“Tell the agent in the other room to walk out with his hands in the air and no weapons on him. We’ll talk,” Nicolas offered. He knew the others were hastily going through the house, but his gut told him the two agents they’d cornered were innocents.
Neil hesitated and then shook his head. “I can’t get through to him.”
“I’ll tell my man to allow you to speak to him. You don’t want him dead, and we’ve got him boxed in. I don’t want any of my men dead.” Kaden, monitor them if you can.
I’m on it. As always Kaden was relaxed. He’s telling his buddy to come out without a weapon. That we’re GhostWalkers looking for a traitor in the NCIS. He says he believes us.
“There are three of you who use this house. Where’s the third?”
“You have intel on us.”
“That would be affirmative. I can tell you every bone you’ve ever broken in your body. I even know about your training with Whitney.”
Neil’s face shut down immediately. He stared blankly at Nicolas. Before he could protest, Nicolas shook his head. “Don’t bother. I’ve already gotten the ‘I’m not at liberty to discuss that’ speech. I don’t need confirmation. You, Maxwell, Calhoun, your buddy,” he jerked a thumb toward the other bedroom.
“Norton, Jack Norton,” Gator said into his radio. “He’s very cooperative.” The molasses in his voice was dripping, which meant his prisoner was combative.
Nicolas froze for a moment when he heard the name. It was legendary in the world of snipers. Kaden, did you get that? Tell the men to spread out, look for another sniper hidden somewhere. High ground, he’ll go up. Jack has a twin.
In spite of his tension, Nicolas kept his expression tranquil and continued with his conversation as if he hadn’t recognized the name. “And your buddy Norton all volunteered for a classified experiment Dr. Peter Whitney talked you into. He enhanced your psychic abilities and you were trained as a unit to work missions using your new talents. Unfortunately, there are severe repercussions to using them. All of you suffer continual headaches and other much more debilitating effects. When you’ve all had enough and want to learn how to function in the world without having to have the protection of your anchors at all times, put out the call to Lily Whitney, the doctor’s daughter, and she’ll help you.”
Ian’s voice whispered in Nicolas’s ear. “Lot’s of security on the computer. Far more than normal.”
“Bringing him in,” Gator reported.
Nicolas stepped to the side of the door and waited for Jack Norton to be brought into the room. He was a stocky man with beefy arms and chest, the defined muscles of a man who worked out daily and kept in shape. He looked a fighter, and his eyes were flat and cold and immediately jumped to Neil and then back at Nicolas with the promise of retaliation.
“Kneel down, Norton,” Nicolas ordered. “Keep your fingers locked behind your neck. You search him, Gator?”
“Knife the size of a sword on him,” Gator commented. “And just to be special, he had several throwing knives on him too.” He winked at Nicolas. “Thought I might miss those while I was staring in awe at that he-man knife.”
Norton flicked him a look, cold as ice. Gator smiled at him.
“You okay, Neil?” Norton asked.
“I’m okay. My chest hurts like hell.”
“I know you,” Nicolas said. “We crossed paths a couple of times in a couple of countries. What else do you have on you?”
“Couple of small knives and a couple of guns.”
“That’s not possible.” The smile vanished from Gator’s face.
“This is Jack Norton, and you should have recognized the name,” Nicolas told the Cajun, then turned his attention back to the agent. “The house is one big booby trap. My men are finding weapons all over the place. You think someone’s after you?”
“We heard someone took out Jesse Calhoun,” Norton answered easily. “Mind if I put my hands down?”
“Yes I mind. We’re all safer this way. Take it as a compliment. You have a certain well-deserved reputation. Where’s your brother?”
“Probably looking down a scope at you right this minute,” Norton said complacently.
“He’s carrying live rounds, Jack,” Nicolas said. “Tell him to stand down. I don’t want any of my men getting hurt and this turning into a useless bloodbath. We’re on an information hunt.”
“Ken will just hang back, making sure no one does anything stupid,” Norton replied. “You’re not going to find the traitor in this house.”
“He has information on Jesse,” Neil said.
“He’s in bad shape,” Nicolas told them. “We’ve got him stashed in the best hospital and he’s guarded around the clock by a couple of ours. Henderson went to see him. They’re not letting anyone else close.”
“You bring him out?” Jack asked.
Nicolas nodded.
“Then I owe you.”
“Just keep that brother of yours from shooting any of my men. I’d hate to have to kill someone I like.” Nicolas spoke into his radio. “We aren’t going to find anything here. Break off and let me know when you’re clear.”
“Is our computer intact?” Neil asked.
“You won’t know he touched it,” Nicolas answered. “Make sure you get a doc to take a look at your chest. You’re going to carry a few bruises. Later gentlemen.” He kept his gun steady, dead center on Norton’s chest as he backed toward the window. “I’ll just go out this way and keep an eye on the two of you while my men get clear.” He spoke conversationally, even nonchalantly, but his skin crawled with the idea of the legendary Jack Norton and his twin brother Ken, lying in wait for him. There were few men as good as him in the jungle, but Jack Norton was one of them. And he was just as good at the end of a rifle, maybe better.
No one had mentioned the Norton twins in the intel he had on the house, or even on the NCIS. He couldn’t imagine Lily missing something like that, which meant Norton had either come in on his own because he’d heard about Jesse Calhoun and Calhoun was a friend, or he’d been brought in by the director to investigate his office because the admiral had come to the same conclusion as Dahlia. Someone in the department was a traitor.
He kept his gun trained on Norton until each of his men gave him the all clear. He did a small salute and vanished, sliding into the night as quickly as he could, feeling the itch between his shoulder blades as if he were being tracked with a bullet.