CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"Oscar Juarez. Nine years with the DEA, a degree in political science, stellar record with the agency," said Hiro.

"Where is he?" asked Cam.

"No one knows. No one remembers seeing him come off the mountain. No one remembers seeing him the day after the raid. And no one has seen him since. His director says that he was scheduled for some time off, and they thought he took it a bit early. But he was supposed to be back three days ago."

"We need to go back up to that mountain and check the deer stand or tree house, whatever it is," said Luke. "Send Alistair, Sor, Garr, Gator, Matt, and Kev. Get them in and out fast."

Two hours later, the six men were seated on the chopper while in stealth and whisper modes. No one would see it or hear it. Landing in the open grove, they carefully stepped out, searching for heat signatures of any type.

Not seeing anything larger than a racoon or porcupine, they moved forward, searching the trees for the structure.

"Up there," nodded Sor, pointing into the tree.

He swung his rifle over his back and began taking the makeshift steps up the tree. Two-by-fours had been cut and strategically placed as steps. They were secure, solid, and well-made. Someone was intentional in this. Only halfway up, he turned to the others.

"I think we've got a dead body. The smell is awful," he said.

"Base? Find out what they want us to do. Leave it or take it home."

" Roger that."

Sor continued up the steps and confirmed what his nose was telling him. Pieces of a DEA jacket and shirt were scattered around the bloodied, half-chewed body.

"Shit," he whispered. "I think he was attacked by a bear, but definitely after he was dead. His sidearm is still holstered."

"DEA says don't touch the body. They want to send someone out there to investigate. They're asking if you can sit tight until their agents arrive."

"We can sit, but if someone starts shooting, we're shooting back," said Alistair.

It took the DEA four hours to get someone dropped into the grove. Their helicopter was loud, seen, and not so inconspicuous. The first agent climbed the tree and immediately turned, disposing of his dinner.

"Don't these guys see this shit all the time?" frowned Sor.

"You would think so," said Alistair.

It was another four hours before they had the body and its remaining pieces bagged and loaded on the VG chopper. They were going to carry all of them to the pickup location. Alistair looked at the men, their faces pale.

"Sorry about your teammate, brother," he said.

"He was a good guy. Solid agent, never did anything wrong. By the book all the way. Whoever did this to him is going to pay."

"Were you guys here that night?" asked Sor.

"No. We were on another team taking down a ring in Georgetown. Oscar always preferred the difficult cases. His younger brother died of an overdose, so he was hell-bent on taking down every dealer he could."

"Did you hear from any of those that were there if anyone saw someone or something that was out of place that night? Maybe a director or VIP that shouldn't have been there?" asked Alistair. They all looked thoughtfully at one another, shaking their heads.

"No. Nothing," said the man. "The Marines did most of the work from what we understand. No offense, but those bastards are willing to do all the dangerous shit, and I'm smart enough to let them and stay out of their way. Once the shooting was done, they moved in and arrested who was left, bagged the dead, and came back."

"What about the chopper pilot? Anything strange with her?" asked Sor casually.

"No, not at all. Again, from what we were told, she was a pro. Didn't let the assholes talking to her get under her skin. She was calm and cool the whole time. Watched her chopper and got everyone home. Except Juarez, and that wasn't her fault."

"Did they ever lose sight of him? Why didn't someone do a head count?" asked Kev.

"Team lead was supposed to do the headcount. When they boarded, he said the count was good."

"Who was the team lead?" asked Alistair.

"Andy Brashear. He's under fire now because of all this. I don't think he knew anything was going on. He's torn up about it all. He's a good man. Good agent. He's just reached his prime, if you know what I mean."

"Explain," said Matt.

"He just turned sixty. I know that's not old, but for an agent, it is. I honestly think it was a case of missing a step, and he never misses a step." Alistair nodded.

"I think we need to speak with him."

It was nearly midnight by the time they dropped off the DEA agents. They knew they would have to wait until morning to speak with Brashear, so they booked a few hotel rooms and took advantage of a late dinner in the bar. It was surprisingly crowded. Obviously, all of D.C. ate dinner later than those at Belle Fleur.

"I'm not sure what to think about this guy. If he truly made a mistake on his count, I still find it strange that someone didn't notice that Juarez was missing. I mean, I would know if one of you wasn't here," said Kev.

"I agree with you, but also understand that not everyone has a procedure like us. You heard him. They were pretty much allowing the Marines to take control of everything. It makes me wonder if he was in the middle of it at all or standing back."

The bartender set the plates in front of them at the high-top table, and Alistair smirked at the plates of the brothers, Kev and Matt.

"You guys eating for three?" he smirked.

"Man, I've got forty pounds on you," said Matt. "I need more calories. Besides, this is just a mini steak compared to what I usually eat. I'm not a salad guy like you."

"I'm eating a salad because it's after midnight, and I'd like to actually sleep and not have a stomachache. Besides, I've got chicken on it. There's protein."

"Whatever, brother," laughed Kev.

"Hey," said Garr, nodding toward a table at the end of the bar. "Look at those women."

They casually looked around, then toward the end of the bar. Three women sat at another high-top table sipping water with lemon. All three were pathetically thin, almost sickly looking. They looked nervous and unsure of themselves, constantly looking at their phones.

"Interesting," said Alistair. "I think our little birds are waiting for a delivery." He waved the bartender over.

"What can I get you fellas?" he asked.

"Just wondering if you've seen those women before. One of them looks really familiar to me, but I can't put my finger on where I've seen her."

"This is the first time I've seen them in here. They've been here for over an hour, and all they've done is order water. I'd give ‘em a burger for free if I thought they'd actually eat it."

"Thanks," nodded Alistair.

The men ate their meal a little slower, watching as people exited the bar. A few entered but had a quick drink and left once again.

"Last call," announced the bartender. Reluctantly, the women rose to leave, and one of them stumbled. Knowing they'd had nothing except water, the team watched them closely.

"Rosie, are you okay?" asked one of the girls.

"I need my pills. Where is he?"

"Here," said the other woman, handing her a pill bottle. "Take some of mine."

The woman swallowed three pills, and Alistair wanted to take them from her and shake her. She was so thin he worried that he might actually break her in two. When they passed their table, she stumbled again, her friends fighting to hold her up.

"Hey, are you ladies okay?" asked Garr.

"Yeah, yeah, we're fine," said one of the women. "She's just tired."

"Maybe she should eat something," said Matt.

"She's not hungry. We don't eat much," she said defensively.

"It shows," frowned Alistair. "It's not healthy. You don't have enough weight to be healthy."

The woman tried to get up and walk again, only to fall flat on her face. When her friends couldn't rouse her, the men went to work.

"Call 911," he yelled at the bartender.

"How much did she take?" asked Kev.

"Three pills. How did you know?" cried her friend nervously.

"It's pretty damn obvious. These aren't just diet pills. They have an addictive narcotic in them. You have to stop taking them," said Kev.

"We can't! You don't understand. We used to be the fat girls at work. Now we're the skinny ones."

"That's right," said Garr. "Skinny. Not healthy. Not attractive. Look at yourselves in the mirror. Your hair is thinning. Your teeth are yellowed. The drug is eating away at you."

"I've no pulse," said Matt.

Gator began compressions as the other men rushed trying to get her to respond and come back with them to the land of the living. As he compressed, he could hear her ribs cracking.

"I'm fucking breaking her ribs. She's so damn thin, I'm cracking everything. If I stop, she doesn't have a chance."

"Just keep doing what you're doing, brother. We have to try," said Alistair.

When EMS arrived, they let them take over. Alistair turned to talk to one of the women, and they were gone. Looking at the bartender, he practically jumped the bar.

"Where did they go? Where?" he growled.

"I-I don't know. I was busy watching you guys."

"Un-fucking-believable," he moaned. "They left her."

"They knew the cops would ask questions they didn't want to answer," said Garr. "But they left something behind." He held up the pill bottle with the pharmacy name and prescribing doctor.

"Looks like we have an appointment tomorrow."