How much time do I have? Twenty seconds? Ten?
He held the bomb, even though his fingers felt like they were giving way, and even though every fiber of his being was telling him to drop it and run.
More seconds passed, and he pictured the life he could have had with Kara if only they had met under different circumstances.
If only I could tell her just how much I love her.
He wanted to tell Eric how much he appreciated his faith in him. He wanted to tell Deion that he was glad to have worked with him. He wanted to tell Martin, and Burton and Kelly that they were his brothers-in-arms, if not in brothers by blood.
He wanted to tell them all how sorry he was for the Red Cross bombing and how he hoped stopping the nuclear bomb would make up for it.
He wondered if there was life after death, and if that life had a Heaven, and if he deserved such a reward or whether he would never wash away his sins.
He wondered all those things until there was a flash of light and a roar, and then John Frist knew nothing ever again.
“What are we going to do?” the president demanded.
Eric leaned back in his chair and sighed. “About what, sir?”
“They know about the OTM. Everyone knows about the OTM.”
“Nothing has been confirmed,” Eric said. “And nothing will be confirmed.”
The president slammed his fist against the table. “Senator Novak—”
“Senator Novak will do as she’s told,” Eric said.
The president hesitated. “You’re not going to…”
“Nothing so melodramatic,” Eric said. “Don’t worry, sir. I’ll handle it myself.”
The president hunched forward and stared at the table. “That thing in Pittsburgh. It’s a miracle what your people did. Is that the last of Huang Lei?”
“Yes.”
“What about the other bombs?”
“We have them. They’re in a secure facility.”
The president shuddered. “The idea that those bombs were just… left in place. It gives me nightmares. What other horrors are just waiting for someone foolish enough to use them?”
“That’s one of those unknown unknowns, sir.”
A silence lingered between them until the president asked, “Was anyone hurt?”
“We lost our man. The StrikeForce platform.”
“What was his name? Frist?”
“Yes,” Eric said. “John Frist.”
“I read his file,” the president said. “He bombed the Red Cross.”
“I know, Mr. President.”
They sat for a moment. “Do you think it made up for what he did?”
“Honestly?” Eric asked. “At the end, he served his country like a hero. That’s how I’ll remember him.”
“Was anyone else hurt?”
“One of my men was shot in the stomach.”
The president considered that. “Will he live?”
“He’s hanging on. We extracted him from the hospital in Pittsburgh. He’s being cared for in an undisclosed location. If he survives the next couple of weeks, and he fights off the infection, he’ll recover in a couple of months.”
“He has my gratitude,” the president said. “What comes next?”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Even if Congress lets this slide, the people know about the OTM.”
“Fulton Smith was a smart man,” Eric said. “He had a contingency plan for every situation. The OTM will disappear, sir.”
The president frowned. “You’re leaving Area 51?”
“It’s no longer a viable base for operations.”
“Where will you go?”
Eric stood. “It’s better you don’t know. Plausible deniability. The OTM will still exist. We’ll still protect the United States. We’ll just be… taking a break. I’ll contact you when we resume operations.”
“What about that mess with the Swiss?”
Eric nodded. “A considerable sum of money was deposited in the dead men’s bank accounts. Untraceable, of course. It doesn’t bring them back, but it’s something, at least.”
“And those two Germans?”
“Reinemann had no husband or children. Holzinger had millions in life insurance. His family will be well taken care of.”
“Did you ever…?”
“It took some digging, but Reinemann was concerned about the oil price manipulation. She shared it with Holzinger. When she reached out to us, she thought we might find the responsible party. Holzinger got nervous and flew to Switzerland to see her, afraid that she might be a target.”
“And Huang Lei used that, didn’t he?”
“He did, sir. Indeed, he did.”
The president stood. “What a mess.”
“Yes,” Eric agreed.
The president led him to the door, but before Eric could swipe his badge to open it, the president stuck out his hand. “Thank you, Mr. Wise, for saving Pittsburgh, and for… preventing another Cold War, at the very least.”
Eric shook the president’s hand. “As always, it is our duty and our honor, Mr. President. Disavow any knowledge of the OTM and things will return to normal. I promise you that.”
Barbara Novak pulled her coat tight against the wind whipping through the aircraft hangar as the final car entered. Senator Lampert got out, slapped the car, and watched as it left.
The rest of the Gang of Eight stood in a semicircle, staring dumbly at each other.
“What is this?” Diane Greenwood asked.
“I don’t know,” Barbara said. “Did the president request you come alone?”
“He can’t bully us,” Paul Burrow said.
The rest of the members nodded their heads, but Barbara was staring at the powerfully built man exiting the Gulfstream.
He was nearly six feet tall, although he carried himself in a way that made him seem taller. He was in his late thirties or early forties and had close-cropped brown hair and eyes that seemed dead.
She had met a few members of the elite Special Forces before. A few SEALs, a few members of the Army’s Delta Force, and they all had the same stare.
They call it the thousand-yard stare.
He wore an expensive suit, but the bitter wind didn’t bother him a bit, and she had no doubt he was more comfortable dressed in a uniform or wearing combat gear.
He stopped in front of them. The Gang of Eight turned to greet the man with raised voices and accusations, but he spoke in a voice as hard as steel. “My name is Eric. I am the director of the OTM.”
The men and women grew quiet. Finally, when no one else would speak, Barbara said, “I hope you’re not here to try and stop our investigation.”
“As a matter of fact, that’s exactly why I’m here.”
Lampert had picked up on the man’s background. “We’re not soldiers under your command,” Lampert said. “We are the government. We have oversight—”
“Silence,” Eric barked. Everyone took a step back, and Eric glared at them. “I thought about doing this the easy way or the hard way. Trust me, you’ll be glad I decided on the easy way.”
Adam Ford, the one member of the Gang of Eight who had served in the Army, stared at the man in shock. “I… know you.”
Eric smiled at Ford. “Do you?”
“We’ve met. You’re… Steeljaw.”
Eric said nothing.
“The last time we met, you threatened—”
“If I were the man you think I am,” Eric said, “your life wouldn’t be worth a hill of beans.”
“You wouldn’t…”
“You think these politicians could stop me?”
Ford began to shake, and a dark stain spread across his crotch.