I think of the last few minutes, and the phone call I had received that had caused me to be late. The unexpected phone call had come from Freddy, a.k.a. Major Fredericka West, executive officer for the Second Ranger Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, who had said, “I know your fat ass is in one tight sling, and I’m here to free it up, so just listen.”

Which is what I did.

I say, “General, information has come to me concerning more in-depth intelligence about the two cartels, the Afghan farmer who was killed while in my custody, how and why Warrant Officer Vasquez was given information to track me, and how this is all connected. May I proceed?”

Major Wenner is leaning forward, just to the side of Colonel Denton, listening to Captain Cornwall. To him she seems like some sort of robot or android, reciting bits of information over and over again in a flat and emotionless tone even though it will do her no good.

And then General Sawyer says, “Yes, you may proceed.”

Cornwall is now staring right in the direction of her superior officer, Colonel Denton, and Wenner feels like the chair he’s sitting in has suddenly compressed around him, not allowing him to move an inch.

Cornwall says, “At the initial investigation back in Afghanistan, the farmer named Mohammed Noor was in the possession of a business card with the name of Mercador Holdings and a phone number based in Mexico. At the time, I requested the information on this business card be traced. I was told the company name and the phone number were fake.”

Wenner can’t breathe anymore, and even Denton is stiff and unmoving next to him.

“That information was wrong,” Cornwall says. “The person conducting that research at FOB Healy was hiding the real information from me and the Army. The person who did that is in the employ of the El Baja cartel, and has been so for more than a year.”

General Sawyer says, “Who is it?”

Cornwall continues her long and deep stare.

“Major Bruno Wenner,” she says. “Who was with my unit in Afghanistan at the time.”

CHAPTER 91

CHAPTER 91

I HAVE to give the traitorous son of a bitch credit, for he doesn’t flinch or raise his eyebrows, or even yell at me. He just keeps sitting there, to the right and slightly behind our mutual boss, Colonel Hugh Denton.

Colonel Denton starts to speak, but General Sawyer cuts him off. “That’s a pretty serious accusation, Captain Cornwall.”

“I know,” I say.

From my coat pocket I remove a small thumb drive, which I put on the shiny surface of the conference room table and which contains an info dump from my dear friend Freddy.