Cut Out by Bob Mayer Page B

Welch didn’t even bother to look up from the mountain of paperwork. His men spent more than half their time out of the building, mostly at Camp Mackall, so Riley’s absence would be nothing unusual.
    Trust was something that good commanders in Special Forces granted their men as a normal part of everyday activities.
    Instead of immediately heading west, Riley took a detour off post to his townhouse. It was a two-story, two-bedroom place off Yadkin Road, one of the main drags onto Fort Bragg. He ran inside and hauled a footlocker out of the back of his closet. After surveying the contents and considering the situation, he pulled out a 9mm Beretta pistol in a shoulder holster and strapped it on inside his camouflage fatigue shirt. Then he grabbed a High Standard silenced .22-caliber automatic pistol and wrapped it in a towel. He carried it out to his black Bronco II and put it between the front seats, handle up for ready access.
    Reversing direction, he drove back on post, past the 7th and 3d Special Forces Group areas to Chicken Road. From there it was a straight shot due west, along the south side of Fort Bragg, out to Camp Mackall. Then Riley would take back roads up to Gordontown.
     
     

Chapter 6
     
    GORDONTOWN, NORTH CAROLINA
    29 OCTOBER, 11:23 a.m.
     
    The town square in the center of Gordontown featured a courthouse with police headquarters directly across the street. Lisa Cobb sat in the small restaurant two doors down from the police station and sipped on her eighth cup of coffee. Her time had been split between watching, drinking, and going to the bathroom.
    Calling her brother had been an act of desperation, but Tommy had bailed her out of more than one scrape in her life. When both their parents died in a car wreck when she was fourteen, it had been Tommy, seven years older, who had taken care of her and helped put her through college. Lisa was grateful for his help, but sometimes she wished he had been as generous with his advice as he had been with his money. It was only after her husband had been picked up by the police that Tommy had expressed his disapproval of Philip and of her marriage—a disapproval that dated from the time she had first gone out with the man. From anyone else, Lisa might have made a change of hindsight, but she believed Tommy—he had never lied to her. He had not spoken his mind back then, he said, because he thought it was futile: people in love will never believe they’re making a mistake. While awaiting the trial, he’d urged her to divorce Philip, but to Lisa that was not an option. She felt she couldn’t abandon her husband at this worst possible time; it seemed as immoral as what he had done to her. Tommy tried to convince her, telling her it wouldn’t get any better. But the thought of starting a new life alone on the shattered remains of her old one had seemed overwhelming. More than anything, what she had wanted was time—time removed from crisis to sort things out, and the Program had seemed to offer her that. How ironic that the “solution” had unraveled the remaining strands of her life. Now she had nothing left.
    Lisa spotted the black Ford Bronco II on its first loop around the square. The vehicle and driver fit the description her brother had forwarded to her on the second phone call. She gave it three loops and watched as the Bronco pulled into a spot facing the courthouse steps. Then she forced herself to wait another ten minutes—the memory of the incident at the rest stop all too fresh in her mind.
    She finally stepped out into the sun-drenched street and came up on the vehicle from behind. She was surprised when the passenger door swung open without the driver even turning his head. She hopped in, and he had the truck started and out into the traffic before he even looked at her.
    “I’m Dave Riley.” He wore camouflage fatigues, and a faded green beret lay between the seats on top of a crumpled towel.
    “Lisa Cobb.”
    He nodded, his eyes flicking