"Good for you," Hatch offered, not sure if this was a moment where she should dive deeper into the man's past or let it stay where it was.
"It was really good seeing you today, Rachel. It brought back a lot of great memories. God, I see a lot of your dad in you," Wenk said.
The comment made something ache in a deep place inside of Rachel. That locked fortress around her heart didn't allow for emotion to enter. She kept her feelings contained like sunken treasure at the ocean’s bottom. But his comment released a bit of it, and the memory of her father bubbled to the surface.
Hatch felt herself blush at the compliment. "You do?"
"I probably should have told you this before," he said, "but you're the spitting image of him. I mean, I look at you and I remember your father and me, and this goes back years, mind you. We were thin, rugged and headstrong.” He lay a hand on her shoulder. “He’d be so damn proud of you, Rachel.”
"Thanks. I guess I've always held out the hope that by following in his path I was in some way connected to him. It has been a way to keep him alive, at least the memory of him," Hatch said.
"So, tell me, what brings you back here again? What's got you concerned enough to stop by my shitty little bar twice in one day after not seeing you for, what--over a year and a half now?"
Hatch dipped her head low and gave a soft chuckle. "Yeah, I guess it's been about that long, hasn't it?" she asked.
"So, what gives? What's really going on here? First off, you meet with Bennett and then here you are back again to talk to me. What are you digging at?" he asked.
"It's my dad. I'm trying to figure out who murdered him. Or at the very least--who was responsible," Hatch said.
Wenk reared back slightly at the comment. “Murder? I mean, I know he was killed, but everything I had read or heard about it was in relation to a hunting accident. I mean, that had to have been--"
"22 years," Hatch finished.
"22 years. My God, has it been that long?" he asked.
"Doesn't seem that way to me," she said. "I can still see his face.”
"You were there that day. I remember reading somewhere that you were the one who found him. Am I right?" he asked.
Hatch nodded but didn't say anything. To speak of that moment in time was too painful to verbalize. To do so would undoubtedly uncage emotions she had long since kept tucked far away from anyone else. Those private final seconds she shared with her dad as he took his last breath were for her and her alone. She closed her eyes.
She was running. The ground crunched under foot. The steep angle of her descent to the bottom of the running trail forced her into a rapid cadence. Her father disappeared momentarily. Then came the loud crack of the rifle, its origin unknown. Her legs pushed harder than ever before. Seconds later she came to the brook. Her father lay motionless as she ran to him. Her scream shattered the silence, sending a flock of birds high into the sky. Her world forever changed in an instant. Hatch’s childhood was stolen as she knelt next to her dead father.
That memory was hers and hers alone, and she would share it with no one.
"Must've been hard for you," he said. "I can't imagine what you went through as a child losing your father like that. But you just said 'murder.' They never found the hunter who shot him?”
“No hunter was found.”
“What came of it? To be honest, I kind of lost track," he said sheepishly, offering his apology with a dip of his head.
Hatch evaluated Wenk, carefully studying the family friend who didn’t come to her father’s funeral.
"Well, that's the thing, Ernie. They had written it up as a hunting accident, but I was recently home again and learned a few things while I was investigating the death of my sister--"
"Your sister died?" Wenk interrupted.
"She was murdered, "Hatch said.
"That's a hell of a thing," he said, shaking his head.
"But I'm not here about that.” Hatch now wished she had taken him up on his offer of a drink. “While I was there, I started digging around a little bit. I had access to some old police records, and I found out that my father’s death was no accident.”
"What do you mean no accident?" he asked.
"Listen, Ernie, I don't want to get you in deeper than you need to be. But have you ever heard of the Gibson Group or Gibson Consortium?" she asked.
Wenk’s eyes widened a fraction of inch. "I haven't heard that company mentioned in years now. It's an old spec ops contractor group. I mean, if you really want to get down to brass tacks, it was a mercenary group. They forged it shortly after the Vietnam War came to an end. They tried to recruit me. Well, when I say they, I'm going to level with you here, Rachel, it was your father who tried to recruit me."
"My father?" Hatch asked.
"I've told you before, or at least hinted at if not told, during a couple war stories in my more inebriated days, that your father and I served together in Vietnam. Our SOG team was well-feared among the Viet Cong. When I returned home, I was given an opportunity to put my skills to work, and I jumped at it. I tried to get your father to come along with me. A few of us with heavy combat experience were tapped to go and train with the British Special Air Service, the SAS. We were tasked with learning their ways and then developing a variation of it for the Army. The country saw the direction of future warfare and wanted a unit capable of handling the unique challenges," he said.
Hatch looked at him. She knew what he was referring to. She knew the timeframe and time period. Those special operators back in that era were tapped to go and work with the SAS for a specific unit, famous in more recent engagements, but known throughout the world now as Special Operations Group Detachment Delta, or more commonly Delta Force. Hatch’s Task Force Banshee had operated on the same Tier 1 status.
"I didn't know," she said. "I mean, I knew you were Special Forces. Obviously, that's pretty much what this bar was designed around, but I didn't know that you were a founding member of Delta," she said.
Wenk smiled. "Well, what kind of special operations group would it be if everybody knew? I mean, I was raised as a quiet professional. I think you understand the importance of that as well as any. Things are changing now, like that young kid from earlier who bowed up on you for no good reason."
"He's SF?" she asked.
Wenk nodded slowly. Shrugged, a bit embarrassed. "I have to say, he's not the face of the organization I had hoped for. But yes. And he's a little more brazen about what he does. I'm sure his Facebook profile tells the world about all the wonderful things in special operations he's performed. It makes me wonder if it still exists now, the true quiet professional," he said quietly.
Hatch only offered a shrug. "I worked with some good people," she said. "We did some good things, and I don't think anyone outside of our circle knew anything about it, which I'm grateful for. I think it always should be that way. It really only matters to the person beside you, especially when the shit hits the fan," she said.
"I didn't mean to go on a long-winded bend. But your father, when they were tapping me to head up and assist with the development of Delta, he wouldn't come. The war affected everybody differently. I can't say I wasn't affected as well. I just poured some of that energy back into the Army. I gave more of myself to the war machine. Your father, on the other hand, decided to separate and go his own way--find a new path."