“That ship’s a year away from being commissioned,” Brody said.
“Disinformation,” Renard said. “Even Secretary Rickets didn’t know, but it’s ready and it’s needed. It will support stealth patrol vessels in countering China’s submarine fleet.”
“Those are tiny stealth patrol craft,” Brody said. “They won’t beat the Chinese submarine fleet.”
“Agreed, admiral,” Renard said. “But they will fend off Chinese submarines with tactical nukes and targeting assistance. I just need a submarine commanded by an ace to break them free of the minefield surrounding Taiwan.”
“You’ve given Jake back to me in this conversation just to send him on a suicide mission?” Brody asked.
“I would never send him to his grave,” Renard said. “In fact, I am convinced he is charmed. He will surprise you, if you can get him here in time.”
“I’ll stash him on a diplomatic flight,” Rickets said.
“Smuggling him here is not my concern. His commitment is. He’s been reluctant to join me in the past.”
“Have you contacted him since the fighting broke out?”
“He won’t answer my calls,” Renard said. “His zeal for valor may be waning, and we’ve both run out of carrots to tempt him.”
“He needs the threat of something taken away,” Rickets said.
“I would never,” Renard said. “I would command the ship myself before I would violate his trust.”
Rickets stood and straightened his Jacket.
“You don’t have to,” he said. “I know where he’s weak, and I have eyes on him. My men know what to do. I’ll have him there in twenty hours.”
CHAPTER 2
East Asian hostilities beckoned Jake Slate, and he summoned his oracle to confirm it.
“Welcome to Michigan,” he said. “You look tired.”
“You just flew me in on a private jet in the middle of the night,” his elder brother, Nick Slate, said.
“You stink. Do you ever wash those things?”
He glanced at a rainbow tie-dye imprint on a hemp shirt that draped over Nick’s lithe frame and then returned his gaze to the highway.
“I was sleeping in these when you called.”
“Right,” Jake said. “Maybe this was stupid. Maybe I’m just being paranoid.”
“No,” Nick said. “You’re not.”
Jake pressed on the accelerator of his Ford Fusion and passed a truck.
“How do you know? You haven’t read me yet.”
“I don’t have to. If you believe you’re in danger, then you are.”
“That’s paranoia,” Jake said.
“No, that’s the gift.”
“I’m not even sure I believe in your powers or abilities or whatever you call them.”
“You flew me here for a reason.”
Jake swore under his breath as truck headlights blinded him in his rear view mirror.
“Paranoia,” he said.
“Actually, I believe that if a child has the gift, then it’s likely that the siblings do too. And it gets stronger with the younger siblings. I might be the least gifted of all of us.”
“Then why is Joe an imbecile?”
“Mom’s passing hurt him the worst because he was too young to cope.”
Jake snorted.
“You give him too many excuses.”
“You give him too little understanding,” Nick said.
“Forget him. Can you read me while I’m driving?”
“It’s best to be still.”
“I don’t want to wait,” Jake said.
“You sense the danger,” Nick said. “I already sense it, too. You don’t need a reading.”
“I want to know if I should run.”
“Yes,” Nick said.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, you should run.”
Jake craned his neck and cut across two lanes of traffic on I-275. Gravel crunched under the Fusion’s tires, and a sign indicating the I-96 interchange appeared in his windshield. He kept the motor humming and trotted in front of the hood.
“Get out,” he said.
He whipped the door open and yanked his brother up.
“Careful,” Nick said. “Not so rough.”
“Sorry,” Jake said and extended his hand. “Read me.”
“Fine.”
Jake watched Nick bow his head and felt him clasp his palms over his hand.
“Relax and free your mind,” Nick said.
Nick squeezed with alarming strength and collapsed to a knee.
“What the hell?” Jake asked. “Are you okay? You’re freaking me out.”
Nick staggered, and Jake reached with his free hand to help him stand. His brother looked ghastly in the moonlight.
“You’re in danger,” he said.
“No shit,” Jake said. “We’ve established that. How bad?”
“You know how I’ve said these feelings are never one hundred percent.”
“Yeah?”
“I lied.”
Jake drove in silence. Nick appeared nauseous and his voice strained.
“I collapsed worse than that after a really bad reading once,” he said.
“Is that supposed to cheer me up?”
“I knew someone was going to die. All I could do was tell him to prepare for his passing. He died of leukemia seven months later.”
“What does this mean for me?” Jake asked.
The phone rang on the Fusion’s infotainment system. Jake glanced at the console and noticed a restricted number.
“Damn it,” he said. “Probably Renard. I’m not answering.”
“No,” Nick said. “It’s someone else.”
“You’ve said I’m in danger, and there’s naval warfare in a part of the world where he always sticks his nose. I know when he wants me. Who else could it be?”
“He wants you, but that’s not him.”
The phone rang again but a name accompanied the chime. It was Gerald Rickets.
“Holy shit,” he said.
“Who is it?”
“The Secretary of Defense. Apparently on his personal line.”
“A friend?” Nick asked.
“Not exactly.”
He answered the phone and heard an authoritative voice fill the Fusion’s cabin.
“Slate?”
“Rickets,” Jake said.
“Thank you for answering,” Rickets said.
“Since when do you thank me for anything?”
“I’ve learned a few pleasantries in my new job.”
“And I hear you’re a frontrunner for president.”
“This is my personal, unsecure line,” Rickets said. “Careful what you say.”
“What do you want?” Jake asked.
“I need you.”
“Obviously.”
“I’ll get more specific if you’ll call me back on my secure line. Someone is texting you the number now.”
“When I get home in ten minutes.”
“You don’t have much time,” Rickets said. “You’re traveling tonight.”
Jake saw the exit sign for Farmington Hills.
“Three years of nothing, just letting me have a normal life, and now you need me,” he said.
“It’s not just me who needs you.”
“Is it my country? One of its allies? Perhaps an old friend with a French accent?”
“It’s a worthy cause.”
“My dues are paid, Rickets.”
“Nobody’s chasing you.”
“Because you know I can’t run. Doesn’t your CIA intern pay attention during my monthly interviews?”
“The latest intern is FBI, actually,” Rickets said. “You were reclassified as a domestic case for good behavior.”
“Whatever. I’m tied down.”
“This is the life you chose.”
“I didn’t choose you calling me when you had something too dirty to handle yourself. This is bullshit.”
“Say goodbye to your wife then call me,” Rickets said. “There’s transportation waiting in your subdivision with bags packed for everything you’ll need.”