“If I shouldn’t know, don’t feel like you have to tell me. But you’re the director now. Maybe it’s time for a different way of running the OTM.”
“I’ve told you more than I should have. You’re complicit. You, and Deion, and Nancy.”
“Smith had Barnwell’s help. You have to confide in someone.”
“Where is Hobert?”
“He’s spending more time with his wife,” Karen said. “I think Smith’s retirement is hitting him pretty hard.”
He shook his head. Nancy was off doing God knows what, and Hobert was probably boozing it up in Las Vegas with his long-suffering wife. “The meetings Smith logged with President Carter, and then Reagan, strongly encouraged US involvement in Afghanistan. Without Smith, the US wouldn’t have backed the Mujahedeen.”
“Surely someone else—”
“Smith’s notes were pretty clear,” Eric said. “Neither president wanted to get involved. Smith pushed them. In his own way, Fulton Smith was responsible for the creation of Abdullah the Bomber. Which, if you think about it, created the need for the StrikeForce technology.”
“The StrikeForce technology created John Frist,” Karen countered. “He stopped the dirty bomb in New York City and killed Abdullah.”
“Yes,” Eric said. “It also gave him the ability to kill those Swiss guards. Which is a situation he was put in by the DFA, who are responding to the US doing things like arming the Mujahedeen.”
Karen’s hand started for his, but she caught herself and placed it on the table. “None of this is your fault.”
“Circles within circles,” Eric said. “It’s like we create our own problems. What alternative do we have? Retreat? Do nothing? Hindsight is a bitch. It’s so damned easy to put the pieces together after the fact. We need to get better at forecasting problems.”
“We’re good, Eric, but we’re not that good. We’re not gods. We do the best with what we have.”
He resisted the urge to lean closer, to take her in his arms, and to do… other things. “What if the OTM shut down? What if we just got the hell out of the way?”
Karen studied his face. “I know you. You don’t believe that.”
“I don’t?”
“No, you don’t. You know how I know?”
He shook his head.
“You’re a man of action,” Karen said. “Doing nothing is not in your nature.”
He grunted. “What really frustrates me is being ready to give my life for my country, but knowing that it’s not enough. I need to find a way to do this job better than Smith did.”
“That’s a tall order,” Karen said. “Maybe you should try doing something that a mere mortal can accomplish.”
He stared into her eyes. Her tone was light, but she was clearly concerned for him. For a moment, he remembered their bodies intertwined in his bed, sticky with sweat, and how good it had felt to forget all the responsibility Smith had dumped on him. “Sometimes I need a gentle reminder.”
She chewed on her lip. “Keep looking at me like you want to screw my brains out, and I’ll have to smack you in the head. In the head.”
The tension in the room evaporated, and he smiled. “You’re right. Let’s focus on what we can accomplish. Get me information about the DFA. I want to know everything about them.”
Karen flashed him a warm smile. “You got it, boss.”
After Karen had left, Eric fumbled with the palmtop computer. Five attempts to contact Nancy later, and he gave up and typed a message. WHERE ARE YOU?
He read Deion’s case report while he waited for a response. John was not okay. The jump from the window had taken a lot out of him. Between that and the bomb in Zürich, John was clearly in need of downtime.
He must be torn up about killing those men.
He needed to talk to John, to clear the young man’s conscience. And to finally tell him about the cancer that was killing him. He was mulling that over when his tablet finally beeped.
I’M WITH MY FATHER.
He had seen Smith’s Gulfstream at the Reagan International Airport on his way to meet with the president. He had assumed that Smith was taking care of personal business, but it made him wonder what business required Nancy’s help.
WE HAVE A SITUATION, he typed. COULD USE YOUR HELP.
I’M UNAVAILABLE.
WHAT ARE YOU WORKING ON?
There was a long wait before the reply finally came through. IT’S PERSONAL. WILL DEBRIEF YOU WHEN FINISHED.
Debrief?
He was still considering Nancy’s message while he contacted Deion in Mildenhall.
Deion had dark bags under his eyes. “Couldn’t let me catch an hour’s sleep?”
“It’s a pleasure to see you, too. I’ve been thinking about your code name. I’m thinking ‘Grumpalot.’”
Deion put his hand to his chest. “You slay me, man. What kind of shitstorm did we start?”
“A big shitstorm,” Eric said. “I just got back from the White House, but I’m sure I’ll be summoned back.”
“Sorry, man. I know it wasn’t—”
“Things go sideways,” Eric said. “Not your fault. It’s not John’s, either. We should have seen it coming.”
Deion frowned. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this. We were just supposed to meet with Reinemann.”
“Yeah,” Eric said. “We have a new working theory on that.”
Deion’s eyes narrowed. “Oh?”
“It was a setup.”
“Even a dummy like me could put that much together.”
Eric managed a weak smile. “I’m the dummy that barely made it through a state school. No, I meant the entire thing was a setup.”
He gave Deion a rundown of the new information about the DFA and oil price manipulation.
“What?” Deion asked. “You’re telling me nerds manipulated a global market without getting caught and then had two people assassinated?”
“Sounds crazy, but it fits. They’re freedom fighters. How better to strike at the United States than by exposing their foreign operations?”
“They didn’t expose jack shit,” Deion said. “All they got was some grainy footage. Those three dead bodies haven’t hit the news yet.”
“It’s going live any minute. The Secretary of State didn’t even get a chance to respond to their allegations. The Swiss are recalling their ambassador from Washington and shutting down their embassy in protest.”
“What about the consulates?”
“The chatter says they’ll close them, too.”
Deion whistled. “That’s not good.”
“Karen thinks there will be protests at the American consulate in Zürich, with a mass protest at the main consulate in Bern.”
“Jesus,” Deion said. “I knew it was FUBAR’d…”
“We’ve lost their support. The Swiss won’t help with any terror-related initiatives. They won’t help with money laundering. They won’t be a go-between with Iran again.”
“Iran? Was that actually—”
“We were so close to halting their enrichment program.”
“We were set up,” Deion said with a scowl. “Are we just going to take that?”
Sergeant Todd Clark knocked on the Sinclair gas station’s bathroom door. The station was on the northwest side of town, across from a desert field, and so new it practically gleamed. Recently built apartments and townhouses stretched for miles.
A man’s voice came from within. “The blood of man…”
“Shall never fade,” Clark said softly.
The door opened, and a man wearing a brown t-shirt, worn blue jeans, and horn-rimmed glasses opened the door. “If we get caught, they’ll think we’re some kind of lovers.”