“That’s not the quote I remember, boss.”
Masters chuckled as they walked. “That’s the new version. Come on, we’ve got work to do.”
“Saving your ass wasn’t enough?”
“For you, maybe,” Masters admitted, “but now I need to get Keyz on a job.”
Hale frowned, looking around. “What’s left to blow up?”
“Out,” Masters said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “Blow out. And that fire behind us, actually.”
“Why?”
“I want my knife back,” Masters said simply as they walked back to where the others were waiting.
Nathan chuckled. “Yeah, I can relate.”
“Speaking of which, when are you going to tell me the story behind that sword?”
The sniper shrugged. “Didn’t I already do that back in Afghanistan, sir?”
“Not the bullshit story for the reports; I mean the real one,” Masters said. “I’ll bet that’s when you first crossed, right? You did seem a little odd after that mission.”
“Yeah, well, ask me again later,” Nathan said quietly. “It’s not something I like to think about if I can help it.”
“Right.”
Somehow, Masters wasn’t surprised. Crossing the veil was rarely a tale that inspired any great feelings of joy and enthusiasm.
Behind the two men the oil fire raged as large flakes of snow began to fall from the dark sky, settling on and around them as they limped onward.
Miles to go and people to kill.
CHAPTER 19
The Black Hawk landed in a cloud of snow, the rotors blowing up the fresh powder on the ground to reveal the soot black ice underneath.
Harold “Hawk” Masters walked up alongside Judith Andrews as the door opened and Admiral Karson planted his boot down on the ice. He paused only to glare at them both before shouldering his way past them and out into the open air.
“Masters, you son of a bitch, do you have any idea the nightmare you’ve dropped in my lap?” He demanded as the Black Hawk’s engines wound down behind them.
“Unavoidable, Admiral.”
“Bullshit,” Karson muttered, slashing his hand through the air to cut off Judith’s attempt to speak. “And don’t you start, Captain. I’ve read the reports. Yours and the ones from the medical teams that preceded me up here.”
He had read them. Over and over again, in fact.
He liked those reports even less than he liked Masters at the moment, and that was saying something. The medical examiners he’d sent up here had found literally dozens of bodies, possibly hundreds or more, riddled to the gills with military-issue bullets. Civilian bodies. American civilians.
It was a nightmare. Never mind Posse Comitatus; even if the mission had been legal, this was beyond the pale. The problem was, the nightmare didn’t end here. Every single report said the same damned thing.
The victims had been dead a long time before those bullets dropped by for a visit.
Frankly, he didn’t know which disturbed him more. The idea that some of the nation’s best, albeit occasionally unstable, troops had decided to shoot up a bunch of corpses…or the notion that some of the nation’s best had to shoot up a bunch of corpses. Normally, there wouldn’t be a question. Karson would simply drop them all from active duty pending a medical discharge of the mental variety.
The fact was, though, he’d gone to Masters for a reason. The weird stuff was it.
“You know what, I don’t know what the hell happened up here. Honestly, I don’t want to know,” he admitted, not looking at either of them. “That said, I need to know. So you’re both going to write two reports.”
He turned to look at them. “The first is going to say that a chemical leak from the oil wells caused the deaths and mass hysteria reported. Put something in there about frakking — the media will love that.…”
“Were they doing any frakking here?” Masters asked, curious.
“I don’t know,” Karson said frankly, “and I don’t care. Make it sound plausible, and the company will go along with it if they know what’s good for them. Poison gas, lots of dead, those who survived went crazy and got into a shoot-out with the state troopers and guardsmen. Got it?”
“Yes, sir,” Andrews said, jabbing Masters with her elbow.
“Yes, sir,” he repeated.
“And the second report, sir?” Andrews asked.
“The truth.” Karson pointed at Masters. “And no bullshit about what I need to know. I need the facts, and you will give them to me, or by God I’ll enter you name on the casualty list for this fuckup!”
Masters nodded tersely. He didn’t need to ask what the admiral would do with him once he was declared dead. “Yes, sir.”
Karson dropped his arm. “Good. Now, is there anything left to clean up?”
“Just one thing, sir,” Masters said, handing the admiral a folder.
Karson opened it, frowning as he flipped through it. “What is this?”
“Shipping invoice,” Masters said coldly, eyes hard as steel. “We need to talk to a man about a coffin.”
A week later Karson found himself making his way through the E-Ring security procedures once more. He’d been through these halls so many times in his life that he had once thought himself inured to the presence he’d first felt upon entering. Now, though, he felt uneasy in the halls that had once been his home.
“Sir.” The marine guard saluted as he stepped up to the security doors and passed his card through the slot.
He spoke his password, got cleared through, and walked into the war room.
“Karson.” The president was sitting at the head of the table already, a sure sign that he wasn’t pleased.
“Sir.”
“Sit down,” the president said, nodding to the chair in front of Karson.
Karson sat down. What else was there to do?
“Now,” the president said, not looking at any of the other generals or admirals in the room. “Explain to me just what in the hell happened in Barrow.”
“It was another incident, Mr. President,” Karson said, “and by the time my team arrived on site, most of the dying was over.”
“Yes, I’ve read the reports. Would you care to comment on why your team apparently took it upon themselves to blow nearly countless holes into the corpses?”
“Honestly, sir,” Karson sighed, “I’m trying not to think too hard about that.”
“Stop being a smart ass, Karson,” General Marcel of the air force growled. “The president asked you a question.”
“And I answered it.” Karson shot the general a glare. “The problem is that these damned incidents all defy conventional answers, and you know that. Or should I mention Area 51?”
The general flushed red, looking away.
“That’s enough. Both of you.” The president sighed, shaking his head. “Admiral, at least tell me the cover story will hold.”
“It’ll hold.” Karson nodded. “We’re blaming it on a mixture of organic compounds and natural gasses vented after a frakking accident in the nearby wells. The media will eat it up.”
“You’re serving up the oil company to the sharks?” the president asked, disbelieving.
“Mr. President, after what we learned up there, I’ll gladly chum the waters and feed the bastards in inch by inch.” Karson sneered. “We located the source of the…contaminant. Once we traced it back, it was clear that it came from a rival oil firm. Apparently they’ve been using incidents to joust for control of prime real estate.”
“Someone set that off intentionally?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want his name,” the president growled, rising to his feet as the men around him started to rumble and whisper. “I want his name, his location, and everything about him.”