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nasally and pompous. “We’ve also uncovered at least five overseas accounts containing just under thirty million dollars, all held by known aliases of Major Andrews.”
    “And what exactly are you saying he’s guilty of, gentlemen?” asked the president, his eyes boring into the almost flippant inspector general.
    The director saw the simmering anger in the president’s eyes and cut in before the Inspector General could respond.
    “Sir, we believe Major Andrews is part of a larger conspiracy to discredit the United States and embezzle millions of dollars earmarked for aid projects in the Middle East.”
    They’d shown them the files, the videos, the proof that Andy was what they were accusing him of being: a traitor. Neither man wanted to believe it, but the deck seemed insurmountably stacked against the Marine.
    And yet, something nagged at the edges of Travis’s vision. It all seemed too tight, too perfect. Ask any cop on the street or FBI agent in the field, an investigation was rarely this cut and dried.
    The other thing that bothered Travis was the deputy director. Sitting there with his perfectly manicured fingernails and Savile Row suit, the man looked more like a person heading an international luxury brand than leading the most powerful clandestine service in the world. The man’s silence did little to ease Travis’s suspicions.
    So instead of going home and facing Cal, who had texted every thirty minutes for an update, Travis sat at his desk and conducted his own investigation. Luckily the Secret Service owed him a few favors, and it only took one phone call to get their file on the CIA’s Deputy Director NCS, Kingsley Coles.
    A Harvard grad, Coles had done a stint in the Army after college. Intelligence. After fulfilling his four year commitment, he’d gone back to Harvard for his Juris Doctor, then spent thirteen years in environmental law, suing large corporations who were killing Mother Earth. Coles had become a very wealthy man.
    Strangely enough, he’d entered public service on some sort of grant funded by the government in the wake of 9-11. Coles left private practice, even giving up his position as partner to serve his country. He’d done a year stint with the State Department then made his way to the CIA.
    It didn’t look like the guy had any field experience. That would most certainly have precluded Coles from attaining his current position ten years before; however Zimmer’s predecessor, after repeated CIA snafus, ushered in a slew of political appointees to positions formerly held by CIA lifers.
    It looked like Coles was one of those guys. Someone who’d been brought in to clean house, to polish up the image of the American spy network. Travis shook his head. Sure there were plenty of subpar employees in the CIA just like any government entity, but putting an attorney in the spot rightfully reserved for a field veteran was just wrong.
    Beyond that, something didn’t feel right about the guy. It wasn’t anything Travis could put his finger on, but his senses were tingling.
    Either way, that would have to wait until morning. Right now he had to call Cal and give him the bad news. It wasn’t looking good for Andy.      

Chapter 7
    Arlington, Virginia
    12:52am, August 24 th
     
    The veins in Cal’s hand bulged as he gripped the phone. His chest heaved like a bull waiting to go into a matador’s ring. He closed his eyes as he listened, trying to focus on steadying his breathing. His temper howled inside demanding to be unleashed.
    “You know that’s impossible, Trav,” Cal managed to say into the phone, his voice flat, emotionless.
    “I know, but until we have evidence to support Andy, there’s not much we can do.”
    “Don’t tell me that. I couldn’t care less about the evidence. We need to get Andy back. Not tomorrow. Now.”
    “Look, if the president goes against the CIA it would ruin the inroads we’ve made. I think…”
    “So you’re saying I should sit here