Captain Metcalf signaled for Lerher to turn off the camera, and Lerher wasted no time in doing so.
Metcalf laced his fingers on the tabletop. “Is that really how you want this to go, Gil?”
“In all honesty, sir?”
“Well, I don’t want you lying to me, son.”
“If I’m going down, sir, it’s my intention to try and take this lying son of a bitch down with me. I may fail in the attempt, sir, but at least he’ll be finished in SOG, and that just might save some other SEAL’s life down the line… sir.”
Lerher bristled, but he held his tongue, knowing that Metcalf’s authority trumped his own in this matter. What he did not want was a JAG officer present during debrief, and Metcalf was the only hope of preventing that now.
Metcalf rocked back and crossed his arms. “Would you take that approach if it was I who ordered you be kept in the dark concerning the Sherkat woman’s pregnancy?”
This took Gil completely by surprise. “Sir?”
“Would you still be requesting a JAG officer if you knew it was I who ordered you be kept in the dark?”
Lerher was hard-pressed to hide his satisfaction. More than that, he was shocked that Metcalf had come to his aid by accepting responsibility himself. Now the smartass Shannon was as good as gone.
Gil was briefly nonplussed. He felt betrayed from every angle, but he couldn’t bring himself to go on the offensive against his captain. “No, sir,” he heard himself say.
“Very well,” Metcalf said rocking forward again. “Mr. Lerher, replace that memory card and give it to me. We’ll start over.”
Over the next few hours, the debrief went smoothly. Gil described the mission down to the very last detail, and Lerher was as magnanimous as he could be, even offering Gil praise on two separate occasions. Nothing more was said about the Sherkat woman in terms of his exceeding the mission parameters, but Gil knew that topic was not important to the debrief. The analysis would come later, and the disciplinary action soon afterward.
Fuck it, he told himself. He would retire. Let them fight their own wars from now on. Marie would finally get her wish.
“Thank you, Master Chief,” Lerher said in conclusion. “That’ll be all for now.”
Gil got to his feet, saluted Captain Metcalf, then turned on his heel and left the room.
“Well, the question now,” Lerher said, gathering up his materials, “is what to do about the Sherkat woman.”
“I wouldn’t worry about her,” Metcalf remarked. “By the time she’s shared her inside information with us concerning the drug trade over there, I’m sure she’ll have proven herself a valuable asset. We might even manage to put her to work for our side.”
Lerher had long thought of this, but he wasn’t about to allow that to be used as pretext for Gil’s exceeding mission parameters. He couldn’t have word getting out that his operatives were flouting his hegemony. “That’s a possibility. How do you prefer we handle the disciplinary action against Master Chief Shannon? Would you like to review my recommendations before I send them up the chain?”
Metcalf made a thoughtful face, then shook his head. “No, it wouldn’t be productive for you write up anything negative… particularly since I’ll be recommending him for a Bronze Star.”
Lerher darkened. “I’m afraid I don’t understand, Captain.”
“That’s because you’re a spook,” Metcalf said, getting to his feet and straightening his desert ACU jacket. “Spooks don’t understand the military. You people are too busy exploiting it for your own professional gain. Master Chief Shannon exceeded his mission parameters because you made a very basic mistake. I’m not talking about the aspect of pertinent information — an argument which may or may not fly, depending on the review board. I’m talking about an altogether different argument, an argument which will fly, particularly after any testimony that I provide at a court-martial. You see, there’s an old rule in the American military that you’re apparently unaware of.”
Lerher sat staring up at him, his eyes half-lidded.
“A commanding officer is not to give an order that he knows will not be followed. If he gives such an order, and the order is not followed, the commanding officer is equally responsible. So my question to you, Agent Lerher, is this: Are you willing to accept equal responsibility for Master Chief Shannon’s failure to assassinate a pregnant woman? If not, I suggest you keep your fucking mouth shut… otherwise I’ll make it my mission to run you out of SOG myself. Now, I’m happy to write you a recommendation before you go, but I’d like you out of my theater within the next twelve hours.”
CHAPTER 24
Gil arrived in the hangar as it was growing dark, feeling more pissed off than he had in years. Not only was he out of Bank Heist, but before the end of the week he’d probably be back at Hampton Roads, where he’d be stuck cooling his heels until the end of his enlistment, and all because some spook in a suit thought he was Michael Corleone. He found Crosswhite chatting it up with another SEAL, both of them partially geared up, M4s over their shoulders.
“Gimme a fuckin’ smoke,” he said, putting out his hand.
Crosswhite took a crinkled pack of Camels from his ACU and shook one loose. “How’d it go?”
“Fuckin’ shitty.” He bummed Crosswhite’s lighter and fired up the cigarette. “They’re gonna ground me.”
“You sure?”
“Writing’s on the fuckin’ wall.” He took a long drag from the cigarette and stood fuming. “Sonofabitch!”
The other SEAL bummed a smoke as well. His name was Leskavonski, but his team members called him Alpha — short for Alphabet. He was young, only twenty-four with blond hair and blue eyes. “Is it because of the Sherkat woman, Chief?”
Gil nodded.
“Why’d you bring her back? She go into labor or something?”
“Because she’d seen my face.”
Alpha’s eyebrows soared. “They’re pissed because you brought her back instead of wasting her ass?”
“You shoot an armed haji walking in the wrong direction, and it’s off to fuckin’ Leavenworth for twenty years,” Gil bitched. “But refuse to shoot a pregnant woman, and you can kiss your fuckin’ career good-bye. I’m fuckin’ done.”
Alpha exchanged looks with Crosswhite. “Fuck, I guess we know what’s in store for us if Bank Heist doesn’t come off.”
Crosswhite grimaced. “Was it that fucker Lerher?”
“Who the fuck else?” Gil took another long drag.
“I never trusted that prick.”
“Yeah, well, Metcalf had his fuckin’ back.” He spat in disgust. “I can’t figure it out. He never struck me as a company man.”
“Maybe he’s looking to retire,” Crosswhite ventured. “Get himself a job in the private sector with the big money. I hear Lerher’s got real connections.”
That made Gil’s blood boil all the more. “I might just pay his ass a visit when we’re both civilians again.” Of course, he was only running his mouth. There was nothing to be done about the crooked machinery of government or the infinite supply of bastards looking to exploit it. Over the years, Gil had had his own opportunities to take advantage of it, and he’d let them all pass. So maybe he had only himself to blame, but he didn’t want anything he hadn’t earned for himself. And he sure as hell wasn’t the kind of man to elevate himself on the corpse of a woman with a baby in her belly.
So let Lerher strut around like king shit — Metcalf, too, for that matter. At least the spook cocksucker hadn’t gotten his way this time. This time he’d had to answer for himself, even if only in some small way, and by the time Crosswhite and Alpha got finished spreading the story, the sorry prick would be lucky to find anyone within SOG willing to work with him.