Page 70 of Stolen Faith

Brennon’s stomach clenched. What if there were cameras? What if there was a video of what he, Izabel, and Rowan had done in the other cell?

“These people seem oddly well-equipped,” Devon added. “But I don’t think subtle listening-in is their preferred method of information gathering.”

“Why ‘oddly’ well-equipped? What’s odd about it?” Brennon asked.

“Because they’re haphazard and disorganized, but also were able to execute at least two multi-person kidnappings. That takes skill.”

“They have PMCs.” Rowan braced one hand on the floor and leaned to the side, wincing as he did.

“Ah. That explains a lot. I haven’t been…aware…for a lot of what’s happened,” Devon murmured.

Brennon watched Rowan and worried. Rowan had taken a hell of a beating.

“They have money,” Rowan said when he straightened.

“I have to agree. Enough money that they were able to hire professional help, and I think quite a bit of it.”

“At least five, six PMCs.”

“The cost to hire professionals for an illegal op on U.S. soil…” Devon shook his head.

“So Barry has money?” Brennon asked.

“Barry?” Devon raised a brow.

“The guy with the cast,” Brennon explained. “Rowan broke his arm when they kidnapped us.”

Devon nodded. “Well done.”

“Should have used lethal force,” Rowan said softly. “I made a mistake.”

“Direct to lethal force is how you lose your soul,” Devon said.

Rowan stared at him for a moment. “You were in the service.”

“No. I used to work for the agency.”

Brennon leaned over Rowan. “You’re CIA?”

“I was, for a while.”

“Okay, that’s cool.”

“I assure you, it isn’t. Wasn’t. I was a handler, not a field agent.”

“If I could ask you a few questions…” Brennon started.

Rowan put his arm against Brennon’s chest and eased him back with an exasperated look.

Devon smiled, a quick flash of an expression. “Any information I’d give you would be false. The agency actively encourages Hollywood to make up things. Misinformation provides a layer of security.”

Brennon stopped to digest the fact that he was unknowingly part of the CIA’s security plan. A few moments passed, and Brennon realized that Rowan was tense beside him, braced for something.

“You know who we are, and what we do.” Rowan watched Devon. “You knew I spoke a bit of Arabic.”

“I didn’t know, I guessed, because yes, I know your service record.”

Brennon leaned in again and dropped his voice to a whisper. “So you are the Grand Master.”