“You don’t think Walter’s involved, do you?” Rink asked when we were back in the 4x4 and on the road again. His tone told me that he didn’t give his words much credence.

“Stuff like that only happens in the movies,” I said. But I did wonder where he’d gone to. My greatest fear was that he’d already been targeted by the people we were up against, but it was highly unlikely. Walter rarely traveled anywhere without an entourage of bodyguards. I preferred to think that he was simply too busy with his own investigation to reply to my calls. Then a thought struck me. I stared directly at Bryce.

“When we first met, you said you wanted to check whose side I was on. Again, back at the safe house, you also mentioned that ‘according to some people’ I was the one responsible for killing our team. Was Walter one of these people?”

“No. Walter argued that it wasn’t you. It was why he contacted me and sent me to find you instead.”

“He knew where to find me,” I pointed out.

“News had just come in about the murder of Jessica and Linden Case and how Case mentioned your name before he died. Walter couldn’t contact you directly for fear of being implicated in that crime. He was worried that his communications were being monitored.”

“But he felt safe contacting you?”

“We keep in touch on an informal basis: face to face. We occasionally meet up to have a beer and reminisce over the good old days.”

Bryce was obfuscating in the way that Walter was also famous for. If a hit on a black ops team was under investigation, the CIA would have been onto Bryce much earlier than they’d been on to me. I noticed that Rink had picked up on the lie by the way he jutted out his chin. I let it go.

But then I laughed.

“You know what this is, don’t you?”

Bryce frowned. Rink’s chin relaxed and a smile curled his lips.

“Walter—in his own inimitable style—has reactivated us to clear up his shit. He sent you to put me on the right track, Bryce, knowing full well that I’d be like a dog after a bone. He knew that Rink would step up to help me.”

“Figures,” Rink said.

“This is another embarrassment to the intelligence community. He wants it buried, so he’s chosen us to do his dirty work for him again.”

“Just like Tubal Cain,” Rink said. He unconsciously thumbed the white scar on his chin—a reminder of said psychopath.