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“Familiar story.” She shrugged. “A couple of guys ran our car off the road. They had bigger weapons than our guide and forced us into the back of their truck. They blindfolded us and took us to some bombed-out buildings.”
“You couldn’t see. How’d you know about the buildings?”
“I could just tell—the dust, the silence, the rubble. While they led us along, they had to keep telling us to step up, step to the side. Even with the warnings, I tripped and stumbled a hundred times. I could tell we were in some bombed-out ghost of a neighborhood.”
“Did they mistreat you?” His jaw hardened at the thought of Hailey in the hands of the insurgents in that area.
“No. Offered us tea, but kept us blindfolded.”
“And that’s when you heard the American? Did he speak to you?”
“We just heard his voice a few times. He spoke French to one of the kidnappers. I could tell he was American from his accent.” A flush stained her cheeks. “I—I speak French fluently.”
Of course she did. Probably learned it at one of those fancy boarding schools.
Joe ripped off a side of the bread bowl. “The American didn’t speak Syrian?”
“No.”
Joe crumbled the bread in the remains of his soup.
Hailey hunched forward. “Why? What does that mean?”
“Denver speaks several languages, including Syrian. If he were there, why wouldn’t he converse in that language instead of some awful French?”
“I didn’t say his French was awful.” She tossed her mangled napkin on the table beside her plate. “Maybe that’s exactly why he didn’t speak Syrian. How many Americans know that language? Maybe he didn’t want to give himself away.”
Joe snorted. “Major Denver wasn’t there. No way. He wouldn’t send a bomb into a refugee center targeting helpless people—women and children. No way.”
“So that’s what this is all about. You, here, following de Becker around. Did the army send you? Delta Force?”
“I’m here on my own, on leave. The US Army has no idea I’m following up on this and it wouldn’t be appreciated or condoned...but I don’t give a damn about that.”
“What makes you so sure Denver didn’t go rogue? Didn’t he go AWOL?”
“I know him. I’m a good judge of character. He went AWOL because he realized he was being set up. Whoever set him up had already killed an Army Ranger and tried to kill one of our Delta Force team members. The army tried to pin it all on Denver, but that team member, Asher Knight, got his memories back and insisted that he, the Army Ranger and Denver were all set up at that meeting.”
“You think our kidnapping is another plot to implicate Major Denver?”
“That’s exactly what I think. Who first told you about Denver? Wasn’t de Becker the one who initially ID’d Denver as being present at that...gathering before the bomb went off in the refugee camp?”
“It was Marten. I can’t even remember how that all came about. I was devastated, in shock after the explosion. They made us all leave the camp—the country—after that.” Her voice wavered.
“Did anyone question you?” Joe resisted the urge to take her hand.
“Of course.” As if reading his mind, she put her hand in her pocket. “We were questioned there, and people from the Department of Defense came out here to San Francisco to question me and then the FBI sent a couple of agents for good measure. We went through the wringer.”
“Did they ask you about Denver and whether or not you could ID him? I know de Becker said that his blindfold had slipped and he saw the American. When they showed him Denver’s picture, he picked him out.”
“I know that.” She straightened out her scarf and smoothed it against the front of her jacket. “My blindfold was secure and I never saw a thing, never saw any of my captors.”
Joe slumped in his chair. “So, you never claimed that Denver was there.”
“I said I didn’t see my captors.” She held up one finger, her perfectly polished fingernail catching the light from the streetlamp next to their table, making it look like a magic wand. “I did hear them.”
