Cian laughed and opened the door.
“It’s time for dinner,” Hector James said. “And it’s our turn to cook.”
“We were hoping you would help,” Hermes said. “Fionn said he would help but . . .”
“I’m not much of a cook,” Fionn said in his thick Scottish accent.
“That won’t do,” Cian said. “Come on boys! Let’s make dinner. Go on. Get your aprons.”
The boys ran to the cabinet where the aprons were stored. Fionn started to leave the kitchen. Eoin pushed him back.
“Oh no, young man,” Eoin said.
“I’ll not have a nephew who can’t cook,” Cian said.
“You’ll never woo that girl if you can’t cook,” Eoin said.
“But . . .” Fionn started.
Neev came in from the backyard with her hands full of kale.
“Neevie, can you believe this young man can’t cook?” Cian asked.
“That won’t do,” Neev said.
“Can you help him get an apron?” Cian asked.
Neev took Fionn over to the cabinet to get an apron. Cian nodded to Eoin over their shoulders. He went up the stairs to find Wyatt.
“Now, let’s see,” Cian said. “Should we have a lovely boiled cabbage?”
“No! Gross!” the boys squealed, and Fionn groaned.
Cian smiled at Neev and gave her an onion to slice. He set the boys to work peeling carrots and got Fionn to set out the pots.
“Well done,” Cian sat down in a chair and pulled out the Irish Times. His workers moaned. Cian laughed. With one eye on the stairs where Eoin had gone, he set about making dinner.
F
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The next day
Thursday evening
November 11 – 4:51 p.m. EST (2:51 p.m. MST)
Sheridan Circle Mansion, Washington DC
Alex held on to Raz’s arm on her way down the stairs outside the Sheridan Circle Mansion. Even though her hip had healed from last year’s treatments and infections, she still wasn’t stable in her six-inch stiletto heels. MJ had asked her to stop wearing them. But Claire Martins, her dress designer and Ben’s wife, loved “the line” of Alex in the super-high heels. Alex wasn’t about to argue with her.
She glanced at Raz. She hadn’t planned on attending a formal dinner at the White House when she’d left for China. They were both wearing the outfits Claire had designed for their dance at the World Trade Center a few weeks ago. It had rained that night, and they’d left their clothing to be cleaned. The beautiful things were still hanging in the closet here. Alex wore a lovely cream-colored dress with a pencil skirt, long sleeves, and a light-grey silk bow at her waist. Raz wore a light-brown tux, a shade darker than his caramel-colored skin. His light-grey bowtie and cummerbund matched his grey-hazel eyes and her silk bow. Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he gave her hand a squeeze and smiled.
A transportation sergeant opened the back of the limousine. Raz helped her inside and slipped in beside her. They were sitting across from the Admiral. Not a man for small talk, he smiled in greeting, but held his tongue. Alex waited to speak until the limousine moved into Washington traffic.
“Thanks for picking us up, sir,” Alex smiled.
“I wanted a chance to speak with you privately,” he said. “Are we being tracked?”
“Yes, sir,” Raz said.
“And monitored?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Raz said.
“Go ahead,” the Admiral said.
Raz clicked a device that blocked satellite coverage on the limousine and disrupted electronic surveillance.
“I want to know about Joiner,” the Admiral said. “Did he really say, ‘Joke’s on you’ as the bullet came out of his mouth?”
Alex nodded.
“We think that means?” the Admiral asked.
“No idea,” Alex said.
“Rasmussen?” the Admiral asked.
“I agree with the Fey,” Raz said. “We believe it could mean anything from the fact that he was actually executed as part of the action in play right now to . . .”
Raz shrugged.
“Anything. Yes,” the Admiral nodded. “But you believe we’re being set up.”
“Yes, sir,” Raz said. “We do.”
“Crap,” the Admiral said. “The mind control subjects? The girls?”
“Smoke screen,” Alex said.
“To cover what?” he asked.
“One or two who are active,” Alex said.
He raised his eyebrows and nodded.
“Sir?” Alex asked.
“Yes, Lieutenant Colonel?”
“I’m wondering why the Chinese were allowed to execute Cee Cee Joiner, a United States citizen,” Alex asked. “I realize he’s a pestilence, but he is still a US citizen.”
“It’s our understanding that diplomatic solutions were not attempted,” Raz said.
“The last time a US citizen was executed in this manner was in World War II,” Alex said.
“You’re forgetting Horman and Teruggi in Chile, 1973,” the Admiral said.
“I’m not forgetting Horman and Teruggi,” Alex shook her head. “That was a little different.”
“How so?”
“They were journalists killed during the military coup of Chile,” Raz said.
“Tragic, yes,” Alex said. “But not this.”
“Dogan,” the Admiral said.
“I haven’t forgotten that Israel killed Mr. Dogan, a US citizen, on a flotilla,” Alex said. “Also different.”
“How so?” the Admiral asked.
Raz took a breath and Alex put her hand on his arm to keep him quiet.
“Why do you ask, sir?” Alex asked.
“I think you’ll find the reason that Mr. Joiner was not diplomatically retrieved to stand trial in the US by looking at the historical precedent,” the Admiral said.
Alex glanced at Raz. He gave the Admiral a piercing stare.
“You don’t know,” Alex said.
The Admiral smiled.
“Does anyone?” Alex asked.
The Admiral shook his head.
“And the tragic deaths of Mr. Horman, Mr. Teruggi, and Mr. Dogan?” Raz asked.
“Just names and instances you may hear tonight,” the Admiral said.
“Any opinions?” Alex asked.
The Admiral glanced at the driver. Alex took out a button that looked like a clicker. When she clicked it, a wall of white noise came from the button. She set it next to the window that separated driver and the passenger compartment.
“Handy,” the Admiral said.
“Trece gave it to me,” Alex said. “Steve picked it up somewhere.”
“I think Joiner ran out of chances,” the Admiral said. “If he was returned to the US, we’d get extradition requests from . . . everywhere. He’s wanted in almost every country in the world. This way, he’s done. His father’s oil business is not disrupted; his wives and children can go on with their lives. It’s just over.”
“Did you get the autopsy?” Alex asked.
“Yes,” the Admiral said. “As you suspected, he’s riddled with cancer. Bones, lungs, liver. He wouldn’t have survived the year. This was more compassionate.”
“Compassionate?” Alex shook her head. “I’ll buy fast.”
“Before you ask, S. haematobium,” the Admiral said.
“Flukes?” Alex asked. “That’s weird. Dean gave him treatment for that disgusting parasite. Twice.”
“Wonder why he had it so frequently?” the Admiral shrugged.
Raz went pale and shivered with disgust.
“Heebie-jeebies, Agent Rasmussen?” the Admiral laughed.
“Just disgusting,” Raz said.
“Rest assured,” the Admiral said. “They cremated him. He’s expected to arrive with Fong Song. As you know, she is a well-known ancient art curator for the Mogao Caves. She has the clearance to bring such an item to the states. We’ll take care of it from there.”
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“You know that she’s Steve Pershing’s wife,” Alex said.
The Admiral’s face went blank while he processed the information. He slowly shook his head.
“He’s not an asexual spy?” the Admiral smiled. “I was sure something as lowly as human desire was burned out of him when he burned off his fingerprints, or something like that.”
Alex smiled.
“You have real papers on that?” the Admiral asked.
“You mean originals? Or just not forged papers?” Raz asked.
The Admiral smirked.
“I like you more and more, Mr. Rasmussen,” the Admiral said.
“My mother, of all people, has the paperwork,” Alex said.
“What?” Raz turned to look at her.
Alex shrugged, “They’re old friends.”
“How is he?” the Admiral asked.
“You didn’t get an update?” Alex asked.
“Mr. Pershing is blind. He’s had three surgeries for his feet, blah, blah,” the Admiral said. “I have his medical report. I also know Ben and Patrick are there. How is he?”
Alex shrugged.
“That means?” the Admiral leaned forward.
“He told us to kill everyone in the room,” Alex said. “Is that what you mean?”
“That’s not like Steve,” the Admiral said.
“Right,” Alex said. “Otherwise, he’s been in and out of surgery. Fong’s been with him. His mind seems clear, and he appears to remember everything that happened.”
“What did they want from him?” the Admiral asked.
“He’s not sure,” Alex said. “He gave secondary bits of information he had, of course. But he’s not in the middle of anything. Trece and White Boy were in Denver. Their wives and young children were coming for Thanksgiving. They haven’t had an assignment in a while, so he’s not sure what they were after.”
“Russian contractors?” the Admiral asked.
“Multinational,” Alex said. “No way to know who or what generated the request to grab him.”
“He’s the head of a black ops unit,” the Admiral said.
“I guess,” Alex said.
“I guess?” the Admiral asked.
“Just a feeling,” Alex said.
“Go ahead,” the Admiral said.
“I feel like we’re missing something,” Alex said. “I know I say that a lot . . .”
“We’re often missing something,” the Admiral said.
“I guess what I mean to say is that there’s so much activity, at once,” Alex said.
“And?”
“This feels like it’s going in a specific direction,” Alex said.
“Such as last year’s attempt to take control of the world’s nuclear armament?” the Admiral asked.
“And control the world powers’ computers,” Raz said.
“Right,” Alex said. “This feels directed, like all of this activity leading to a crescendo.”
“Any idea what that might be?” the Admiral asked.
“None, sir,” Alex said.
“I reviewed a report by Pakistan’s finest,” the Admiral said. “You know, you didn’t have to give them credit.”
“It was the right thing to do,” Alex said. “We’re better off hiding in plain sight than in the spotlight.”
“I’ll tell you,” the Admiral said. “The secretary is thrilled. She called me personally and thanked me for supporting you and creating this team. She described in great detail how relieved she was to see Leena and Vince. She said that she’ll never forget; I don’t think she will. You’ve changed her life.”
“We’ve built a great team,” Alex said.
“It’s you,” the Admiral insisted. “You built this team, compelled them to become great, developed their capacity to pull off missions like this; you can be modest, but you built this.”
“Thank you, sir,” Alex said.
“Any word from Trece?” the Admiral asked.
“Nothing new,” Alex said.
“That seems like good news,” the Admiral said.
“Yes, we believe so, sir,” Alex said.
The limousine pulled in behind a long line of cars waiting at the White House guard gate.
“Do you have video for me?” the Admiral asked.
“Video from China, North Korea, and Pakistan are on the server, sir,” Raz said.
“And?”
“The team just returned from Pakistan, sir,” Raz said. “I haven’t had time to review it or debrief them.”
“But you found Hector’s nano-things in China?” the Admiral asked.
“Yes, sir,” Raz said. “The Fourth Bureau had one.”
“And you think they were with you in North Korea?”
“There’s no reason to think they weren’t,” Alex said.
“Very strange,” the Admiral said.
“You saw my request for the dogs to go to China?” Alex asked.
“Yes,” the Admiral said. “The feasibility is being weighed. It’s likely that we’ll invite them here to train their own dogs.”
“I think they were relieved that someone knew something,” Alex said.
“They want help disposing of them,” Raz said.
“It’s an inexpensive way to garner favors from the Chinese,” the Admiral said.
“Yes, sir,” Alex said.
“Do we have intel regarding the purpose of Dahlia Jasper’s murder?” the Admiral asked.
“Not yet sir,” Alex said. “Captain Olivas has been in Pakistan. Their plane landed less than two hours ago. He will attend to that matter after he’s rested.”
“Make sure he does,” the Admiral said.
“Why, sir?” Alex asked.
The Admiral rubbed his eyes. The limousine pulled past the guard house and toward the parking lot.
“Sir?” Alex asked.
“Cee Cee Joiner,” the Admiral said. “He always makes me think of . . .”
“Yes?”
“I went to a lecture,” the Admiral said. “Before all of this. Before the Fey Special Forces Team was killed. Before everything. Gosh, must have been when I was in grad school . . .”
The limousine pulled to a halt.
“We need a minute, Sergeant,” the Admiral said over the intercom.
“Yes, sir,” the sergeant said. “Let me know and I’ll get the door.”
“Thank you,” the Admiral said.
They sat in silence for a few minutes waiting for the Admiral to speak.
“Lecture, sir?” Alex finally prompted him.
“There was an old guy there,” the Admiral said. “He was a security expert. One of those Operation Paperclip guys from the war. As you know, I find that crap fascinating.”
“Yes, sir,” Alex said.
“He talked about modern methods of consolidating power and controlling governments,” the Admiral nodded. “Nothing new, right? It’s just that . . . I don’t know how to say this, but it’s like this guy was so . . . sure. Of course, I was a lot younger and less experienced. Still, it almost seemed like he already had some action in play. His certainty . . . It’s stayed with me, even all these years later.
“But really, why did I care? I didn’t have this position then. I didn’t imagine I ever would. And let’s face it, lots of people want to take over the world. It’s kind of straight from the standard whack-job manual or comic book.”
“What was different about this guy, sir?” Alex asked.
“He said that there was no point in consolidating power or money or resources or anything,” the Admiral said. “There was no way to spend it without getting caught. With the UN becoming so entrenched in modern life, power doesn’t pay off like it used to and having lots of resources only means something if you can trade them. Look at North Korea – billions of dollars in minerals, and no one to buy them.”
“So, why take over the world?” Raz asked.
“I wondered the same thing,” the Admiral said. “Well, mostly I wondered if I was
hearing him correctly. Most of the people around me seemed assured that he was saying there would never be another Hitler or Genghis Khan or whatever. They applauded and left. But I . . . I didn’t hear that.”
“What did you hear, sir?” Alex asked.
“Yes, that’s the question, isn’t it?” the Admiral nodded. “I waited in a long line of fans. When I finally got to him, he was about to leave for lunch. I didn’t have time to play around. I just asked him, ‘Why do it? Why bother collecting money and power?’ You know what he said?”
Alex and Raz shook their heads.
“To watch it burn,” the Admiral said. “The bastard stood there with a large grin on his face and said that the only reason to gain control is to set it all on fire.”
“Did anyone else hear him?” Alex asked.
“No,” the Admiral said. “I was the only one there. But it’s something I’ve never forgotten. He was a pleasant enough guy. He said good day and left for lunch with Dr. Haemon Jasper, Troy’s father.”
“Who gave the lecture?” Alex asked.
“Someone who’s not living,” the Admiral said. “I’d tell you his name, but I’m not sure he’s the point.”
“So you think he was speaking hypothetically?” Raz said.
“No,” the Admiral shook his head. “I think he was talking about something he had been thinking about and working on for years. In fact, I told you about it.”
“Me?” Alex asked.
“About six months before the assault in Paris,” the Admiral said. “I asked you to look into it. You were rescuing hostages all over the world and Cee Cee Joiner would pop up like a bad penny. I started to wonder if we were seeing the start of the world burning. I asked you to look into it.”
“And did I?” Alex asked.
“I assume so,” the Admiral said. “You were so busy that year. You were going to get back to me, but never had the chance. Then . . .”
The Admiral shrugged.
“You know what?” the Admiral smiled. “Forget I said anything. The man is long dead. Any ‘world-on-fire’ scenario would have its own YouTube channel and a show on the Fox channel. Let’s have dinner with the president, revel in our successes, and sleep tight. No reason to let old ghosts haunt new situations.”
“Yes, sir,” Alex said. She turned off the white noise.
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