Nancy finally brushed past him, and he motioned for Clark and Karen to follow, gently closing the conference room door behind him.
Nancy stood behind a chair and held it in a white-knuckled death grip. “You really want them in here for this?”
“Why, are you going to say something they can’t hear?” Eric asked.
Nancy blinked. “Fine. I want John terminated.”
“Straight to the point?” Eric asked. “Then let me be blunt. No.”
“If you can’t handle it,” Nancy said, “I’ll do the job myself.”
Karen’s eyes went wide, “I think you guys are getting—”
“Could you really put a gun to the head of a man you’ve worked with for over two years?” Eric said.
“Yes,” Nancy said firmly. “I could.”
“That’s why your father put me in charge,” Eric said. “That’s not a criticism, just a fact. Fulton put me in charge for several reasons, and one of them is because I don’t go putting bullets in people’s heads unless I have a damned good reason. John stays here until he dies, but I’m not going to have him killed because you want him dead.” He turned to Clark and Karen. “We’ve got to find out who is behind the DFA. They’ve caused enough damage.”
“I’m working on tracking the data leak,” Karen said. “It went live on a site called undergroundrising.net. It’s remarkably well protected, but I’ve asked Dewey to hack the site and dump the logs. Once we have that, we can try and track the poster’s IP.”
Clark had watched silently, but he said, “Tell him the other news.”
“Other news?” Eric asked.
“MI5 leaked the identity of the London suicide bomber,” Karen said. “Jeff Haskell. He was one of ours.”
Eric’s stomached knotted. “Tell me.”
“He was First Marine Division. Fought in the Iraq invasion. Got hit by an IED and was honorably discharged. He did a few contractor jobs and even one for the OTM in Afghanistan before we determined him to be… unstable.”
“Unstable?” Eric asked. “Who determined that?”
“Barnwell,” Clark said. “In his opinion, Haskell suffered from depression.”
“Wait a minute,” Eric said. “I knew that guy. Before I left Afghanistan, I was on a mission. Martin and Redman were there. Flipper and Ironman, too. We eliminated a warlord and burned a literal mountain of hashish before AQ could sell it to fund a terror attack in Paris. That’s where Jiminy Cricket got shot. Haskell was the guy who shot him.”
“Haskell shot a Delta Operator?” Karen asked.
“It was an accident,” Eric said. “We were told there would be ten men, but there were almost forty. It turned into a real firefight. Five of our men, all CIA, got cut off. We flanked the main group, and Haskell put a round through the side of Jiminy’s ass. He spent four months recuperating. He says it still hurts like hell whenever he sits down.”
Clark raised an eyebrow. “Only some of that was in the official report.”
“Official reports can be tricky. Haskell wasn’t at fault, but he was pretty broken up about it. I can’t believe he would be a part of this.”
“Maybe he didn’t have a choice,” Karen said.
“He wore a suicide vest,” Nancy said. “How was that not his choice?”
“I checked his finances,” Karen said. “He’s blown through a lot of money in the past three years. Doctor bills. Maybe he needed the money.”
“Did he have a family?” Eric asked.
“Two kids, both in high school,” Karen said. “His wife has no record of income.”
“Someone gets sick,” Eric mused. “Maybe it’s his wife. Maybe him. Hell, maybe one of the kids. The bills add up, he needs the money. He accepts the job and wears the vest.”
For a moment, they all stared at each other. “The person holding the purse strings,” Eric said. “That’s our enemy. Focus on the financials, Karen.” He swiveled back to Nancy. “We’re going to be late for a phone call.”
Nancy pursed her lips. “Are you sure this is the time?”
“I promised to bring your mother home,” Eric said.
“I can hold the deck,” Clark said. “Trust us, Steeljaw. We’ve got this.”
Karen stepped forward and peeled Nancy’s hand from the back of the chair. “It’s what we all want.”
Nancy blinked, then withdrew her hand from Karen’s and patted her awkwardly on the arm. “Thank you. That means… something to me.”
Eric nodded. “It’s decided. Let’s make that phone call.”
Eric led Nancy back to Dewey’s office. When they entered, Dewey’s monitors were back in place in front of his desk, which now stood where the dental chair had been.
Dewey glanced up irritably as they entered. “I don’t have time to chat. Karen has me working on this thing, although come to think of it, I wonder if she has the authority to pull me from Elliot’s thing—”
“Dewey,” Eric said slowly, “you realize I’m the director?”
Dewey turned to him and made a face. “I don’t really pay attention to who’s in charge—”
“I’m in charge,” Eric said. “Understand?”
“Ah,” Dewey said. “Yes, I guess I do understand.” He frowned. “Uhm, why are you here?”
“The phone call,” Nancy said. She pointed at Dewey’s screen. “We need to make a VOIP call to my mother, remember?”
“That?” Dewey asked. “Wasn’t that yesterday?”
“It was six hours ago,” Nancy growled.
One. Two. Three… “Dewey,” Eric said, “I know Karen has you working on something important, but we really need to make the phone call.”
“Sure, sure. Hey, did you know WKRP in Cincinnati has never been released on Blu-ray with the original music? Why can’t we do something about that? I mean, we can make a guy see in the dark—”
“Just make the call,” Eric barked.
Dewey blanched. “I’m sorry. I… can’t help it. I try so hard, but I keep screwing up.”
Nancy took Dewey’s face in her hands. “You can’t help the way you are, Dewey. I wouldn’t try to change you for the world. But I need you to make that phone call.”
Dewey looked at her with something akin to awe. “I’d do anything for you.”
As Dewey spun around, Eric considered Dewey’s words.
Did he just say a man could see in the dark?
He made a mental note to review Dewey’s workload.
“Routing through my usual backdoor network,” Dewey said as he typed in the number. A funny look crossed his face. “Hmm…”
“What?” Eric asked.
The conference phone on Dewey’s desk came to life. “Hello?”
“Mother?” Nancy asked. “Are… you ready?”
There was a long pause. “Meet me at the 7-Eleven north of the Orlando International Airport in eight hours.”
“You live… in Orlando?” Nancy asked.
“You can ask me about it once we’re en route to your operational center,” Alexandra said. “I’m assuming Fulton moved it from Washington?”
Eric smiled. She might have been out of the OTM for almost thirty years, but she certainly knows how we operate. “Ma’am? We’ll meet you there in eight hours.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wise. Please ensure my daughter is there and that she is well guarded.”
“I’ll do that, ma’am. I can’t wait to meet you.”
Huang Lei stared at his screen. The DFA’s latest disclosure both angered him and made his heart soar.