He buried his face in her hair, knowing it might be a while before he had the chance to watch her cook again. “Okay,” he said. “I will.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
San Francisco, California
White signed the papers Hammond had pushed his way.
Never before in his career had White been asked to sign such legal documents. As a combat rescue officer assigned to JSOC and then as a Secret Service special agent, he was expected to keep confidential and delicate information to himself. He would never willingly compromise himself or expose his protectees, his colleagues, or his country to danger. White had proven himself capable of keeping his mouth shut, and Hammond knew that. Which made the need to sign this nondisclosure agreement quite unusual. But if signing these documents allowed him to hunt down whoever had tried to kill Veronica, White was all for it.
“I know this is somewhat peculiar, but you’ll understand why this was needed,” Hammond said, putting the papers back into his briefcase.
White looked at Hammond with a Now what? expression. Hammond sat back in his chair and crossed one leg over the other. Even seated, the man had a commanding stature. A few months ago, at the vice presidential debate during the campaign, Hammond had destroyed his adversary. But he had done so with finesse, using strong policy points instead of attacking his rival personally. In White’s opinion, it was during this debate that the American people learned what he had himself known for years. Hammond was an intransigent but charismatic man with an imposing physique and an even more imposing reputation. When he spoke, people listened. White wasn’t immune to that.
“Years ago, at the height of the war on terror, the United States government, in collaboration with its British and Australian allies, commissioned a special unit tasked with investigating corruption within the upper echelons of the coalition forces. The operation, known only to a select few within the three governments involved, was code-named CONQUEST. Your dad was in charge of the US component of the operation.”
That was news to White. His dad had never mentioned this to him. But from what he knew about Maxwell, this was exactly the kind of thing his father would have been involved with.
“On the British side, the man responsible was a former SAS operator turned MI6 agent named Roy Oxley,” Hammond continued.
“I never heard the name,” White said.
“I’m not surprised. Oxley keeps something of a low profile, but if you know where to look, you’ll find that he has his fingers in many pies.”
“What kind of pies?” White asked.
“Money laundering and international terrorism.”
White was taken aback. How could a former SAS operator entrusted with investigating corruption have ended up supporting terrorism?
“Am I missing something, sir? I just don’t see this happening.”
Hammond suddenly grew solemn. White watched him take a deep breath.
“Your father had him arrested for corruption,” Hammond said, looking straight into White’s eyes. “Oxley was kicked out of MI6, and criminal charges were brought against him.”
White’s heart skipped a beat. He had a feeling Hammond wasn’t done. He was right.
“Oxley was prosecuted in a secret military tribunal. A week into the trial, the military judge ordered the charges dropped.”
“Why?”
“Nobody knows for sure, Clay,” Hammond replied, looking away. “Nobody really knows.”
White could tell Hammond wasn’t being totally up front. “But?”
Hammond sighed. “Though I can assure you I never believed it myself, Oxley’s defense lawyer convinced the judge your dad had fabricated evidence.”
White sat back in his chair and shook his head from left to right. “Nonsense,” he said. “I don’t believe it.”
“Neither do I,” Hammond repeated. “But Oxley was released from custody nonetheless.”
Okay. So Oxley had felt betrayed and had turned against the Americans because of Maxwell. What White didn’t understand was why Hammond was telling him this. A second later, Hammond dropped his bombshell.
“I believe it was Oxley who brought your dad’s chopper down, Clay,” Hammond said.
Hammond’s statement was so far out of left field that for a moment, White didn’t react. Maxwell’s chopper had been shot down by the Taliban. Hammond had told him so himself. He remembered Hammond entering his hospital room in Germany wearing his dress blues. They had talked for a few minutes about White’s time in Iraq and about Veronica; then Hammond’s face had turned ashy white, and he had told him about his dad. White remembered Hammond’s words vividly.