Page 166 of The Fourth Option
“No.” Lloyd’s voice was calm but edged with finality. “You’re chasing a killer. That’s your priority. Not corporate logistics. Not sugar manifests. Not cartel economics. And certainly not maritime manhunts for a guy who’s out on his boat fishing.”
He paused, letting the silence stretch.
“A man is killing cops in this city,” Lloyd continued. “That’s what matters. Stop the bleeding. Then worry about what caused it. I want to know what you’re doing, now, to nail this guy.”
Stanton held his ground. “We’re building the case. If we move too fast, we miss what’s underneath.”
Lloyd’s eyes narrowed, just slightly. “You’ve always been thorough, Jarrett, but the Bureau doesn’t get credit for patience. It gets credit for arrests. I want one.”
J.J. glanced at Stanton for the briefest moment.
“We’re building a profile based on the information Agent Stanton was able to cull from the Office of Personnel Management and what he could extract from the CIA.”
Lloyd’s eyes shifted between his two agents, landing back on Stanton. “Your contact at the Agency. Fisk?”
Stanton gave a single nod.
J.J. flipped a page in her notebook and continued, her voice steady. “Chris Walker is a former SEAL Team Six operator recruited into the CIA’s Ground Branch. Medically retired. Multiple deployments to Afghanistan with both the Navy and CIA. His last mission in 2021 seems to be the reason he parted ways with the Agency.”
“And the CIA won’t give us details, is that right?” Lloyd asked, his tone clipped.
“This was Special Access Program level. Fisk wasn’t willing to fill in the blanks,” Stanton said.
J.J. pressed on. “It took some digging through the Portland Field Office, but they were able to find early childhood records. He’s adopted. The adoptive father split early on. Adoptive mom passed away from cancer when Walker was in his teens. Oregon State testing indicates he has a Mensa-level IQ and OPM records confirm him as exceptionally intelligent based on all his military aptitude tests. He completed his degree right after leaving the Navy, then pursued a doctorate in philosophy at NYU. I spoke to one of his former professors.”
Lloyd raised an eyebrow. “And?”
“He said Walker was a brilliant thinker, obsessed with moral philosophy. As if he had seen too much war, too much death, and could not quite put it behind him.”
“Well, his morality seems to have found a home with the cartels.”
“Possibly,” J.J. said. “But he’s not sloppy. He’s tactical. He’s choosing his targets. Our interest in Dorado is to understand the motive behind those choices. That part’s still unclear.”
Lloyd stood abruptly, the chair snapping upright. He walked to the window, hands clasped behind his back, staring out at the lake. His reflection hovered faintly in the glass.
“You need to find him,” he said. “Leave Dorado to the DEA. You focus on Chris Walker. Bring this killing to an end.”
“Understood,” Stanton said.
“I’ve reached out to contacts at CIA and DEA as well. If they can shed any additional light you’ll know as soon as I do,” Lloyd said. “For now, I want you two bloodhounds to track down Chris Walker. He is our number one priority. That’s your job. Clear?”
“It’s clear, sir,” Stanton replied.
“Give me a minute with Jarrett, would you,” Lloyd said to J.J.
She closed her notebook with a softsnap. “Yes, sir.”
When Stanton and Lloyd were alone, the SAC turned from the window, his expression unreadable against the bright sky.
“I know you’ve got your eye on this seat when I retire next year, Jarrett. You’ve more than earned it. But let me give you a little piece of advice. A parable, if you will.”
He stepped closer to his desk, voice dropping.
“You know,” he said, “a man can build a thousand bridges, but then he sucks one cock and he’s forever a cocksucker. Don’t make a mistake here, Jarrett. You fuck this up and that’s all anyone will remember. If Walker keeps killing, you can kiss this office goodbye.”
His eyes bored into his subordinate.
“Find him before he kills again.”
