I tell her everything he said, including the GPS coordinates.
“I need to contact the agency and get someone on this,” she says, grabbing a phone I don’t recognize from the table. It’s nicer than the burner phones she gave us to use during the rescue.
“Wait,” I say. “Where did that phone come from?”
She glances at it. “It was here in the house. It was left here for an emergency like this. I assure you, it cannot be traced.”
“Before you make that call, we should consider that someone at the agency might be involved with all of this.”
She frowns. “You think we’re dealing with a dirty agent? Why?”
I glance around to ensure no one is coming our way. “We were in the middle of nowhere in those woods. Yet, someone found us and had a perfect shot at Damien. The shooter could have taken us all out, but only Damien. Doesn’t any of that seem odd to you?”
“It’s not that odd, considering Sylvia had Damien’s phone. If Nancy found us, I’m not surprised someone else did, too.”
“So, you’re assuming that’s how the shooter found Damien? His phone?”
She turns to the table and picks up a pad of paper. “No, I don’t assume anything. I’ve been going over who could be involved.”
I step up beside her and read what’s on the paper. It’s a list of names, and next to it is a column she labeled as motive.
“These are your suspects?” I ask.
“Some of them.”
Sylvia is listed first, and her motive is money. Davis is listed next, but her name is scratched out. Interesting.
“So, you think Davis could be the shooter?”
“No. I was writing down everyone’s names but stopped. I’ve known Davis for years. She’s a good agent.”
The third name is Moose. Wait, our Moose?
I grab it and hold it up to Harding. “You really think Moose is a suspect? He was caught in a trap.”
“He yelled in pain after the gunshot. Before that, he was out of sight.”
My mind races as I remember that morning. “He was with Sylvia, who ran into the woods to pee. That’s why he wasn’t with us.”
“We still can’t rule him out,” Harding says.
“Yes, we can. I was next to Damien. I would have seen Moose.”
She stares at me but does not scratch out his name.
I continue reading. The fourth name is “sniper,” and for motive, she has written a question mark.
“Sniper. Nancy could have dropped off the sniper before crashing our site,” I say.
“It’s a strong possibility.”
“The most likely one on this list,” I say.
She frowns, staring at the paper. “There’s someone else we need to consider.” She writes Vlad on the paper.
“How? He didn’t even fly in until after we were already at the field.”
“We don’t know where he flew in from. Maybe he was on that ridge, drove away, then flew in from some short distance,” Harding says.
