“I do.”
“And at this point, I figure I know what you are thinking about doing.”
Court said nothing. He still held his Glock in his right hand.
Hanley continued, “Right now it feels like the ground underneath your feet isn’t solid anymore. Like everything you thought you were turned out to be a lie.”
Court closed his eyes.
Hanley said, “Give me a second, and I might be able to give you something to stand on. Something to believe in.”
“Is this a Scientology pitch?”
Hanley ignored the joke. “Court, about two hours ago Jordan Mayes was murdered on the George Washington Parkway.”
Court opened his eyes quickly, then leaned his head back against the trailer wall. “I didn’t fucking do it!”
“Relax, I know you didn’t. Carmichael had it done. But he’s already pinned it on you. You need to know that.”
“Whatever,” Court said, defeat obvious in his voice.
“I need your help. I can’t do anything within the confines of the Agency, because if this goes public it will burn the Agency to the ground.”
“And you think I give a shit?”
“Of course you do. You won’t let Denny beat you, and if you eat a damn bullet right now you are handing him a golden ticket to sweep the past week under the rug and move on. I don’t care about your motivation. Don’t do it because you like yourself. Blame yourself for your mistake in Italy, just like everybody else does. But do it because you hate Denny Carmichael.”
“Do what?”
“You and Zack, with me running you from distance. I’m talking about getting the band back together for one quick op.”
“Going after Denny?”
“Negative. We can’t touch Denny, unfortunately.” Hanley paused. “He’s sequestered away in a safe house somewhere, probably has fifty guys covering him in a blanket of guns. But we sure as hell can go after the foreign goons he’s using to fight his war against you. We take them down, we get some people at HQ asking questions about a bunch of dead foreign operators on the streets, and then, sooner or later, Denny’s crimes will be exposed to the right people in government. The ones who can force him out without any comebacks on the rest of the Agency.”
“Who are the foreign hitters?”
“We don’t know for sure, but Denny is tight with the intelligence chiefs of several Middle Eastern countries. Some say too tight. I never thought he would use back channels to run his own foreign hit team on the streets of the USA, but if that’s what he’s doing here, just think about the other shit he’s gotten away with.”
“You know where they are?”
“I put Jenner’s unit on the tail of the JSOC team looking for you. Had them stand off and keep their eyes open for these foreign assholes. They ID’d them, then tracked them back to a home in Arlington. We count about eight to ten fighting-age males inside.”
“And you can’t go after them because SAD can’t work in the U.S.”
Hanley finished the thought. “And I can’t just report them to local authorities, because the media would indict the entire CIA for crimes nobody but Denny had any part in.”
“Why don’t you tell the director of the CIA what you know? He has the juice to shut Denny down.”
Hanley replied, “He’s a pol, Court. He doesn’t give a damn about this Agency. He’ll run to the New York Times and say he is saving America by shuttering his own organization. He’ll destroy U.S. intelligence just so he looks good to the press.
“You and Zack, Court. Face it, you two outsiders are the only chance we have.”
Court thought it over for a moment. “I don’t know, Matt.”
“What don’t you know? This is your job, Six. We all have to make sacrifices for the good of the country.”
Gentry rubbed his eyes. He started to get up, the pain in his ribs still slowing him. He said, “What the hell have I been doing for the past twenty years?”
Hanley softened. “Make all that count for something. Save this Agency. Take away Denny’s proxy force.”
Court looked across the trailer to his former team leader. Zack couldn’t have heard Hanley’s side of the conversation, but he was obviously on board with the plan. He just gave Court a sly grin and a slow thumbs-up.
Court ignored Zack and addressed Hanley again. “There are two of us. We’ll need some equipment to do this right.”
“I gave Zack the authority he needs to gain access to a cache there at the Point. It’s got anything you could possibly need.”
“I don’t have credos to go anywhere on base.”
“Taken care of. Plus, I’m sending Travers down in a helo to pick you guys up and bring you back into this area.”
“Chris Travers? He’s a pilot?”
“Not much of one, but he’s learning.”
Court didn’t feel terribly comforted by this, but he had a feeling he’d just taken on an assignment where dying in a helicopter crash would be the least of his worries.
70
Court and Zack both felt like two kids who had been left alone overnight in a candy store. By the time they turned on all the lights in the massive underground storage facility to see what they had available to them, the two ex — CIA employees felt like they could fight a small insurgency.
The underground warehouse was the size of a supermarket. On shelves, in lockers, and in numbered squares on the floor for reference and restocking, thousands of items sat ready for the taking. Small arms and ammunition, knives, motorcycles, rubber boats, parachute rigs, night vision devices, and communications gear. Climbing equipment and helicopter fast ropes, camouflage uniforms, and snow skis. Explosives, crossbows, medical supplies, GPS units, and even horse saddles.
They selected kit for their job ahead, although there were a lot of questions about just what they would be getting themselves into. Two guys hitting a building with an opposition force of eight to ten was bad enough, but Court and Zack knew precious little about the capabilities of their enemy, and absolutely nothing about the building itself.
They went with general-purpose gear: pistols and carbines, a sniper rifle with a suppressor for Zack, and an ultra quiet small-caliber suppressed handgun for Court. They stocked up on ammo and magazines, body armor, radio headsets, medical equipment, ropes, knives, and other accessories useful for men in their profession.
They also equipped themselves with grenades and explosive breaching charges.
Zack whistled after he and Court looked at everything they had selected to take with them on their op. “What do you say you and me say screw it to Hanley and instead go invade some Caribbean nation? I think we could orchestrate a coup in Dominica, maybe even Grenada. Make our own laws and live like kings.”
Court ignored him, because something had caught his eye: a door that read Experimental Locker.
He went inside, flipped on a light, and began looking around. Zack followed him in. They walked between several shelves packed with a large collection of more esoteric equipment. Microdrones, robot cameras, even a heartbeat detector for tactical teams that looked useful to Court until he tried to lift it, then decided he’d rather check back in a few years when the eggheads got it miniaturized into something he wouldn’t have to schlep around like a medicine ball.
They read the tags and printed material attached to several other different pieces of equipment. Hightower said, “I don’t think you and I are smart enough to figure all this shit out.”