylan tried to do, any way he tried to look at it, the end of every road turned out bad for his family. If Cooper and the DEA couldn’t get his son out before Perry realized what happened, then he knew Sean was dead. If Dylan couldn’t get Perry to show up on location, then Dylan would be tried for treason. Cooper wasn’t coy about the stakes. If Perry couldn’t be pinned down, the government would need a face to place the blame on, someone for the public to point and scream at, and with Dylan so close to the action, there would be little doubt it would be both him and Cooper.

  Three quick, successive knocks hit the front door, and both Dylan and Mark jumped. Dylan got up, grabbing the revolver from the coffee table, and checked the window. He let out a sigh and pocketed the gun before he opened the door. “Evelyn? What’s wrong? What are you doing here?”

  Dylan’s ex-wife fiddled with her fingertips, her feet twisted awkwardly underneath her. “Hey, I was, um—” Her eyes only found Dylan’s once and then darted away, looking at the wall, the ground, the ceiling, anything but him. Her hair was pulled back, and her face was void of any makeup, and her expensive clothes had been exchanged for a T-shirt and jeans. She poked her head inside and saw Mark on the couch. “I asked the DEA where you’d been staying since, well, since all of this started.”

  Dylan stepped out onto the porch with her and closed the door behind him. The sun was getting low, and he saw the new Mercedes her husband, Peter, had bought for her earlier in the year. “You shouldn’t be out this late. Curfew will be starting soon, and driving around in that thing isn’t exactly inconspicuous.”

  Evelyn shook her head, her blond, curly hair flowing back and forth. “I know. It’s... I just needed to see you.” She grabbed him by the hand and pulled him over to the wooden bench Mark kept on the front porch, faded and worn from the sun. She kept his left hand clasped between both of hers. He had forgotten how soft her hands were against his calloused palms.

  “When we divorced, I blamed you for a lot of things,” Evelyn said. “I know I didn’t help the situation with Zack—”

  “Evelyn, you should go home.” Dylan didn’t need this, not now, not with everything that was happening and what was going to happen.

  Evelyn shoved Dylan’s hand back and tossed her own in the air with exasperation. “See? This is what you always do. You shut off, go blank. This is what was so hard after Zack died, Dylan. You think you were the only one grieving? You think you were the only one going through something? Both of us lost a son, not just you!”

  Tears streamed from Evelyn’s eyes, and he could see the pain and frustration etched across her face. The same lines he remembered from when he was stumbling home drunk, soaked to the bone in whiskey. Dylan shot up from the bench. “You don’t think I know that? You don’t think I thought about that every day in rehab, and every day since? But there was one thing you never did. You never forgave me. Even before I started drinking. You may not remember that, but I do. Disgust. That’s what was in your eyes every time you looked at me. I tried to save our boy!” Spit flew from Dylan’s mouth with each jut of his finger. Evelyn wasn’t far behind in thrusting her own accusations at him, and it didn’t take long for the calm talk to turn into one of their old screaming matches that echoed throughout the entire neighborhood.

  “That’s bullshit, and you know it, Dylan! I never blamed you for Zack’s death. Never!” Evelyn’s body was curved over in anger as she moved underneath Dylan’s chin. “You put that burden on yourself. It was some self-righteous way for you to feel whole again. I tried to get you to go to counseling. I tried to talk to you. I tried everything, but you let yourself crumble. Don’t pin that on me.”

  “And you fucking around? I suppose that’s my fault, too? The way you opened your legs up for anyone who walked by?”

  Evelyn slapped Dylan across the face, then her hands clenched into fists, and her body shook. The trembling anger coursed through her veins, the type of anger that gave you strength yet weakened you at the same time. “I slept with him once, Dylan, and it was after a year of watching you slowly kill yourself. You know I took responsibility for that. You know how I felt after it happened. I tried fixing us, I really did. But you were drowning yourself, and the children who were still alive would have gone down with you.”

  Dylan felt the sting in his bones at those words. Evelyn had always had a way of disarming him, cutting him where it hurt the most. If he was honest with himself, they’d always been like that to each other, learning the weaknesses so they could win the next argument. Zack’s death didn’t have anything to do with that. It had always been there. “Go home, Evelyn.” He turned his back to her, and when he had his hand on the doorknob, she shoved the knife even deeper into his back.

  “You’re just going to waste away and let another son die.”

  Words. They’re just words. They don’t define you. Only your actions do. Dylan stepped inside and then calmly shut the door behind him. The car door of the Mercedes slammed shut, and he listened to her drive off. Mark said nothing as Dylan made his way to the back of the house, despite hearing everything that was said through the thin walls. Dylan supposed there wasn’t much to be said after something like that. Words that inflict no wounds require no treatment.

  Evelyn’s words were nothing more than a pick at an old scar that had long since healed. She was upset just as much as he was. While Dylan was tormented with the knowledge of what was happening to their son, she was tormented by the unknown, which Dylan knew to be truly worse.

  Dylan stepped out the back door and into the small, dirt-ridden yard. He heard Mark finally calling for him, but he tuned him out. He just needed to be alone to hear his own thoughts. He closed his eyes, shielding himself from what little sunlight remained in the sky.

  The fatigue Dylan wore slowly slipped from him. He breathed deep, slow, an energy returning to him that he hadn’t felt in a long time. There was still the need to have a drink of whisky, but his control took over and focused that desire on another goal, one that would get him his son back.

  It was clear that both sides of the fence wanted something from him for their own gain. Perry wanted to complete his bomb, and the government wanted someone to take the fall. Neither had the same concern for his son that he did. If he wanted to get Sean back, then he couldn’t trust Perry, or Cooper, or whoever their superiors were. Dylan would have to do it himself, and he’d need to steal the leverage to make it happen.

  Chapter 7

  The homeless man Cooper picked up still smelled terrible despite the clothes and deodorant she’d brought with her. It was going to take more than a clean shirt and Right Guard to get rid of the smell that decades of living in the wilderness provided.

  Moringer didn’t want Cooper to bring him in, but the fact that he was able to physically identify that Perry was the man he saw drop off the cash last week for the harbormaster to pick up made him one of the only physical pieces of evidence that could bring Perry down. While her boss was doubtful that a jury would be convinced that this man had the clarity of mind and reputation to actually be believable, Cooper felt like doing something was better than nothing.

  So Cooper waited at the same coordinates where she’d found the homeless man in the first place for Moringer to arrive and put the man in witness protection under the guard of the DEA, but only with agents she could trust. Her partner, Diaz, was at the top of a very short list.

  The man hadn’t said much when Cooper arrived except for asking her if she had any more food. Once she gave him the sandwich she’d brought, that had become the main focus of his attention. She checked her watch, and the moment she looked up, Moringer’s silver sedan appeared on the dirt road and entered the field.

  Both Moringer and Diaz exited the car, their eyes cast over to the homeless man devouring his sandwich under the shade of the tree by the bench. Diaz motioned over to the guy. “It’s a risk taking him in.”

  “Perry doesn’t know about him,” Cooper said. “Trust me. And even if he did, he’s too arrogant to think that some homeless man would be able to bring him down.”

  “And there would be some truth to that,” Moringer replied. “Did you speak with the captain?”

  “Yeah, he’s on board, but we need to get his boy out of Perry’s control. I don’t know if he’ll move much without him safe.”

  Moringer extended her the files. “This is authentic.” Before Cooper could take them, he pulled them back. “The moment Dylan Turk hands these over to Perry, he will have full knowledge of where the computer chips are located and how to bypass the security systems. It’s not just your career that’s riding on this, or mine, it’s the fate of the country.”

  “I understand, sir.” Cooper took the file and thumbed through its contents. “It’s going to be risky for everyone involved.” She shot a glance to Diaz.

  “Hey, I told you when we started this that I have your back. And I meant it.” Diaz looked over to the homeless man, now finished with his food. “Besides, I’ll be on guard duty. I doubt I’ll get much action on that assignment.”

  “Diaz is going to work at getting our witness in front of a judge, once we get a court order I’ll take it to the other directors. Our accusations will carry more weight with it, and if Perry goes for the captain’s bait, then we’ll be in even better shape, but Perry has his ear to the ground,” Moringer said. “We should all treat this like he already knows everything.”

  Cooper knew he was right. So far, Perry had been ahead of the game on everything. He’d been smarter than his superiors at Homeland, smarter than they were, smarter than the terrorists, and he’d done so with ease.

  The homeless man wandered over, and Diaz took him and placed him in the back of the car. It didn’t take much convincing—another meal and a shower—and the homeless man looked like he was ready to drive himself into town.

  Moringer stopped Cooper before she left. “Listen, I know you’re going this alone, but if something happens or it doesn’t feel right—”

  “Sir, this hasn’t felt right since we started. I’ll get it done.”

  Moringer put his hands in the air and backed away. Cooper let them leave first and made her way back over to her car by the tree and bench. She stopped for a second, taking in the area, then took a seat on the worn bench.

  The legs had sunk into the earth on the right side, causing the bench to tilt, and most of the wooden planks that ran along the seat looked like they would snap in half at any moment, so Cooper made sure not to move too much. She ran her fingertips along the side of the wood, a few of the boards having letters carved into them that were no longer visible.

  Cooper wondered how many people had been out here before, sat at this bench under the shade, and looked out onto the field before them. It was a peaceful place, quiet. Somewhere you could go for a picnic, perhaps during other circumstances. Why this spot?

  The coordinates that Perry had given were specific, and with the bench and tree here, it had to have been a place Perry had been before. In all reality, she knew nothing more about the man than what she’d been able to read about his work history. Training, education, place of birth, date of birth, race, weight, height, but none of it told her about who he was or where he came from. Maybe that’s what she was missing. Maybe that was the piece of armor that had made Perry seem so invincible. If she could find out more about his past, then maybe she could figure out what he wanted to do with his future.

  ***

  The folder Cooper had given Dylan rested on the table next to the radar tech he’d stolen from the boat on the last mission before it went down. He didn’t understand the technology that made it work, but when he plugged it into the GPS, the Navy, Coast Guard, no one could track him. If he was going to pull this off, he’d need it.

  Mark hobbled out of the bathroom and buttoned his shirt, wincing from the exertion. He couldn’t do it himself, and Dylan cursed himself for asking, but he needed help. “You sure you’re up for this?”

  “I don’t need you patronizing me,” Mark answered. “I was sailing before you were even born. I once stitched up my own leg from a shark bite diving off the North Carolina coast then managed to paddle my way back to shore. I think I can handle sitting at a dock behind the boat wheel.”

  “Once you’re in it, these people will know you. Hunt you.” Dylan pointed to the folder and the tech on the table. “You touch it, and you’re toxic like I am.”

  Mark picked up the small cloaking device and turned it over in his hands. “I was toxic the moment I let you into my house. Now, where’s the marina?”

  Cooper had told Dylan that Homeland and the FBI were doing a fake transport of the computer chips. In reality, they were staying exactly where they were in the facility just south of DC in hopes of tricking the terrorists into attacking a dummy truck, one that would be easier for them to take down. But with Dylan feeding Perry the truth, along with the date and specifics of the facility.

  Everything depended on Perry believing Dylan. It was on him to convince Perry that the plan was solid. Perry would be able to verify through his Homeland contacts, but the fact that Dylan was bringing the information beforehand, that was what would be suspicious. It all came down to convincing Perry that Dylan was double crossing Cooper for his son.

  The marina Dylan would meet Mark at would be just south of the city, close to where the heist would take place. Dylan handed him the keys to the boat he’d rented with the cash that Cooper had given him, and the two men embraced.

  Mark clapped Dylan’s back hard, the strength Dylan thought had been gone seemingly returning in the blink of an eye. “You make sure you’re at that dock, all right?”

  “I will.” Dylan handed him the bag with the device, along with some of his medications, food, water, extra clothes, and his revolver with a box of ammo. Even if Dylan made it to the dock, he wasn’t sure how long they’d have to stay out there, and he wanted to make sure they had something to fall back on.

  Once Mark disappeared, Dylan grabbed his phone then texted the number that always contacted him. I have some info. Give me a time and a place.

  The answer was almost immediate, and with that, Dylan grabbed the files and jumped into his truck. The entire ride over, his stomach flipped and churned, but each time he felt like his breakfast was going to come up, he remembered why he was doing it, and a rush of anger replaced whatever fear came to the surface. The location Dylan had received in the text was just a few miles from Mark’s house, a sign that Perry knew where he was staying. Not something he didn’t expect, but still unnerving.

  Dylan pulled into an abandoned shopping mall, all but vacant with the exception of a few homeless and those who had scattered with nowhere else to go with the events that had been plaguing the nation. Regardless, whoever they were, they ran the moment his truck pulled in.

  The only other car in the lot was parked on the opposite end, near a cluster of rusted shopping carts under the shade of a large oak tree. Dylan pulled up right alongside it, but the windows were so tinted that he couldn’t see inside, so he waited for them to make the first move. Finally, the window lowered, and Kasaika motioned for him to get out of his truck and into the back seat.

  Dylan shut the door, and the leather squeaked as he sat down. Dylan had never seen the driver before, but Kasaika did all the talking. “Well? What do you have?”

  “I need to speak with Perry about it,” Dylan answered, keeping the folder clutched tight in his fist. “It’s something only he’ll understand.”

  Kasaika scoffed and shook his head. “You will tell me, and I will decide whether it is worth our time.”

  Dylan opened the door and quickly got out, triggering both the driver and Kasaika to exit the vehicle as well. Before Dylan made it to his truck door, Kasaika stepped between it and him, wielding a pistol. “Give me what you have, or your boy will get a cut across his back to match the one on his chest.”

  Dylan tossed Kasaika the folder, and the terrorist smiled. “I need to hear back from him quickly. We have a small window of opportunity to make this happen.” Dylan let the terrorists leave first then made his way back to Mark’s place. Along the way, he kept checking his phone, making sure he hadn’t missed some sort of message, but found none.