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“Look, I put the tracker on your vehicle, but you were harboring a fugitive.”
Freya’s words were a whisper in his ear. “If that were true, he’d have used the excuse immediately.”
Chris leaned in. “She was never a fugitive. They only wanted to interview her. Even so, I might have bought it if you’d led with that. It also doesn’t explain the phone number, which you gave them after the State Department backed off.”
“How am I supposed to know what the State Department is doing?”
Rand took up this line. “You expect us to believe you were willing to plant a tracker on a teammate’s vehicle, but you didn’t bother to read the message sent to the entire team by our XO with the update that included the fact that an attempt had been made on Dr. Edwards’s life this morning?”
“I must’ve missed that one.”
Chris leaned forward. “I’m done with games. Rand, you might want to leave the room for the next part.”
Rand stood. “Sure thing. I’m pretty sure he fell down some stairs in the hotel, so bruises and broken bones won’t raise any unwanted questions.”
“His neck is already bruised. But then, suicide by hanging always marks the neck.” Chris grabbed a leather belt from the bag by his feet. Not just any leather belt, though. It was Albrecht’s own, confiscated during the strip search.
He laid the belt on the table, then pulled a cloth and pair of gloves from the same bag. “I just need to put these gloves on and wipe down your belt first.”
Rand left the room.
Chris pulled on the gloves and thoroughly wiped down the smooth leather and metal buckle.
Albrecht’s hands were cuffed to separate bolts in the floor, giving him minimal range of motion. “I need you to run both hands down the belt before we get started.”
Albrecht was sweating now as he eyed the one-and-a-half-inch-wide strip of leather. When he refused to touch it, Chris took his right hand and pressed his fingers to the buckle.
Albrecht tried to twist the piece around and whip it at Chris’s head, but he was ready for that. In a flash, Chris had the metal prong pressed to the corner of Albrecht’s eye.
“You don’t need to see to answer my questions.”
A tear spilled down the prick’s cheek. He let out a choking sob, then said, “My so-called girlfriend. The bitch was a honey trap.”
Chapter Fifty-Eight
Once Albrecht broke, it was easy. But also so much worse than Chris had imagined. Freya and Ian, on the other hand, had known what to expect. They’d separately been following the theory that there was a traitor on the team since Friday—before they’d even had a chance to compare notes.
It was simple. Albrecht had met the young “school teacher” through a dating app just weeks before they deployed. She was the kind of honey trap they were all warned about, but fools like Albrecht were certain they were too smart to fall for. She lived in Norfolk and targeted sailors from all the bases in the area. She must’ve felt like she’d hit the jackpot when she reeled in a SEAL.
While on the carrier, the young dumbass had used unsecure channels to sext with his new girlfriend. In one of his conversations, he revealed that they’d been sent on an op that failed—the first rescue attempt—and six weeks later said they were to be deployed again in the next day or two and to not be surprised if he couldn’t call her for his daily jackoff session.
The real kicker, though, was when they got word they were moving in, he sent her a selfie of himself on the helo.
Not surprisingly, that photo was deleted from Albrecht’s phone, but Ian whispered in his ear that the Raptor tech would have no trouble recovering it.
Chris nearly lost control and punched the prick at that confession.
It was the most basic operational security. “You ever hear of ‘loose lips sink ships,’ asshole?” Rand asked.
“I didn’t tell her where I was! Or what the mission was.”
“She knew you were a fucking SEAL,” Rand said. “You realize she sold the information on the dark web within seconds after you sent the photo. Of course, by then, she probably knew Rafiq’s group was interested after you spilled details of the first op. Given the urgency of what she had, she’d have gone straight to her contact within Rafiq’s cell, bypassing the open market and getting premium money for the intel.”
“I hope you enjoyed your sexting,” Chris said. “Worth betraying your team and country for?”
In his ear, Freya told him to move on.
She was right, dammit. But he longed to punch the fucker one more time.
