“Shut the door, staff sergeant,” Lt. Colonel Martin said. “I don’t need a wayward ear listening in on this conversation.”

I pulled the door closed behind me. The intensity in his eyes had all but vanished. A tinge of concern now glistened in them. It wasn’t a look I was accustomed to seeing from a man in command of combat marines.

“Have a seat,” he said.

“With all due respect, Sir, I’d feel more comfortable standing.”

He glanced at the top of his desk, and then at me. “Have you read this morning’s newspaper?”

“I have it delivered, but I haven’t seen it today, Sir.”

He picked up a folded newspaper and handed it to me. “It’s opened to the page I’d like for you to read.”

The feigned shock as I gazed at the headline.

STAFFORD COUNTY, Virginia, November 12 (AP) – A Marine Corps Base Quantico combat veteran died in an apparent suicide Saturday, following a high-speed wreck in which a local businessman was killed.

A phone call from a concerned citizen who had witnessed what they believed to be an inebriated man with a handgun led a Stafford County Sheriff’s officer to the home of Sergeant Robert A. Pike, 34, of rural Stafford County.

After repeated attempts to make contact with Pike were unsuccessful, police entered the Marine’s home and found him unresponsive. The active-duty sergeant was declared deceased by the coroner, the result of an apparent self-inflicted gunshot wound.

A mile and a half from Pike’s home, a local retired businessman, Hansen R. Wallace, 56, was declared dead at roughly the same time, the result of a high-speed one-vehicle collision.

Preliminary forensic evidence places Pike at the scene of the collision. Investigators believe he was in control of the vehicle at the time of the wreck that took the life of Wallace.

It is believed that alcohol was a factor in the collision.

I handed him the newspaper. “Unbelievable.”

“Un-fucking-believable is the understatement of the year, staff sergeant. I’ve searched my mind high and goddamned low, and I can’t—for the fucking life of me—come up with one goddamned scenario where Sergeant Pike and AD Wallace would have any fucking business occupying the same space on this earth at the same godforsaken time. I’ll ask you to search your mind and see what you come up with.” He placed his hands on his hips and glared. “Well?”

“Sir, I can’t come up with—”

“This thing stinks, staff sergeant, and it stinks to the high fucking heavens.”

“Stinks?” I asked. “How?”

“How?” he snarled. “Like fucking shit!”

“What about it stinks?” I asked. “According to that article, it looks like Pike must have been driving Wallace’s car, wrecked it, killing Wallace, and then committed suicide following the wreck.”

“I don’t believe one fucking word of that article,” he said. “Not one.”

“Why not?”

“Have you ever had the hair on the back of your neck stand up before you walked into an ambush?” he asked.

“Yes, Sir. I have.”

“Something about it just didn’t look right. Smell right? Seem right. Something—even though you might not have been able to immediately identify it—was out of fucking whack. Is that an accurate statement, staff sergeant?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Your oh-shit meter went to redline. Correct?”

“Correct, Sir.”

“Well, mine is in the red zone right now, Briggs.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, even though I had an idea of where he was headed.

“It’s no secret we take orders from the Office of the DNI,” he said, his tone nearly a whisper. “They’re in charge of the strings, and we’re the respective puppets. I don’t think for one goddamned minute that we’re the only puppets they’re in charge of.”

“I’m at a loss, Sir.”

He closed his eyes. His jaw tensed. A nearly silent growl escaped him. When he opened his eyes, the intensity had returned. “It’s my professional opinion that the Office of the DNI was involved in the elimination of Pike and Wallace.”

He was more intelligent than I gave him credit of being. Now that he’d mentioned the theory, I could press him for information regarding what he knew—and what he suspected—without causing him to raise his brows at my interest.

“Holy shit, Sir,” I exclaimed. I gazed at the floor for a moment, and then feigned a revelation. “I can see the DNI’s office killing Wallace, because he’s a shit-bird, and a worthless excuse for a man. Why Pike? Why eliminate a talented and experienced operator?”

He sat down. “I’m convinced the DNI is eventually going to eliminate us all,” he whispered. “This is only the beginning. Those two were involved in something shady, I’m telling you.”

“I’ve wondered the same, Sir.” I sat in the chair across from him. “May I ask what brings you to that conclusion?”

He glanced out his window, faced me, and then leaned forward. “When I got here this morning, it was 1530 in Somalia. I made a few inquiries regarding Shephard. After speaking to the commander of SEAL Team Two, I found out several things. One, Shephard was supposed to arrive in Somalia to support the SEAL’s efforts. Two, he did not show up. Therefore, his KIA status—which I received from the DNI—is complete and utter bullshit. He’s dead, no doubt, but he wasn’t killed in Somalia. In my opinion, he was the first in this program to be targeted.”

I covered my face with my hands and exhaled an audible breath into my palms. When I opened my hands, I gave Lt. Colonel Martin a wide-eyed look. “Do you think this was an in-house operation?”

“Marines don’t kill marines, Briggs. This is some cloak and dagger operation out of Washington, D.C. Be advised, the DNI has many operations like this one. I’m sure one or more of them utilize a handful of worthless washed-up fucks from the Army’s special forces. One of those immoral pricks must have done this.”

“Is there anyone you can go to for answers?” I asked. “To find out what happened?”

“Not a soul,” he said. “We receive orders from a ghost.”

I acted surprised. “A ghost?”

“A fucking ghost. A man I’ve never met, and never will meet. The DNI’s office is covering their asses, and rightfully so.”

“You have no idea who he is?”

He shook his head. “The only man who might come close to knowing was swapping spit with Pike right before they hit that telephone pole on River Road.”

I sighed. “What’s the plan, Sir?”

“Keep your head on a fucking swivel,” he said. “If anything seems out of order, kill first, ask questions later.”

“Kill first, ask questions later.” I gave a sharp nod. “Aye aye, Sir.”