Teague sat up straighter. He’d been expecting this, but somehow, it still managed to hit him in the gut.
Flyte nodded in his direction and continued. “Petty Officer Teague Collins was on that team and participated in the exercise.”
He wanted to grunt a denial. That was only true if participated meant he watched his Fire Team get murdered and was nearly killed himself just minutes in and spent the rest of the time unconscious and a liability.
If Hobbs hadn’t run, Teague would have been finished off immediately. His life was saved by the other man’s failed escape. His new team knew he’d been injured, but they and others in the room didn’t necessarily know when and where. They’d find out today.
He wasn’t sure how he felt about that.
Flyte continued. “I’m sure many of you know about the LOLE—Lake Olympus Lodge Exercise—that resulted in a direct assault on a SEAL platoon on US soil, when we were isolated and armed only with Simunition.”
There were murmurs of agreement. “The motive behind the attack wasn’t as simple as it appeared, and the details remain classified, but I can share this much: my team was targeted in the assault because Russian oligarch Grigory Laskin was dissatisfied with an attempted rescue of his kidnapped daughter three years ago. The SEAL who ran the training exercise, Chief Warrant Officer Xavier Rivera, and I were the only survivors of the four-man Fire Team that tried to rescue Katerina Grigoryovna Laskina. The attack on the training was revenge on Rivera and me because we failed to rescue his daughter, who was killed along with two SEALs in the failed rescue.”
Collins knew these details. As a victim of Laskin’s revenge, he’d sought to learn everything he could about the man and done further research on his own when he’d exhausted what the Navy was willing to share or what the internet could tell him.
“The Defense Intelligence Agency has been monitoring Laskin for the last eighteen months, but legally, we can’t prove his guilt nor seek sanctions against him, not without revealing operational intelligence that would put informants and our agents at risk.”
Flyte looked at the screen where Fallon and Hanson sat side by side on a couch in front of a vast sea. “Today, Lieutenant Commander Fallon and Dr. Hanson were in the villa of Russian oligarch Luka Kulik. Kulik or his son, Reuben, might be behind the attack on Little Creek last Tuesday. While they were there, Reuben Kulik arrived with a guest who introduced himself to Fallon as Grigory Laskin.”
All the air in Teague’s body left him at once. He’d known Laskin had a golden passport and a home on the island of Gozo, but he’d never considered this.
His gaze scanned the faces of the people in the room, nearly all of whom outranked him. By far. He was going to have to tell them about Nadia and hope he wasn’t kicked off his new team.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Kira braced herself for the coming questions, even as she reeled from learning who Grigory Laskin was. Fortunately—or unfortunately—she didn’t have to wait long.
“Dr. Hanson,” one of the officers she’d met on Tuesday said, “what’s your connection to Laskin?”
“None that I know of.”
“You said on Tuesday that your trip was personal in relation to your father. Was he an associate of Mr. Laskin?”
She hesitated for a heartbeat. She had to tell the truth. She knew it; Rand knew it. But for a moment, it felt like stepping into a trap. If Kulik’s goal was to keep her in Malta, this could play into his hands, introducing a legal limbo that could make her passport invalid.
They’d set the laptop on an upside-down garbage can, so even while sitting on the couch, the camera would be at face height. This meant their bodies below the chest were off camera. Rand’s hand found hers, offering support as he threaded their fingers together.
She cleared her throat and stepped off the cliff, taking an ungraceful plunge into the abyss. “It depends on which father you’re asking about.”
It took less than ten minutes for FMV’s operations manager Freya Lange to be authorized to join the meeting so she could provide the intel she’d gathered on both of Dr. Hanson’s fathers. Now the screen was split as Teague took in the convoluted story that began with art theft and ended with what appeared to be a CIA-sanctioned stolen mother and child.
“I’ve reached out to my contacts in the CIA, who are trying to track down paperwork on Hanson’s handler in the early nineties, when Alesya Ivanova Kulika and Kira Lukovna Kulika went missing and were presumed dead. So far, all they’ve been able to do is confirm there is a file. The Navy will likely have better luck than I in getting them to release the information as it relates to the shooting and ongoing operational security.”
“I don’t suppose they’ll talk to me?” Hanson said.
“Unlikely, except in relation to your dealings with your father’s Russian handler who claimed to be your cousin. They will want to know everything about your interactions with him.”
There was a bitter twist to Hanson’s lips, and Teague supposed he felt sorry for her, but right now, he had bigger questions. “What does that have to do with Laskin?” The words sprang from him without thought. It was Laskin who mattered here. Only Laskin.
Commander Gleeson tapped a button, and a photo of Ben Kinder filled the blank spot on the screen next to the windows that showed Lange in one and Hanson and Fallon in the other. “This morning—before Lieutenant Fallon was introduced to Laskin—Ms. Lange submitted a brief to NSWC outlining her theory that it was the FSB agent who claimed to be Dr. Hanson’s cousin who tipped off someone in Malta—most likely Luka and/or Reuben Kulik—that Dr. Hanson would be on base on Tuesday. This intel appears to have resulted in Kinder stealing a vehicle and entering the base with an M4 and a plan to go after Dr. Hanson.”
Captain Huang picked up the thread. “From the start, we’ve wondered, if Dr. Hanson was the intended target in an organized attack, how did they have someone in place who already had base access when no one—not even Hanson—knew she’d be here until the day before? But with Lieutenant Fallon providing the connection to Grigory Laskin, we have a new framework.”
A new photo, this one showing Laskin and the Russian president, replaced Kinder’s image on the screen.
“We’ve long known Laskin is looking for his next SEAL target—with a preference for an attack on US soil—as revenge, but also to get back in the Russian president’s good graces after he dabbled with changing allegiance when his daughter was a hostage. With the attack last week being executed at the last minute by a man who must have already been in place, we believe we’ve identified Laskin’s next SEAL target. What could be better than the base that’s home to Naval Special Warfare Group 2 and its SEAL teams—2, 4, 10, and 18—along with Naval Special Warfare Group 4. Plus, if they target the Dam Neck Annex, DEVGRU.”
DEVGRU—Naval Special Warfare Development Group—was more commonly known as SEAL Team Six.
Chapter Forty
Memories whispered at the edge of Kira’s mind. The only strong part of the vague sensations and fleeting images of Luka and Reuben that carried through was how much she’d feared her father and loved her big brother.
Had Reuben protected her from their father? Or had he simply been her playmate? She remembered other children—three or four, close to her age and older—who played hide-and-seek and other games in the large villa with so many excellent hiding spots.
That same brother she’d adored could be behind the shooting at the base. On one level, she understood—he’d been left behind in the boat, terrified and full of grief, only to find out his mother and sister had survived.
Of course he would hate their mother. Part of her felt the same way. But it wasn’t Kira’s fault. She hadn’t even known. Was it simple concern she’d take a chunk from his future inheritance, or was it a festering hate that went far deeper?
She was the spitting image of the mother who’d abandoned him.
Reuben’s hate for Kira likely had no bottom.
