He waited for both men to nod their understanding. Tagging the data didn’t make it traceable. But it did pinpoint and time-stamp its source.
“The chemical weapon formula was discovered in the hands of jihad militants.” He named the faction, a particularly violent extremist group who’d claimed responsibility for three European bombings the previous year, including an amusement park.
“One of the militants could have sold it,” Lansky pointed out, although he didn’t sound very confident.
“The electronic signature pins the data to a specific time frame.” He ignored the clutch in his gut and continued. “The CIA believes it’s unlikely to be one of them given that the militants themselves were under attack and their compound in flames at that time.”
He waited a beat, then arched his brow.
The two men looked at each other, and he could see the messages pass between them. In just a look, they replayed the mission, they explored the options, they reached the same conclusion.
When their gazes met his again, Lansky seemed as if he were going to explode. Torres simply stared.
“You think someone from our team stole the formula? That they betrayed the team, the country, by selling?” Lansky asked, his words two shades from livid. “You think one of us is dirty?”
“No. He’s telling us the damned CIA thinks that,” Torres corrected, speaking for the first time since Savino had entered. There was no surprise in his words, making it clear he’d been expecting something ugly. But the look in his eyes said he hadn’t thought it’d be quite this ugly.
“I think that we have to consider every possibility, no matter how impossible it seems,” Savino said slowly. “It could be that whoever did this targeted this specific information. They could have targeted this specific mission. Or there was no target and it was simply opportunistic.”
“Which is it?” Lansky asked.
Savino arched a brow at Torres. The other man rubbed his thumb over his forehead, took a long breath, then blew it out before meeting Savino’s blank gaze.
“He thinks it was mission specific. That’s why we’re rooming with roaches here in Hotel California. He had us lay low in case he needed us off base and off duty, so whoever is looking can’t tag us if he sends us on special assignment.”
And that was why he’d groomed Torres for higher things. The man was good. Excellent even. That this could take him down, ruin his career, was fucking unreal. Fury reared its head for just a second before Savino slammed the lid again. It didn’t matter. He prided himself on never letting his thoughts show. So his words were calm and his expression neutral.
“In light of various pieces of information that have been filtered my way, I think this mission was targeted for a reason. I just don’t know what it is. Yet. Neither does the CIA.”
“Are they looking at me specifically because I led the mission?” Torres asked quietly. Savino had served with the guy for ten years. He recognized the pain and fury beneath the words.
“The quickest way to put this to bed is to find out who is behind it,” Savino answered. “Who had the most to gain, and how would they pull it off.”
“Ramsey,” Lansky said, the words coming almost faster than Savino finished talking. “That dude thought he was so much better than everyone else on the team—he never tried to fit in. He was Cyber, so he knows computers and could have pulled that formula before the place blew. And he had a major hard-on to take Diego down in any way he could.”
Torres shook his head.
“You’re reaching, man. You just want the guy to be dirty.”
“And you refuse to see reality because you believe in a code of honor that says a SEAL can’t be dirty. Doesn’t mean other SEALs follow that same code.”
“The guy is dead. What’d he do, sell the formula from the great beyond?”
“The guy was slimy as hell. He probably staged that explosion and snuck out of there like the snake he is. Was. Is.”
“Can’t decide?” Torres asked with a smirk.
“Is,” Lansky shot back, his boyish features grim.
“And this is what we have to find out,” Savino interrupted. “Word came down this morning that a large sum of money was deposited in an account attached to Ramsey’s name.”
“That son of a bitch got paid?”
“I didn’t say that,” Savino corrected Lansky. “The account is attached to his name. His and his kid’s, with the mother as guardian. But she’s not a signatory on it, and there’s no record that she’s ever used it. It could be a smoke screen.”
“Whoever did the deed had the money put in Ramsey’s account in case eyes were cast, they’d be cast his way,” Diego summed up.
“Yes.”
Lansky rubbed his fingers over bloodshot eyes, then shook his head.
“So you’re saying it was someone besides Ramsey?” He sounded like a kid who’d just been told Santa had been arrested on Christmas Eve.
“No,” Torres said in a toneless voice before Savino could answer. “He’s saying that’s how the CIA is looking at it. They’re gunning for one of us.”
“The CIA and NI,” Savino confirmed, letting them know that Naval Intelligence was involved.
“You have a plan, right?” Lansky pressed his hands together. “Tell me you have a plan.”
“I have a plan.” He nodded toward the chairs. It was going to take a while and they might as well be comfortable.
“Brilliant,” Lansky said an hour later, his pen tapping a quick beat on his notebook. “Except for one thing.”
“You want the woman,” Torres said from the floor, where he was doing push-ups.
“I want the woman.”
“Nope.” Now that he’d outlined the situation and given the orders, Savino was finally comfortable enough to step out of command mode. “You’re volatile, MacGyver.”
“Me?” Lansky pressed his hand to his chest and tried for offended. “Kitty Cat is the one with the temper. He’s the one with the rep. I’m the guy next door.”
“Your specialty is tech. We need you on the computer researching, digging. Prescott is our expert in information warfare, but he’s still in the hospital, recovering. Torres trained under him for two years, he’s got solid IW skills. He’s our best bet.”
Savino considered the stakes. A chemical formula in the hands of militants whose mission was mass terrorism spelled every kind of ugly in the book of possibilities. The threat to US security abroad was high. The threat to the SEAL team, and especially Poseidon, was even higher. If they didn’t reel this in and reel it fast, there was going to be blood on the floor. Too much blood to mop up.
So Savino added, “Besides, you’re biased.”
He didn’t add that Lansky was hitting the bottle a little too heavy these days.
“Ramsey was an asshole,” Lansky argued. “He had a grudge against Torres because our boy is the best. Add means and opportunity, and that’s realism. Not bias.”
“Right. You want him to be guilty.”
“So? Better him than one of us.”
“And that’s your bias.”