“Ma’am, I swear to God we’ll bring them to you.”
“Suppose you don’t?”
“We will.”
“But if you don’t.”
Another swell of anger. How could he make her understand this?
“Scorpion, we really don’t have time for this,” Boxers said as he nudged the throttles forward to hold them as close to the icy shore as possible.
“Ma’am,” Jonathan said, “with all respect, this is what we do for a living. This is what we’ve always done for a living. With you along, it’s like having a third hostage. Your presence endangers your family, and it endangers Big Guy and me. I can’t allow it.”
“Please let go of me,” Yelena said. Her tone was that of a gentle, reasonable request.
Jonathan released his grip. Then he took a step back to be less threatening.
“Thanks to Director Rivers — your Wolverine — and others, you think you know who I am,” Yelena said. “In reality, you don’t have a clue.”
She stopped there, apparently thinking that there were some dots for Jonathan to connect. In reality, there were none. He waited.
Yelena sighed. “Dmitri and his friends have good reason to be angry with me. People sit in prison today for bombs I planted and people I shot. I know my way around a firefight.”
Jonathan felt his heart skip, but he made sure his face didn’t show it. So she was a murderer.
“I don’t know what to say to that,” Jonathan said.
“Say whatever you want. Say nothing. I don’t care. Just know that I won’t step away from a conflict.”
“No,” Boxers said. “You’ll just betray your comrades.” He pronounced “comrades” with his best Russian accent.
Yelena kept her eyes on Jonathan. “People change, Mr. Grave. Priorities change. Motivations change. But skills remain. They may dull some with time, but they never go away entirely. I can be an asset to you.”
In his ear, Jonathan heard, “Scorpion, Mother Hen. You’re not moving. Is there a problem?” Back in Fisherman’s Cove, in addition to the SkysEye satellite imagery, she could also track them by their GPS signals.
Jonathan pressed his transmit button. “We’re fine. Stand by.”
“I go with you, Mr. Grave, or I go in the front door. I will not be relegated to sitting on the opposite shore waiting.”
Jonathan tried to think of an alternative that would not involve drowning her or zip-tying her and shoving her in the backseat of the Chevy. If all of this fell apart, he could actually explain that the First Lady was killed in a firefight to rescue her family. Wolverine would even give him cover. But there’d be no explaining away an assault on the First Lady.
He keyed his mike. “Mother Hen, Scorpion. There’s been a change in plans.”
Behind him, Boxers said, “Ah, shit.”
As Jonathan laid out the new plan, Venice wished that she had not allowed Wolverine to listen in on the speaker. She’d piped all the audio and video into the War Room so that they could watch together.
“No,” Irene said. Her lips looked pale even as her cheeks flushed. “No, tell him he can’t do that.”
“But you heard—”
“You tell him,” Irene insisted. “Tell him to abort the whole mission if that’s what it comes to.”
Venice considered arguing, but then realized she didn’t need to. “Okay,” she said. “But you’re really not going to like his answer.” She keyed her mike. “Scorpion, Mother Hen.”
“Go ahead.” She could hear wind and engine noise in the background.
“Wolverine says that you may not include Sidesaddle in the operation. If she will not cooperate, you must abort.” Jonathan was the assigner of radio handles, and Sidesaddle was his play on the Secret Service’s Cowgirl handle. David and Becky were Rooster and Chickadee, respectively.
A pause. “You know that’s not gonna happen, right?”
Irene pointed to a skinny black microphone that extended up out of the workstation in front of her seat at the table. “Is this thing hot?”
Venice pushed a button. “It is now.” This should be really interesting. “Just push the button at the base to talk, release it to listen.”
Irene pushed the button. “Scorpion, this is Wolverine.”
“Hey, Wolfie. I appreciate your concern, but it’s not happening. She says that if I don’t take her with me, she’s going in by herself. And I don’t think she’s bluffing. Maternal instinct and all that.”
“Then you have to abort.”
“There’s an innocent guy and a thirteen-year-old in there. I can see the building. I am not aborting. I don’t really even think you want me to. Mother Hen, kill her mike for me, will you? And keep the channel clear unless you’ve got critical intel. Oh, and give Rooster a call on channel three. He probably needs a pep talk.”
Irene’s face showed an emotion that hovered somewhere between ire and acrimony. She’d set her jaw and pursed her lips until her mouth had formed a pencil line below her nose. “He hung up on me,” she said. Clearly, it had been a long time since anyone had dared to do that. “Who the hell does he think he is?”
“Welcome to my world,” Venice said.
“Get him back.”
Venice cocked her head and folded her arms. “Come on, Irene,” she said. “You heard him.” She tapped keys on her computer and pointed to the big screen. “You can see where they are. This mission has already gone hot in Digger’s mind, and he’s got more urgent things on his burner than an argument with you.”
Irene’s jaw gaped as she pressed a hand to her forehead. “But what happens if—”
Venice shot up her hand. “Don’t say it.”
Irene recoiled. “Say what?”
“Anything negative. We don’t do that here. Once we’re hot, we only anticipate one outcome. Every move we make, every word we say is geared toward making success happen.”
Irene looked amazed. Maybe mildly amused. “You’re serious?”
“We’ve never failed,” Venice said. “I know you mean well, ma’am, and you’re welcome to stay. But please don’t get in my way.”
Venus was not ordinarily a confrontational person, but that felt good.
Right away, she felt guilty for thinking such a thing.
“Rooster, this is Mother Hen.”
David was still staring out at the water in utter disbelief as the boat disappeared into the night, leaving him stranded and alone on the shore. The sound of Venice’s voice in his ear made him jump.
“Shit.” He fumbled to find the transmit button on his chest by feel. He pressed it. “What?”
The voice came back soothing. Motherly, even. “I know that was a bit of a surprise to you. Scorpion wanted me to make contact. Thought you might be upset.”
“Ya think?”
“You still need to stay focused,” she went on. “If every other part of the operation goes perfectly, it’s still a failure if they can’t get home. You understand that, right?”
He heard a click and assumed it was his turn to talk. “They just left me. Over.”
“You don’t have to say over. And they didn’t leave you. They started the mission.”
“But Mrs. Dar — Sidesaddle wasn’t supposed to be there. She was supposed to be with me.”
“You’ve got to adapt.”
David’s heart hammered fast enough to make him dizzy. He didn’t know why this suddenly seemed so much more daunting a task as a single than it was when he had company. What he should have done was listen to Becky. Who the hell did he think he was, playing soldier in the middle of the night?
“Rooster, are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. I’m busy adapting.”
“Good for you. Adapt faster.”
Once they were in open water, Boxers idled the motors. He and Jonathan met in the middle of the craft to open up the duffels and divide the equipment. By natural selection — because of his size — Boxers carried more than Jonathan, by a significant margin. Call it one hundred fifty pounds versus one hundred pounds.