Church held up a calming hand. “Most of you know that we have not always enjoyed the full support of Congress or the White House. That position has slipped several notches in recent years. Some of it was the direct result of hacking and manipulation by the Seven Kings, Zephyr Bain, Nicodemus, and others. Some of it was our own humanity being caught under the wheels of threats bigger than anyone has ever faced before. The fact that we have rebuilt ourselves, strengthened our resolve, and risen to a new high mark of efficiency is a testament to all of you and to the people in your teams and departments. You are remarkable. You are heroes, and that is a word I never use lightly.”
There was total silence in the room.
“There have been political threats made against our organization,” he said, “and it was only a matter of time before our charter was officially revoked. I, for one, do not care to be a victim of a political culture of power over patriotism, of personal agenda over the common good. So, I have sent a courier to deliver our withdrawal from any official connection to the government of the United States. That person is ready to hand that document to the president’s chief of staff.”
If we were all stunned before, we were now in actual physical shock. Church gave us a moment. However, seconds kept falling off that clock behind him. I felt cold inside. My hands and feet were numb.
“Those of you with active military rank will be given the option of returning to your branches of service or receiving an honorable discharge,” said Church. “That has been arranged with trusted friends of mine within the various armed services.” He paused. “No one is being abandoned. No one’s record will be adversely affected. Rather, the reverse. Commendations for your excellent service have been added to your files, and anyone who chooses to return to the army, navy, coast guard, air force, or marines will likely receive a promotion and choice of station or assignment. The same goes for those who have transferred here from the FBI, DEA, ATF, or any other law enforcement, investigative, or covert group.”
Silence. I don’t think any of us were capable of speech.
“For those who choose to take this as an opportunity to retire, I think you will find that the retirement packages will be adequate to your needs. You will receive full pensions and a benefits package that includes full medical coverage for you and your families, as well as other tokens of my personal gratitude. A trust has been set up so that all of your needs will be provided for. You have served your country and served the world, and that service will not be trodden upon once you step down.”
Silence.
Church took a breath. It was impossible to read his mood or gauge his expression. He’s a spooky old bastard and has the best poker face in the world. Behind me I heard someone sob.
It was Bunny who raised a hand to ask a question. Church gave him a sober nod. Bunny licked his lips. “Sir,” he said, “we’ve been fighting this war for a long time. Just because the assholes in Washington turned their backs on us doesn’t mean the war’s over.”
“Farm Boy’s right,” agreed Top. “Seems like now we’re going to be needed more than ever. Not sure I understand how going home to sit on a porch or stepping back into all that bullshit bureaucratic red tape’s going to do anybody any damn good.”
Church studied him for a silent moment. He gave another nod. Behind him the clock was getting dangerously close to midnight. It was like looking at the timer on a nuclear bomb. We all feared midnight’s strike.
“I could not agree more,” said Church. “The war is the war. The war will always be the war. We are in an age of new and greater threats than anything humanity has ever faced. Cyberterrorism, rampant religious hatred, bioweapons, drones, secret cabals, and other terrors are still out there. But it is no longer the job of the DMS to fight that war.”
The clock ticked down.
11:57.
11:58.
11:59.
Midnight.
The screens behind Church went black. The symbol of the DMS vanished and was gone. We could feel it leave. It was like having our blood sucked out of our veins. My knees wanted to buckle. I felt that weak. That shattered.
Rudy snaked out a hand and grabbed my wrist with crushing force. Ghost howled. Actually howled. Like a wolf.
I looked around. People were hugging each other, sobbing openly. They were devastated. Church stood apart, his face grave, hands clasped behind his back. Bug looked up at him.
And smiled.
I stared.
Why the fuck was he smiling? Had this pushed him over the edge? The DMS, after all, was the only family he had left. This was his home and MindReader was his god.
Church raised one hand and snapped his fingers. Loud as a gunshot, and we all jumped. Every single one of us.
“Listen to me,” he said in a voice that was deadly cold. “The DMS is gone. In my last conversation with the president, he accused us of acting with too much independence, of being a rogue organization.”
Mr. Church looked at us and, like Bug, he smiled, too.
“That seemed to be the only worthwhile idea that has come out of a politician’s mouth in more years than I can count.”
Silence dropped back over the whole crowd.
“I won’t speak for each of you,” said Church, “but I am tired of fighting the wrong war. I am weary of fighting against our own government, against red tape, against fear of action and restraint born of greed. I am tired of being on a leash. When I formed the DMS it was with the idea that we would have total independence of action and the freedom to pick our own cases and react with our best speed. We were as good as our word for a while, but politics and personal agendas hobbled us. Crippled us. Weakened us.”
He was still smiling.
“That ended at midnight,” he said. “It’s a new day. The war is the war, and it cannot be won by half measures. If going rogue is what it will take, then so be it.”
He snapped his fingers again and the screen behind him lit up. A new graphic flooded us with its light. It was not the biohazard code of the DMS. Not anymore. Never again. This was something else. Something new.
I looked around and saw people — Top, Bunny, Rudy, Doc Holliday, and others — mouthing the words that were worked into the new logo. The new symbol.
I spoke those words aloud.
“Rogue Team International,” I said.
A side door opened and I saw people enter the room. Junie and Toys. Violin and Lilith. Others I did not know, but who wore the same predatory smiles and looked at us with hunters’ eyes. They came and stood with us.
With us.
“Rogue Team International,” said Church, and his smile became colder and more deadly than any I’ve ever seen on a human face. “Self-governing, fully autonomous, independently funded. A global rapid-response strike team endorsed but not answerable to the United Nations.”
Beside me, Rudy said, “Ay dios mío.”
Top and Bunny had tears in their eyes, but they stood straight and tall. Junie flashed me a brilliant smile, and even Lilith gave me a nod. One warrior to another.
Mr. Church turned slowly to look at the sea of faces.
“Welcome to the war,” he said.
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