Siege Line

by Myke Cole

  “Give it to me.”

  “Sir, it’s my lucky hat.” Steel came into Noah’s voice.

  “Do I look like I’m joking here, Noah?” Hodges matched it.

  Noah sputtered, gestured, caved. A moment later, he was reaching across the driver’s seat, then handed Hodges a dirty white ball cap, the brim so curved it was practically a threadbare tube.

  “Thank you. Now get in the car, and don’t turn around no matter what you do.” Hodges took the cap and raced back to Schweitzer, tossing the pile of clothing at his feet.

  “Put it on.”

  “A suit?”

  “It’s my spare. I always keep one in the trunk of the campaign car. Hoodie too, in case I need to hide my identity. The cap will hold the hood out further, create a shadow. Keep your head down so he can’t see your eyes.”

  Schweitzer began tugging on the suit. “This isn’t going to work.”

  “With anyone else, I’d agree, but Noah’s one of my people. He’s been paid to not ask questions for over fifteen years now. He’ll keep his mouth shut long enough to get us where we need to go.”

  “And where is that?”

  “Washington.”

  “The state?”

  “The capital. You wanted someone who can help us; that’s where she is.”

  Schweitzer forced one of his thick thighs into the trouser leg, felt the fabric strain. “This is too small.”

  “So, rip a seam. It doesn’t have to look good, just cover you.”

  “Si . . .” Schweitzer stopped himself. He wasn’t a living man anymore; he didn’t owe a Senator, particularly not this Senator, any particular deference. Yet the old habit was still comforting. It means there’s still something of the human left in you, something of the man you used to be. “If he’s one of your people, can’t I just go up there and you can tell him to shut up?”

  Hodges rolled his eyes. “Jim. Have you looked in a mirror lately? He may be one of my guys, but he’s still a guy. He’s not going to understand . . . this.” Hodges indicated Schweitzer with a sweep of his arm. “People need comfortable lies, Jim. He’ll know there’s something wrong, but so long as it isn’t staring him in the face, he’ll take what I give him. Now get dressed. I’ll give you a wave when everything’s ready.”

  Hodges sprinted back to the car as Schweitzer finished struggling into the suit. He did wind up splitting seams in the trousers, on the back of the thighs and through the crotch, but nothing that would be obvious once he was sitting in the car. His missing arm made the shirt and jacket a challenge to get on, but it also meant there was plenty of room. The hat barely fit on his broad skull, so misshapen and notched from the punishment it had endured over the past few days that he might as well have been trying to put it on a cauliflower. He wrapped the hoodie on over the rest, making sure the fabric was draped far out over the cap’s brim, leaving his face in shadow.

  Schweitzer’s augmented hearing could make out Hodges speaking to Noah as clearly as if they were standing right next to him. “Keep your eyes front,” Hodges said.

  He could hear the creaking of the leather seat as Noah began to turn to look at his boss and checked himself. “Sure thing, but can you please explain to me what the hell is going on?”

  “Someone is going to be joining us,” Hodges said as he stuck his hand out the open window and waved. Schweitzer jogged up the hill, smoothly opened the backseat door, and slid in. Noah started and began to turn toward him, but Hodges stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I am very concerned about my guest’s privacy, Noah,” Hodges said, a warning in his voice. “How long have you worked for me?”

  “Fifteen years, sir. Give or take.” Noah’s voice told Schweitzer that his mouth was dry, and Schweitzer could smell the terror in the chemical makeup in his blood.

  Hodges’ voice went gentle. “Have I ever given you a reason not to trust me?”

  “No, sir,” Noah answered without hesitation. “Not once.”

  “Then trust me now. Eyes front, and drive.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “The airport. We’re flying to DC.”

  Noah began punching up the dashboard phone. “Sir, if you’d just told me, I would have called . . .”

  “I’ll call Justine.” Hodges was already raising his phone to his ear. A moment later, Schweitzer heard the click of the connection. “Justine, it’s Don. How soon can you have Eric on the flight line? Any copilot is fine. We’re heading there now.”

  Schweitzer focused his hearing on Noah, ready to spring if the man stopped the car, or turned around, or risked a glance in the rearview mirror. It meant he couldn’t hear the other side of the Senator’s conversation, but he figured the greater danger was in the front seat.

  “That’s fine,” Hodges went on. “We’re heading there right now. Oh, one more thing? Just the pilots. No crew. And, Justine? No crew means no questions. We’ll take care of ourselves on and off the plane. Just have the pilots close the cockpit door and keep it closed until we’re off. Yes. Yes, that’s right. I know you do. Justine, the last thing I want is to do interviews right now. The press are going to go nuts as it is, and I don’t want people knowing there was an attempt on my life. It’s going to be a nightmare if folks know it was my office. I want out of town until the press on this dies down. What? I don’t know. Say I was already there. There the whole time. Then say I was in the air. Just say they were going after another target that happened to be in the building. Okay, do that. I will. Thanks. Bye.”

  The car had pulled off the road and onto the busier street, and Schweitzer sank down into his seat. In a few minutes, Noah pulled off onto a dark access road, and Schweitzer could make out the airport’s control tower in the distance. Noah drove in silence, navigating them through a switchback that took them off the deserted road and onto an even narrower two-lane bit of cracked blacktop that ended at a low metal gate beside a guard shack. Even in the darkness, Schweitzer could read the sign: RESTRICTED—AIR OPERATIONS AREA. ONLY AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL DISPLAYING VALID SECURITY BADGES ARE ALLOWED BEYOND THIS POINT. OFFENDERS SUBJECT TO ARREST AND PROSECUTION.

  A guard seated in the shack snoozed by the light of a computer screen and started awake as Noah waved a badge in front of a reader and the gate rolled back. Schweitzer could hear the low whine of jet engines sucking down air as they spun up.

  The car pulled inside, the gate rolling slowly closed behind them, and at last came to a stop fifty feet from a small jet. Schweitzer recognized it, a C-37, a twelve-passenger shuttle popular with government and business executives. Back when he’d still drawn breath, he’d sat on board one of these planes in plain clothes, looking for all the world like a businessman instead of a SEAL, bound for Bogota and the kind of mission where uniforms were frowned upon.

  A red-haired woman, looking young enough to be Hodges’ daughter, stood waiting to greet them in sweatpants and a hoodie that matched Schweitzer’s own, her face still puffy from sleep.

  Noah rolled down the window and Schweitzer lowered his chin toward his neck, shrinking deeper into the shadows. “They’re getting prepped now,” the woman said. “What’s going on?”

  “Nothing is going on,” Hodges said. “I am flying to DC to be out of here before the press storm breaks. You are going back to bed once we’re in the air.”

  The woman snorted. “Fat chance of that. We’ll have to make a statement tomorrow morning. Explain all this.”

  “This is why I pay you the big bucks, Justine. You figure out a way to explain this. I’ll figure out how to save the nation from ruin.”

  Schweitzer could hear the muscles in her face stretch into a smile. “Who’s this?” Schweitzer belatedly reminded himself to move the muscles in his chest, simulate the rising and falling motion of a living, breathing man.

  “This”—Hodges’ voice was a warning—“is someone who’s accompanying me to DC.
”

  “He won’t even let me look at him,” said Noah. “Don’t bother.”

  “Sir,” Justine began, “if you’re in some kind of trouble, I’d appreciate a heads-up, because this is the kind of shit that can—”

  “I am in some kind of trouble,” Hodges said, “but it’s not the kind you can help me with. We’re going straight to Langley once we touch down.”

  Justine paused. “Sir, are you sure that—”

  Hodges cut her off again. “Justine, have I ever, in all the years we’ve worked together, asked you to keep your mouth shut and let me handle something?”

  Now Schweitzer could hear her jaw working. “Is this the first time, sir?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Justine sighed. “So, just let you get on the plane and figure it out from there.”

  “You are the most resourceful person I have ever met.” Hodges’ voice was genuine. “The only reason I’m not working for you is because you don’t want it as badly as I do.”

  Justine was silent, and for a moment, Schweitzer had a creeping sensation that she would snake a hand out and snatch back his hood, but she only sighed and drummed her fingertips on the window. “Have a safe flight, sir.”

  Schweitzer let his head rise a fraction of an inch, just enough to make out Hodges’ warm smile. The man had a politician’s gift for seeming like he actually gave a damn. “I’ll be watching the news for your statement.”

  Justine wheeled and walked toward the low metal Quonset hut that was the flight line’s only structure, and Hodges leaned forward and put a hand on Noah’s shoulder. “Thanks, Noah. Just drive straight home and get some sleep.”

  “I don’t like this, sir,” Noah said.

  “You work in politics.” Hodges clapped him on the shoulder. “Who said anything about liking it?”

  He stepped out of the car, shut the door lightly behind him, and beckoned for Schweitzer to follow. Schweitzer did, single hand thrust into the suit’s pants pocket, head down so low that he navigated by following the sound of Hodges’ footsteps.

  The Senator’s instructions had been followed to the letter. The airplane cabin was empty, the cockpit door sealed. The interior was much as Schweitzer expected. Deep-cushioned reclining leather chairs circled a wooden table polished so brightly it shone. It was set with a service that was probably worth more than a car, and divided by a long groove that Schweitzer knew concealed a video monitor. The money on display was staggering and what Schweitzer had come to expect from the ostentation taxpayers afforded America’s ruling class.

  Hodges ignored it all, heading straight to the cockpit door and shouting through it. “I’m on board. Go ahead and get us to Reagan. Stay in the cockpit until you know we’ve deplaned, then head on home.”

  The pilot answered over the aircraft PA. “Got it, sir. We’ll be on the ground at Reagan in two hours and twenty minutes.”

  Hodges turned to Schweitzer and held a finger to his lips, then settled himself at the head of the table and began punching buttons on a desktop phone. Schweitzer stood, unaffected as the plane began to taxi, his balance so perfect that he may as well have been a statue, and Hodges paused in his dialing to gesture Schweitzer into a chair. Schweitzer stared at him, and he shrugged. “You’re making me nervous.”

  Schweitzer took a seat as the plane tipped skyward and the phone call went through. The voice on the other end sounded tired. “NCS Watch.”

  The National Clandestine Service. Hodges was calling the CIA.

  “Senator Don Hodges, blue blue one one niner white.”

  “Standby. I confirm you at blue blue one one niner white. Go ahead, sir.”

  “SAD Watchfloor, please.”

  The CIA’s Special Activities Division was its paramilitary branch. Many of Schweitzer’s brothers in the teams went to work for SAD when they got out of the navy.

  There was a buzzing click and another bored voice answered. “Watch.”

  “Senator Don Hodges. I need you to connect me with the boss, please.”

  A momentary pause and intake of breath as the watchstander registered the request and verified the identity of the caller passed from the main switchboard.

  “I’d say you’d be waking her up if she ever slept, sir, but either way, she’ll be ornery getting a call this late.”

  “Don’t I know it. Put me through.”

  Another buzzing click, and then steady beeping as the call connected.

  The voice that answered was alert but clearly shrugging off the traces of sleep. There was the slightest hint of an accent that Schweitzer immediately identified as Persian. “Don, praise God. I’ve been watching what happened in Des Moines.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  “I’ll tell you when I’m on the ground. We’re coming into Reagan. Can you have a driver meet me on the tarmac?”

  “Of course. You want to go to the Hay-Adams?”

  “No, I want to go to your office, and I want you to meet me there.”

  “Jesus, Don. Can you give me anything?”

  “Only that I’m in trouble and I need your help.”

  If the urgency in his tone riled her, Schweitzer couldn’t hear it in her voice. “Okay. When do you land?”

  “In about two hours. Come alone, and send me a driver who knows how to mind his own business.”

  “Roger that,” she said. “This better be good.”

  “It is the best thing ever,” Hodges said. “See you in two hours.”

  He broke the connection and steepled his fingers, looking at Schweitzer over the top of them. “That was—”

  “The Director of the CIA’s Special Activities Division,” Schweitzer answered. “You remember I used to be a SEAL, right? SAD’s our retirement plan.”

  Hodges looked pained and leaned forward, whispering, “Will you shut up? I don’t want the pilots to hear your voice.”

  Schweitzer tuned his augmented hearing for a moment, listened to the sound waves attenuate as they traveled toward the cockpit door. “They can’t.”

  Hodges hesitated. “You can tell? How?”

  Schweitzer leaned forward, raising his chin until he could see the silver fires of his eyes reflected in Hodges’ own. “Magic.”

  Hodges sighed. “Jala and I were at the Farm together. She’s good at keeping secrets.”

  “What’s she going to do?”

  “Jim, do you think I would pack you onto my personal aircraft and fly you to Washington, to a private meeting with the Director of SAD because I intended to betray you?”

  Schweitzer remembered his wife’s words as they fled through the forest, the Gemini Cell hot on their heels. Her eyes had been hard to match her voice. She wasn’t frightened of him, even after what he’d become. No, Jim. We are in this together. If you want to help me, that’s fine. I accept your help, but I won’t accept a leash and I don’t report to you. We’re not going anywhere until we come up with a plan.

  Oh, God, Sarah, Schweitzer thought. I miss you.

  Schweitzer wrestled with a sudden surge of loneliness. He wanted someone he could trust, someone he knew. Pete or Steve. His brother or his brother.

  “No,” Schweitzer said, “but that doesn’t mean this is a good plan. I don’t work for you, Hodges. You need to keep me in the loop.”

  “Jim, you have to understand that some secrets can be kept too well. Spies make their livings not trusting people. She’s going to have to see you to believe you.”

  “And then she’ll help us shut the Cell down? After seeing me?”

  “I certainly hope so.”

  “What if you’re wrong?”

  “Then we’re probably screwed, but then again, with the Cell gunning for both of us, we were probably screwed anyway, right?” He patted the overstuffed armrest. “Try to enjoy the f
light, Jim. I waved off a flight attendant, but you can help yourself to . . .” He began to gesture to a mini-fridge built into the bulkhead, then glanced at Schweitzer’s dead face. The words died. “Oh . . . sorry.”

  Schweitzer didn’t answer. Instead, he pushed his consciousness outward, reaching for Sarah, for some hint of her lingering in the void beyond. He was getting better at navigating it with practice, feeling the boundaries between the world he occupied and the one that awaited him when his physical body was destroyed.

  But no matter how good he was, he wasn’t good enough to catch more than the maddening scent of Sarah’s rosewater perfume, the trail that he’d once tried to follow and found led nowhere. He remembered watching her bathe herself in the stream, her healthy body beyond him, his cold arms unable to hold her. He remembered her telling him to leave, to bring the Cell down. Save my son, you sonofabitch! What the hell is wrong with you? My son, not our son.

  He had lost so many close to him, and as far as he understood, all of them would be here. His best friend, Steve; his brother, Peter; his mother. Steve had been like kin to him, but even if he’d thought Schweitzer was dead, he’d still slept with his wife, and for that reason, Schweitzer had no wish to speak with him, though he missed him so badly, it hurt.

  Peter was another matter. Schweitzer remembered his brother’s strong jaw, his hard eyes. He’d blazed the trail into the SEALs that Schweitzer had followed, and the day Peter had pinned the trident on him and punched it into his chest had been one of the greatest in his life. Proud of you, bro.

  He thought briefly of reaching for Peter, but as close as he was with him, he had no trail to follow. At least with Sarah, there was the scent of her perfume. With Peter, there was only his memory and the churning chaos of the soul storm.

  He swallowed the agony. Sarah had charged him with saving her son. That much he could do, and bringing down the Cell was the only way to do it.

  It was pointless, but still he hovered in the void. Was the soul storm twisting her as it had Ninip? Was she half-mad now? Ravenous with the red hunger that drove the Golds? He turned his thoughts to the last time they’d made love, to the light making her a thing of hammered silver. There had been life and there had been love, and they were all he wanted now.