He finished, zipped up, then washed his hands in the sink while staring at himself in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like he was coming off a serious bender. Stubble peppered his face, and he noticed more gray hairs than he had just a few months before.
Jesus. Is it normal to have gray in your beard before you’re thirty?
The nagging ache throughout his body bothered him more. It had been getting worse every month, but now it felt like it was getting worse every day. On top of that, his bicep throbbed where the doctors in Ramstein had sewed him up.
A weariness had settled in his bones, and he wanted nothing more than to go back to his cot and sack out for another eight hours.
I can’t. Something has happened. That’s probably why Deion is arguing with Eric.
Not only was he exhausted, but his prosthetic was killing him. He raised his pant leg and inspected it. The skin around the implant was an angry red like it was infected. He touched it, and a needlelike stabbing pain made him wince.
I’m messed up.
By the time he made his way to the conference room, Deion had ended the call and was busily pointing to an aerial photo on the projection screen against the far wall.
Taylor Martin and Bill Burton sat next to Valerie, and they grinned when he shut the door behind him.
“Got you coffee,” Martin said, pointing to a cup in front of an empty chair.
John slid gingerly into the seat and picked up the cup, taking a long swig of the scalding hot coffee. “Thanks, TM.”
“You look like shit,” Burton said.
“Nah,” Martin said. “Shit’s browner. Maybe squishier.”
“The clown show is over,” Deion bellowed. “We got work to do. How are you feeling, John?”
John considered that. “Is it too early for retirement?”
Burton snorted. “Boy, ain’t none of us here getting to retire.” He pointed to Valerie. “Except maybe for her. She’s probably going to dump Deion’s sorry ass and get herself a young stud, maybe wind up on a beach.”
Deion glared at Burton. “Steeljaw says Redman thinks he’s funny. But he’s the only one…”
Burton smiled and spat a wad of juice into his paper cup. “I’m underappreciated in my time.”
Deion shook his head. “I’d appreciate you more if you’d let John speak.”
Even though he felt terrible, John forced himself to grin. “I’m hanging in there. Just give me the order.”
Valerie was watching with a fierce intensity. “If you’re not feeling up to this, tell us now. We can get you back to Area 51 so the docs can give you a checkup.”
He considered taking the opportunity to see his girlfriend, Kara. Back at the base, he might catch at least a few hours with her. Or, maybe a night in her bed. His heart warmed at the thought, and for a moment he wondered if he could wind up with a girl like Kara.
Maybe Redman is right. Maybe none of us will survive.
“John?” Valerie prompted.
She appeared concerned, and he realized they had been waiting for him to respond. “Sorry, Valerie. I’m just tired.”
“Steeljaw has a mission,” Deion said. “If you’re not capable, speak now or forever be thought of as a candy-ass.”
“I’m fine,” he said. “What’s happened? Is it the Swiss?”
“They are raising a stink,” Deion said, “but it’s not them.”
“Killing those men didn’t cause problems?”
“The Swiss are withdrawing their ambassador from the United States,” Deion snapped. “I’d say that’s a big problem, but we have a higher-priority target.”
John remembered the Swiss spy, how Gohl’s eyes had widened as his esophagus had collapsed with a crunch like a bag of potato chips. “If not the Swiss, then what?”
Deion’s face hardened. “We were set up.”
“Set up? You mean the border crossing?”
“No,” Valerie said. “The entire mission was a setup. Reinemann. Holzinger. It was all to expose us.”
“We were set up? By who?”
“The people who released the video,” Deion said. “A hacker group called the Digital Freedom Alliance.”
“A hacker group?”
“Steeljaw has a theory,” Deion said. “They want to turn world opinion against the United States.”
“I still don’t get it,” John said.
“They aren’t after the OTM,” Valerie said. “They want to show the United States meddling in other countries. They probably hope to create a social revolution like the Iranians did after the hostage ordeal.”
John’s hands shook. “What do they expect? A world without war? A world where we’re not needed? Nobody likes doing the things we do.”
“Speak for yourself,” Burton said matter-of-factly. “I love this shit.”
John glared at him. “No, you don’t. You like the missions and being under the gun, but don’t tell me you enjoy killing. I don’t know you as well as Eric, but I know that’s not true.”
Burton spat another wad of tobacco juice into his cup. “I reckon you may be right, but these hacker punk kids don’t have clue one. They think they can change how people are, and it ain’t gonna happen. People are smart, and funny, and compassionate, but they’re also dumb, and greedy, and selfish bastards. Until we evolve, the world just ain’t gonna change, and people like us will have to muck around in the filth to keep it from going to shit.”
Martin was staring at Burton with his mouth hanging open. “That’s the smartest thing I’ve ever heard come out of your mouth.”
Burton raised an eyebrow. “What? I’m not allowed to think?”
Deion was staring at Burton in amazement. “We just never thought you’d be so good at it.”
“Well, fuck you guys, too,” Burton said blandly. “Look, these hackers need a knot jerked outta their asses, and we’re gonna do it.”
Valerie rolled her eyes. “What a lovely visual.”
“But accurate,” Deion said. “Here’s the deal, John. We’re going to surveil an apartment in London.”
“Who lives in this apartment?”
“We don’t know,” Deion admitted. “Kryzowski has come up blank.”
“If she’s come up blank, then I guess we have the right place,” John said.
“Right,” Deion agreed. “So, if you’re up for it, I’d like you, Redman, and Martin on it.”
John nodded. “They killed two people and forced me to kill three. Hell, yeah, I’m up for it.”
“Good,” Deion said. “You’ve got twenty minutes. Let’s move, people.”
“Your request has been considered,” Chen said.
“You spoke to the chairman?” Huang Lei asked.
Chen offered a thin smile. “No. A man such as myself could never speak to someone in his position. But he was informed of your request.”
Huang Lei’s stomach knotted in anger. Lee Chen was almost old enough to be his grandfather, but he suddenly felt a murderous rage toward the old man. “You seek some advantage in this, Mr. Chen. I can assure you that the restoration of China to its rightful place is advantage enough.”
The old spy regarded him thoughtfully. “You are such a young man, and with such lofty ambitions, that I forget you have not received the necessary training. Negotiation is a delicate dance, always looking for an advantage.”
“I seek no advantage because I have nothing to gain. I seek only what is right for China.”
“Yes,” Chen said. “As do I.”
“Ego is such a delicate thing,” Huang Lei said. “It distracts us from our goals. It chips away at our effectiveness. Ego pokes and prods us to make poor choices.”