by Brad Taylor
President Warren’s eyebrow’s furrowed, seeing where he was going. “Yeah, there was no way the doctor would go without protection, and the counterassault team was all that was available.”
“Well, there you go. Those guys are trained for this very thing. I mean, they’re trained for a counterassault against a direct threat to your life, but it’s not a stretch to say they went out to capture some terrorists that may have been hell-bent on killing you. And they’re Secret Service. You control them. You can write the story. Like Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe, only for a good reason.”
Kurt watched the president consider, and knew he was close. “Nobody knows anyone was injured out there. We can write the press release any way we want. Give the credit to the CAT guys and the Secret Service. They took down the terrorists.”
Kurt saw Brookings look from the president to him, and knew he realized he was losing the argument. They both understood that the Secret Service story would look like the president himself had directly averted disaster with his own team, and would be something very appealing.
Brookings said, “Sir, there’s no way you can contain this. It isn’t 1962. We live in a world of transparency, with Internet bloggers and instant news. There’ll be a History Channel special on these attacks in four months, and it’ll be down to the minute. They’ll know everything there is to know, and broadcast it every hour for a month.”
Kurt snarled, “Bullshit. I’ve seen the History Channel crap. Watch the one on the capture of Saddam Hussein and you’re left believing it was a fourth infantry division operation all the way. We can contain this.”
Brookings spat back, “This isn’t a war zone, Colonel, it’s America. You don’t get to control the news here. Shit, we couldn’t keep anything secret when we killed bin Laden. The entire operation was on the news in hours, and this will be no different. The truth of the matter is that Pike needs to be put down. He’s a fucking menace. He’s done whatever he thinks is right regardless of what we say. He’s exactly why I didn’t want to start this organization. Exactly the reason why it will go wrong. One man who thinks he knows better than anyone else. We need to make an example of him to other Taskforce operators—”
The tirade sank into Kurt’s head and he lost control. He leapt out of his chair, crossing the table and snatching Brookings up by his hair, using his momentum to slam Brookings into the wall. He locked up Brookings’ elbow and leaned into his ear.
“You fucking miserable piece of shit. Pike saved your life last year. Your life. Does that mean nothing to you? He just averted a national tragedy, using skills that we gave him, and authority that we blessed. He’s a man doing what is best for the country. Because we asked him to.”
President Warren said, “Kurt! Stop. Right now.”
Kurt looked at the president, then at Brookings’ trembling face. He raised his voice so that everyone could hear. “Okay, sir. You want to burn Pike, so be it. But I want Mr. Secretary here to know that if Pike goes down, I’m going to put him in the hospital. You can arrest me later.”
He cranked Brookings’ arm, eliciting a squeal. “You get that, Mr. Sanctimonious? Pike goes to jail, for whatever reason, and I’m hunting you down. Make sure your fucking health insurance is up to date.”
He released Brookings, panting a little from the adrenaline rush. The secretary sank onto the floor, rubbing his arm, looking for sympathy. President Warren ignored him. “I get the point. Calm down.”
Kurt returned to his chair.
President Warren said, “Look, we can make the substation hit work. I agree with that, but what about the kid? There’s no way we can cloak that.”
Kurt said, “I know. Jennifer said she’d convinced him not to say anything, but he’s been through a traumatic event. He’s going to talk. The question is whether anyone will believe him. And if they do, if it will reach the media.”
President Warrant waited, then said, “So? That’s it?”
“It’s a risk, but some things are worth the risk. Pike is one of them.”
81
I
woke up a little disoriented, confused for a second about where I was. The drive from the nuclear plant was a splintered dream, Jennifer spending her time weaving across lanes as she talked on the phone and tended to me. I was now in a bed, swathed in bandages, and it clicked that Jennifer had managed to get me inside the Taskforce, to the little medical department we kept for injuries that couldn’t go to a hospital. I heard the door open, hoping it was Jennifer, but seeing Kurt instead. Then I remembered that Jennifer wasn’t allowed in here. Great. Probably won’t see her until the arraignment.
“How’re you feeling?”
“I’ll live.”
Kurt smiled. “You’re a hard man to kill, I’ll give you that. Broken clavicle seems to be the worst of it.”
I didn’t return the smile. “So what’s my status?”
“Don’t know yet. The politicians are monitoring the press. I got the president to hold off on anything hasty. If something pops, they’ll decide whether to throw you under the bus.”
I nodded. “That’s fine. I’m ready for whatever. I only ask two things.”
“What’s that?”
“Number one, you let Jennifer go. There’s no reason for two folks to go to jail. I’m enough. Can you make that happen?”
Kurt paused a second, considering, then said, “Yeah, I can get that done. What’s number two?”
“The president comes in here before I go to jail and gives me a fucking thank-you.”
“Uhh… I don’t know about that one. You might have to settle for me.”
I laughed, then grimaced at the pain in my shoulder. “I know. A man can hope, though.”
Kurt said, “It’s not as bad as you think. We’ve got a pretty good plan in place.” He told me the cover story involving the Secret Service CAT team and the “misfire” at the nuclear plant, which was good, then the fact that nobody could predict the actions of the boy, which was bad.
“It’s holding up so far, though, so maybe it’ll be okay.”
Before I could answer, Holly entered the room with a bunch of balloons and flowers, like I was twelve and just had my tonsils out. She was followed by a nurse, who went straight to the machines monitoring my status.
“What the hell is this shit?” I said. “Are you kidding me?”
Holly said, “Cut the crap. It’s a girl thing. We’re just happy you’re alive.”
She put the balloons next to the bed, a DVD on my lap, turned to Kurt, and said, “Sir, I’ve got something a little urgent to show you. Sorry to interrupt.”
Kurt said, “No problem. We were just bullshitting anyway. Pike, I think you’ll be good. You mentioned a thank-you, and you’re on to something. The president’s a good man. He’ll remember what you did. I’ll make sure of it.”
I rolled my eyes, letting him know what I thought of that little bit of hope. He smiled and left the room, followed by Holly. She paused at the door for a second, waiting until Kurt was in the hallway, then turned to me and stage-whispered, “You owe me more than dinner now.”
What the hell is she talking about?
I looked at the balloons next to the bed, thinking she’d lost her mind if she believed I was going to owe her something for bringing me that crap. I picked up the DVD and turned it over.
The Princess Bride.
The nurse spoke, and I realized what the payback was for.
“Still trying to piss off the boss, huh?”
Jennifer was smiling, and looked very, very good. I smiled back. “How’d you get in here?”
“Holly and I are best friends now. She helped me break in, along with telling me some stories about you that probably should be kept hidden.”
“Really. Breaking the rules. What’s that about?”
She came around the bed and took my hand. “Well, someone told me that the rules only applied if you let them. I thought I’d check out that theory.”
“Sounds like a genius.
How’s it working for you?”
She gave me a crooked grin that cut straight to my core. “Pretty good so far. I’ll let you know in a couple of weeks.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m the only one in danger now.” I told her about my conversation with Kurt, then noticed the baseball cap she was wearing. It had Romans 3:8 stitched on the back, the Bible quote we used as an inside joke.
“Where’d you get the hat?”
She turned her head left and right, showing it off. “You like it? Turbo gave it to me.”
“Turbo? Are you kidding me? After all of his crying about Assessment?”
She blushed slightly. “Nope. I went to see how Decoy and Retro were doing, and a bunch of guys were already there. Word’s spread about stopping the attack. You guys suck at keeping secrets, by the way. Anyway, Decoy thanked me for saving his life—which isn’t true, of course, but they all seemed to believe it—and Turbo gave me the hat. Probably just because he was afraid you were going to kick his ass again, but it’s still pretty cool, huh?”
“Very cool. If they gave it to you, they meant it. Don’t blame me for your mistakes. How’s Retro doing anyway?”
“He looks terrible, but they say he’s going to be fine.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, I saw Knuckles! He’s doing much better, and asked about you. Well, about us and our situation with the president. They all think it’s a crock.”
“Glad to hear he’s coming around. Maybe I’ll visit his sorry ass as well.” I paused, then said, “What is our situation? You still planning on leaving? Going back to being a professor of anthro-psychology or whatever the hell it is?”
She cocked her head, apparently considering how to respond. “Let’s not worry about that right now. Let’s figure out if I’m going to be mailing you a file inside your birthday cake in prison.”
She leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “I’ve got to get out of here before Kurt comes back. They said you’re healthy enough to leave here today. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
82
F
ive days later, I glanced reflexively at the “cleared list” for Delta Airlines. I had a confirmed seat on the same flight tomorrow, but Kurt had called this morning and said the president had decided I was free to go. Not wanting to see if he would change his mind, I’d hauled ass straight to Reagan National Airport to try my hand at a standby flight. Well, hauled ass was a relative term, since I needed to use a cane, and my left arm was strapped to my chest to prevent movement. I’d left the Taskforce medical facility the same day I talked to Kurt and Jennifer, and had gone to the same hotel as Jennifer. Since then, other than visiting Knuckles, Decoy, and Retro in the hospital, I’d simply sat around, watching breaking news stories, praying some junior Woodward and Bernstein wasn’t looking for a scoop, but so far the Secret Service story, along with the “misfire” at the nuclear plant, seemed to be holding up.
One thing that was definitely working in my favor was that the entire nation was fixated on the attacks. It had, naturally, become the center of attention, and the successful resolution had pretty much guaranteed the president’s reelection. Originally elected on a platform of national security, President Warren had been getting hammered lately because of the economy, and it was looking like a pretty good bet that he’d be a one-term president. Now the campaign had become dominated by national security, with the president looking like a savior, and there was little chance that would change so close to the election, which is what Kurt had meant in my hospital room. Without saying a word, I knew President Warren understood who he had to thank. And it also meant at least another four years of Taskforce operations, if something else didn’t come along to shine a light on the president’s little secret.
For her part, Jennifer had left without giving me an answer to where she stood both with the Taskforce and with our company. I’d broached the subject again as she packed to go back to South Carolina, afraid that she’d already made up her mind and just didn’t want to voice it out loud because it would be a double kick to my balls if I went to jail.
I was certain she was upset at my call to shoot Americans first and ask questions later. Certain she couldn’t see the necessity of the action and was holding it against me, regardless of what she’d told me in the car prior to the killings. I had tried to defend my decisions.
“Jennifer, we didn’t do anything wrong. Everyone we killed deserved it. I don’t want you thinking that you did something immoral. Those men dug their own graves by their actions. There’s no such thing as reading a terrorist his rights when he’s in the middle of an attack, even if it’s inside the United States.”
Jennifer had stopped packing and sat down on the bed, searching my face for something. “What would make you think I was upset about that? I was upset about the damn blood and the fact that Retro was dying, but not what we did. Sorry. I guess I’m not a hardened commando yet.”
I plowed ahead, not even listening to what she had said. “It wasn’t murder. Even if it was in the United States. People don’t follow the rules just because they’re here, and sometimes you have to play on the field that they built. Had we waited, it would have been a larger attack than 9/11. We did the right thing.”
Her eyes flashed anger, and I’d realized I’d overstepped. Misjudged her again.
“I know,” she said. “Jesus, is that what you think of me?”
She saw my embarrassment and said, “That is it, isn’t it? Because I got upset with what you did in Cairo, you think I’m some kind of peace freak, don’t you? That’s why you kept questioning me. Asking if I had it in me to get the job done.”
She stopped, wringing a shirt in her hand as if she were trying to squeeze out poison. “You, of all people, know better than that. I may not like running around shooting everything that moves like you guys, but I understand it’s sometimes necessary. I’ve learned a little bit about real-world justice. I mean, really, I killed a man with a rope.”
She threw the shirt into the suitcase. “I also understand that just because it’s done under the umbrella of the United States, it’s not necessarily right. I can see the difference between right and wrong. I’m not so sure about you.”
The comment hit me like a slap. “Jennifer, we talked about Cairo….”
Her expression told me she’d regretted what had just slipped out of her mouth. “I know, I know. I’m not saying you don’t consciously wish you could take that back, but you’ve got some sort of prehistoric subconscious thing going on that doesn’t care about the distinction between right and wrong. It’s like…”
I waited on her to finish, but she said, “Never mind.”
I said, “‘Never mind’? You can’t leave that out there hanging. What were you going to say?”
She cocked her head, searching my face again.
“You know, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure you out, and I have a theory.”
Oh boy. Psychobabble time.
“Everyone operates on some scale of morality. Most people live on the positive side of things. Some operate way, way above, and can do heroic acts as normal events that others would not attempt. Some people, like Hitler or serial killers, operate way, way down on the scale, probably never reaching the positive side at all. Whatever it is, your range on the scale is pretty much firm. A serial killer will never do anything heroic, and a truly heroic person has some built-in stopgap that keeps him from doing vile things.”
She paused. I saw where this was going. She thinks I’m evil because of Cairo—and it’s permanent. I suddenly felt nauseous. She was going to leave the company. Leave me.
“You, however, are an anomaly. You can, and often do, act very heroically. You have a capacity that very few people on earth possess, but it works both ways on the scale. I think the death of your family destroyed whatever stopgap you had, and now you have just as large a capacity for evil as you do for good.”
She touched my face. “And you need to find that stopgap again.”
&nb
sp; Her words sank in, and I felt an enormous sense of relief. I sat on the bed next to her. “So, if I contain myself, we’re good? If I don’t kill anyone who doesn’t deserve it, if I prove I’m really on the positive side of the scale, you’ll stay?”
She smiled and patted my hand. “We’ll talk about that later. It’ll take more than just you saying it. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, and like I said at the Taskforce, it may be moot anyway. Although I do sort of like this hero stuff.”
That had been four days ago, and now that I wasn’t worried about going to jail, I was surprised at the level of anxiety I felt flying home to Charleston. To the answer.
I saw my name scroll on the screen. I had made the flight. I went down the gangway, feeling as nervous as a kid on his first date.
Jennifer went through the office with a dust mop one more time. Pike would be home any minute, and she wanted the place to look perfect. He had called earlier in the morning, from inside the airplane of his connecting flight in Atlanta, letting her know he’d managed to snag a standby seat. She’d felt a little thrill just hearing his voice, and it had sunk in for the first time that the feeling was genuine. His absence the last four days had solidified something; it wasn’t about anything he had done for her in the past. The thrill wasn’t misplaced gratitude to him for saving her life. It was what it was: an attraction to the man himself.
She still hadn’t made a decision on what she was going to do about the company. She’d thought of little else since her last conversation with Pike, and had realized that it was really up to him. She knew in her heart she couldn’t stay if he didn’t find a way to control the blackness he held. She’d end up hating him, and she would leave first to prevent that.
She went into their office bathroom, checking one more time to see if something nasty had magically appeared in the toilet in the last ten minutes. She heard the front door open and someone shout, “Hello?”
Her face split into a smile, and she ran out, shouting, “Pike!”