Free Chasing the Lost by Bob Mayer Page A

didn’t move. Riley shrugged and put it back in the bucket.
    “I gave you a beer,” Riley said, “you owe me a story. But first, what ODA were you on?”
    “Zero-five-five.”
    “No shit?” Riley was surprised, and immediately suspicious of the coincidence. For him, coincidences were either fate or more likely danger-close, someone trying to ingratiate themselves. “I was on zero-five-five a long time ago.”
    “I know,” Chase said. “I saw your name in the team room, carved into the table.”
    “You guys did that Op where you almost got Bin Laden at Tora Bora, right?”
    “No,” Chase said, side-stepping the trap. “We were in Kapisa Province doing other things.”
    He had that fact right, at least. “That was a while ago. And since?”
    “I went from Tenth to Delta. I was part of Task Force Eleven in Afghanistan.”
    “And after Delta?”
    “I went into the FLI program.”
    “Heard about that clusterfuck. Good idea. Poor execution. How’d that work out?”
    “Not well.”
    “And now?”
    “I’m retired.”
    Riley leaned back in his seat, always aware of Kono’s presence. “How’s that working for you?”
    “It’s only been two weeks.”
    “You’ll get used to it,” Riley said. He glanced at the woman, who was showing a bit of anxiety at the credentials grilling. “Then again, maybe you won’t.”
    “We’ll see,” Chase said. Sarah was following the conversation, but not entering it, eyes shifting back and forth between Chase and Riley as if evaluating both men.
    “‘We?’” Riley shook his head. “Why would I care, and what will I see?” He didn’t expect an answer.
    “Are you going to ask me what color the boathouse at Hereford is painted?” Chase asked.
    Riley laughed. “That was a good movie. Hell, I’ve never been to Hereford, but fought beside some Special Air Service fellows. Tough men.”
    “They are. I passed through Hereford briefly. There’s no boathouse.”
    “And now you’re here,” Riley said. “With my friend over there. And Ms. Briggs.”
    “Mrs. Briggs,” Sarah corrected.
    “Where’s Mister Briggs?” Riley asked. He didn’t wait for an answer. “Last I heard he was in Antigua, running SAS.”
    “You know my husband?” Sarah was surprised.
    “I know of him,” Riley said. “Online gambling is an odd thing. Most gamblers want the face-to-face, the handling of the cash. It’s personal for them. People who go online are hard-core. They’re after something different.”
    “What’s that?” Chase asked.
    Riley shrugged. “I’m not a shrink.” He shifted attention. “How do you know him?” He nodded toward Kono.
    “I spent summers on Hilton Head when I was a kid,” Chase said. “I met Kono and we became friends.”
    Riley shifted his attention to the Gullah who had yet to utter a word. “He your friend, Kono? A buckra ?”
    “He my friend,” Kono said.
    “Then why don’t you act friendly?” Riley asked.
    Kono unfolded his muscular arms. He walked to the table and pulled back a chair, and joined the three. Riley retrieved a beer and held it out to Kono. The Gullah took it and twisted off the top. He pulled his shades off, revealing startlingly gray eyes.
    “Lay it on me,” Riley said to Chase as he took a deep draft of his beer. He noted that Chase had not partaken of his yet. Nor had Sarah.
    Chase quickly laid out events from the time Sarah pounded on his door to the present. It was a succinct briefing, one people in Special Ops were trained to give. When he finished, silence ruled as each person digested the information.
    “So all you have is Karralkov’s name from Parsons,” Riley said.
    “And my husband’s suspicion,” Sarah added.
    “You know Parsons?” Chase asked Riley.
    “I’ve met him.”
    “Do you trust him?”
    “Not really.” Riley shrugged. “It’s not up to me. You’re the one who talked to him. You were a cop, too, weren’t you?”
    “Briefly.”
    Sarah jumped in and made her point again, an