Eric waited for Deion in the infirmary. “How’s the arm?” he asked when Deion entered.
Deion grunted as Doctor Elliot and Nurse Tulli inspected the wound on his arm. Deion kept pulling away. “They stitched me up in Kandahar,” he protested.
Doctor Elliot smiled. “We’re going to inject something to kick off the healing process.”
Nurse Tulli pulled a large syringe from a drawer, then a bottle of a clear liquid from a refrigerated container.
Deion watched the needle, his eyes wide. “That’s big enough for an elephant,” he said.
Nurse Tulli chuckled. “Just relax. You’ll feel a little pinch.” Deion gritted his teeth as she stuck the needle in his arm and plunged the contents into the muscle. “The wound looks clean. I can get you something for the pain, if you’d like.”
Deion smiled. “I’m man enough to accept it. Tough guys like Wise, they’d probably just fight through it.”
Elliot left and Nurse Tulli brought Deion a paper cup with some pills and a glass of water. “Take these. Come back in twelve hours and we’ll change the dressing.”
She left them alone in the infirmary. “Look at this, matching scars,” Eric said. He lifted his right arm to show the bandaged pad across his bicep.
“That happen in Denver?”
“Double ought buckshot, right through the fatty part.”
“Hurt?”
“Not bad. You should see the other guy. Took the rest of it in his face and shoulder.”
Deion winced. “Messy way to go.”
“Yeah. By the way, I’m not that tough. This bandage has some kind of painkiller in it,” Eric said, grinning.
Deion laughed, then grimaced in pain. “Tell me about Denver.”
Eric broke it down, the empty storage unit, the Rusty Bucket, the final encounter with Dyer and the police encounter that followed.
“The cops fell for that?” Deion asked. “Homeland security?”
Eric shrugged. “Why not. We actually have DHS people on the payroll. It gets messy, though. Every encounter like that means more potential exposure. Smith doesn’t like it.”
Deion shook his head. “I can imagine. So, what have you found since?”
Eric sighed in frustration. “Nothing. Karen’s been searching, but we’ve come up with a big, fat goose-egg.”
Deion rolled his eyes. “How can a truck full of caesium disappear?”
Eric wondered the same thing. “No idea. We did another drone overfly of Denver. It’s gone.”
Deion considered it for a moment. “You think Los Angeles?”
“That’s the million dollar question. Was that what Dyer was hinting?”
Deion rolled his eyes. “Or was he just nuts.”
“That crossed my mind,” Eric said, “but we have to do something. I’ve got drones flying a search path between Denver and Los Angles, plus a couple of DHS VIPR teams on the ground.”
“Not a lot to go on,” Deion said. “How did John handle himself?”
“Good. He hesitated after the storage yard. I wasn’t sure, for a minute, but he did really well at the bar. Saved my ass. And, with Dyer?” He gave Deion a hard look. “He’s scary as hell. Think about it. The guy’s body is like a machine. He hammered that door in. When Dyer took his thumb off the button, John hit us like a runaway truck. I’ve never seen anything like it. The process worked, Deion. He’s a human weapon.”
Deion grunted, his face skeptical.
“You still don’t trust him?” Eric asked.
“I didn’t say that,” Deion countered. “Think about it. How do we know what all those drugs did to him? What about the brainwashing?”
“It wasn’t brainwashing, it was memory replacement.”
Deion rolled his eyes again. “Bullshit. Call it what you want, but we messed with his mind. If he ever remembers, we have to put him down. I know you’re excited that your pet psychopath is up to snuff, but he’s still a murderer.”
“I haven’t forgotten,” he said quietly. “How could I? I’m just saying, the project worked. StrikeForce is a success.”
“It was one mission,” Deion said. “You ready to send him out on his own?”
“No,” Eric admitted.
“Yeah, well, I’ll be happier once he’s got a few more missions under his belt.”
“We have to give it time. He’s hitting his mark.” Then it dawned on him. “But that’s not what you want to talk about, is it? You’re avoiding something.”
“You read the reports from Kandahar?” Deion asked.
“I did.”
“Yeah, well, thanks. For everything. You saved our lives. No joke.” Deion scowled. “We were screwed.”
“I’m just glad you made it.” Watching the drone feed as the fighters approached, Eric wished nothing more than to be there with them. He worked frantically to take control of the CIA drone, earning the ire of the CIA’s Director of Clandestine Services as well as JSOC. The OTM didn’t usually have such direct involvement, but Eric wasn’t about to let Deion and Nancy die, especially if there a way he could save them.
“Yeah,” Deion said, “thanks to you.” He bit his lip, then spit out the words. “It wouldn’t have happened if Nancy hadn’t pissed all over Rumple.”
Eric nodded. “That’s it.”
“Yeah,” Deion said. “I know she’s Smith’s daughter, and I like the Old Man. I respect him. Nancy is…she provoked Rumple. She’s a ball buster. You want to know something else? She scares me. Sometimes it’s like there’s nobody home. At least John had a reason for being a psychotic nutjob, she’s just—”
Eric cleared his throat. “That’s a little strong, don’t you think?”
“She was good in the fight, that’s for damn sure, but I don’t trust her. She’s unstable. She could have got Neil and Val killed.”
“What can I do?” Eric asked. “She’s the Old Man’s daughter.”
Deion nodded. “You’re stuck, man. I don’t envy you one bit.”
Eric and Deion joined Nancy, Karen, and Sergeant Clark in the briefing room. Karen had a line of empty paper coffee cups in front of her and Sergeant Clark lectured her about potential caffeine addiction.
“It’s not like I drink a lot,” she protested, tapping her fingers against the tabletop. “Maybe six cups a day. Or eight.”
“Those are twenty-ounce cups,” Clark retorted. “That’s a lot of coffee.”
“I’ve built up a tolerance,” Karen muttered under her breath.
Nancy watched the exchange, stone-faced, turning to greet Deion and Erick with a nod.
“Let’s get started,” Eric said. “We’ve all had a chance to read the reports. What do we know?”
Deion nodded to Nancy. “You first.”
“The contact hanged himself,” Nancy said. “Abdullah inspires loyalty, we know that. He’s smart. AQ respects the hell out of him. The local Taliban, not so much. His target was someone in FOB Wildcat, not the drone program. I think there’s an obvious answer. Abdullah was a CIA asset. Any disagreement?”
“I’ve been digging through the records on the CIA agents, Trevino and Wiggins,” Clark said. “It was definitely Trevino. He spent time there in the eighties. I’ve requested the paper files be sent here, they’re still gathering them.”
“Paper files,” Karen said with disgust. “It’s like the stone age.”
Clark sighed. “Case reports were filed on paper because that’s all they had access to in the mountains. Plus, Trevino ran a lot of missions off-book. I’d be surprised if we find anything. You have to remember, not everyone thought arming the Mujahideen was a good idea. Trevino funneled a lot of weapons and supplies, most of it untraceable. Let’s say he taught those men to make IED’s. Let’s say he found a very motivated student, maybe he develops a friendship. Maybe he gets this guy into the US after the war. No idea what happens then, until 2002. Suddenly, there’s an explosion of high quality bombs in Iraq and Afghanistan. Remote triggers, cell phone activated, instruction and schematics popping up all over. Someone very gifted is writing it all down and distributing it.”