“Pizza coming through,” said Alex, making his way past Berg into the other room.
Rich appeared in the doorway. “Pizza, soda, water, and beer. One-beer limit.”
“Seriously?” said Gupta, seated next to Graves at the foot of one of the beds. “I think I can be trusted—”
“You don’t drink, knucklehead,” said Graves.
“It’s the principle that matters,” said Gupta.
“Can I have his beer?” asked Marnie.
“Yes. And Devin is welcome to mine,” said Rich.
“That still leaves two. It’s a twelve-pack,” said Gupta.
“There’s no rule requiring that they be consumed,” said Graves. “Do I have to share a room with him? I’m retired. Doesn’t that get me my own room?”
“Nobody pulling security tonight goes past the limit. We have no idea what kind of law enforcement or government tracking muscle they’re capable of harnessing through the people we haven’t identified in the network,” said Rich. “We may have to shoot our way out of here in an hour.”
“I’ll pass on the second,” said Marnie, who sat cross-legged with her back against the dresser. “Consider me part of the watch rotation.”
“Count me in, too,” said Devin.
Marnie motioned for him to join her.
“Good. I’ll put the two of you on the four to sunrise, since you slept most of the day,” said Rich as he crossed the room. “Grab some slices and fuel up. Karl has a few things to go over with the team.”
Devin dropped next to Marnie as the room emptied.
“I’m not really hungry,” she said. “But I’ll take that beer.”
He started to get up, his leg muscles screaming from last night’s operation.
“Sorry,” she said. “I can get it.”
“Don’t even think about it,” said Devin. “Drinks are on me, even if I’m not buying.”
Rich leaned through the doorway with two cans of Budweiser. “Heads up. Pure Americana coming through.”
Devin slid back down to the threadbare carpet as the beers floated through the air. Marnie snatched them both out of the air, her hands at least two feet apart when she grabbed them. She handed one off to Devin faster than a blackjack dealer spitting out cards.
“Nice trick,” said Rich.
“Hand-eye coordination,” said Marnie. “It’s a helicopter pilot quirk.”
Devin popped his can, followed by Marnie. “So . . . we actually have a next move?”
Rich scooted into the room with a Coke and sat on the bed in front of them, a cryptic smile on his face.
“Karl’s been busy. He spent part of yesterday and all of today researching a lead that sounds promising. Something that could crack the wider sleeper list open. There’s that and the big news that came later this afternoon while examining the gun-camera footage. Nice shooting to both of you, by the way. Saw some likely hits when we were slugging it out at the cabins. Impossible to say one hundred percent at night with those cameras, but I’d score them as confirmed.”
“This is bizarre,” said Marnie, taking a long sip of her beer.
“Yeah. There’s absolutely nothing normal about this,” said Devin. “Anyway. What’s the big news?”
“Scott’s team took out the sentries from the boat dock, on their way east to link up with Graves and Gupta. The two never knew what hit them, and the team certainly didn’t know who they hit—until we reviewed Emily’s gun-camera footage. She put a light on them while they were down, to give us a better shot at identifying them,” said Rich. “Berg recognized one of them immediately. Senator Robert Filmore’s wife, Emma. The other KIA was their son, Thomas.”
“This is going to be front-page news,” said Marnie.
“It’s definitely going to test the sleeper network’s spin doctors.”
“How the hell did my mother miss them?” asked Devin.
“I thought the same thing, but Gupta and Graves did some digging, and neither of their family backgrounds would have raised alarms. It has to be some kind of digital historical-archive manipulation. I’m thinking they only do this for high-profile sleepers.”
“This kind of calls into question everything,” said Marnie. “If we can’t identify them even when we’re looking right at them. And if we can’t trust Helen’s vetting process, how can we trust anyone that fits the age profile?”