Nathan let the knife sink a fraction of an inch into Montez’s cheek. “Spare me your sick musings. You were going to dump Dalton in the ocean. Alive. Like you did to Kramer. You could’ve killed Kramer first. Why drown him like that?”

“I’d put up with Kramer for years. He was a small, cruel man who lorded every ounce of power he had over those around him.”

“Sounds like you. So you’re claiming Dalton works for the CIA?”

“He did. As a contractor. He owned a small, private company called Ironclad Management.”

“And Kramer’s shell company, Energy Solutions?”

“Was hired by Ironclad. A subcontractor.”

“Which dealt directly with you.”

“Yes. Kramer brought me the interrogation subjects. Terrorists. Captured by your military or CIA, then taken to a safe house in Hungary for safekeeping until it was time for their interrogations on Tobago. The clean coal venture allowed us to use Hungary as a depot. Everything was done with private jets. That’s where I came in. Kramer simply handled the arrivals and disposals.”

“Then what did Dalton do?”

“It’s all on the thumb drive.”

Nathan pushed the knife. “I’m asking you.”

“I already told you. Dalton was a middleman, reporting to a United States Senator. A member of the mighty Committee on Domestic Terrorism.”

Nathan literally felt his heart pound. His father would never be party to this.

He moved his Predator to Montez’s right eye. “You’re lying.”

“I’m not, I swear.”

“Which Senator?” He drove the knife’s tip into the lower eyelid and felt the blade pierce skin. “Which one?”

“Alan Kallstrom.”

Nathan pulled the steel back, letting himself breathe again, then felt shame. Sudden and deep. How could he have suspected his own father? Familiar hatred began boiling. Hatred for being manipulated. For being paranoid. Hatred of his own nature. What have I become that I would suspect my own father of working with this animal?

“McBride.…” Montez said slowly. “You’re Senator Stone McBride’s son? And you thought I was referring to him?” He smiled. “Close to your father, are you?”

Nathan’s voice took on a sudden calmness. “There’s someone I want you to meet, Mr. Montez.”

Montez looked around in mock curiosity. “We seem to be alone.”

“We are alone, just the three of us.” He waited, allowing his meaning to sink in. Montez had seen the other. Many times.

Montez’s expression changed to fear, and he began speaking rapidly. “If you torture or kill me, Dalton’s confession in your pocket will be distributed to every major news network. Your country will be mired in scandal for decades. World opinion of America will plummet to an all-time low.”

“Like I care.”

“What about your precious patriotism? You told me many times you’d never betray your country, no matter what I did to you.”

“A lot can change over the years,” he lied.