by Mike Maden
“What do you want me to say, Annie?”
“It’s what I don’t want you to say.”
“What don’t you want me to say?”
“Don’t say you’d give it all up for me.”
“I would.”
“You don’t listen very well, do you?”
“But it’s true.”
“We can’t just stop doing what we’re doing and play house.”
“Why not?” Suddenly he wasn’t hard anymore. Not even close.
Annie padded back toward the bedroom. Pearce right behind her. She reached for her pair of jeans on the floor and pulled them on. No panties. Commando.
Pearce reached for his underwear. “Why not? That’s what grown-up people do, you know.”
She buttoned up her fly and stared at him. Her breasts bunched beneath her crossed arms.
Pearce’s heart melted. Again. Could she be any more beautiful?
“Look, I don’t mean to go all Bogart on you here, but there’s something a helluva lot more important than us going on in the world right now. More important than what you and I want, no matter how badly we want it.” She grabbed her T-shirt and pulled it on. No bra.
Thank you, Jesus.
“So you do want it?” Pearce asked, distracted.
“I’m crazy about you, numbnuts. But I signed up with the Agency, not eHarmony. I’m supposed to be killing guys, not marrying them.”
She approached him, wrapped her arms around his neck. “You’re the best man I know, Troy, and that’s saying a lot because I know a lot of really great guys, Early included. But this isn’t our time. At least not right now.”
“There aren’t many people who have what we have.”
“And even fewer people who can do what we do. That means we have a responsibility. Maybe we get to have what we want later.”
“When’s that?”
“When the war’s over, I guess.”
Pearce gazed into her sparkling blue eyes. “And when’s that going to happen?”
She leaned her head against his chest and held on tight, listening to his heartbeat. It wasn’t much of an answer, but it was all she had.
15
Coeur d’Alene, Idaho
It was one-thirty in the morning but the place was packed with locals. It was a sea of pierced noses, sleeve tattoos, and black T-shirts—and that was just the women. A girl in the corner with unwashed hair in her eyes played Alanis Morissette on a rosewood mandolin. Behind her, moose heads, snowshoes, and salmon trophies were nailed on the rough timbered walls.
Early fell into the booth at the back of the crowded hipster café, away from the picture windows. Pearce was already there. He was wearing a red and white Stanford University T-shirt, blue jeans, and a pair of Ropers. A ranch coat lay on the bench seat next to him, and a small iron pot of herbal tea steeped on the table.
“You do realize I’m on East Coast time, right?” Early wore his fatigue like a five o’clock shadow. His cross-country adventure had started late and it had only gotten much later. He’d flown into Fairchild AFB from Washington, D.C., on a DoD Gulfstream C-37A, then borrowed an unmarked Air Police sedan to make the hour’s drive from the air base to the coffeehouse. “Couldn’t we have done this tomorrow?”
Pearce grinned. “How the heck have you been, Mikey?”
A waitress with a buzz cut who was wearing skinny black jeans and neck tats sauntered over to the table. Her long, thin fingers held a notepad and a badly chewed pencil.
“Whatchyawant, amigo?” she asked Early.
Early’s eyes drifted to her chest and the small, firm breasts underneath her tank top. Pink letters flashed the restaurant name: GLORY BOX.
“What’s good here, sister?”
Her listless black eyes wandered around the room.
“Everything.”
“What do you like?”
“Veggie empanada’s good.”
Early admired her tongue stud. “Got any meat to go with that?”
“Beef. Chicken. It’s all organic and range-fed.”
“I suspected as much. Toss some chicken in the empanada. And some coffee would be great.”
“What kind? We’ve got fifteen different blends in the pots.”
“Black. Hot. You pick the rest, okay?” Early smiled at her. “I’m a real good tipper.”
Her eyes drifted back to his. The corner of her mouth tugged just a little. Almost a smile.
“’Kay.” Her eyes lingered on him for a moment. Early wasn’t hard to look at. She wandered off.
“When did you go hippie?” Early asked, glancing around the room.
Pearce poured his first cup of tea.
“Food’s good here. The tea’s better. Got to eat right, you know. You look like shit, by the way.”
“I missed you, too. It’s been, what, eight years?” Early asked.
Pearce shrugged, a bad memory suddenly on his shoulder. “Something like that. How’s Kate? Still in remission?”
“Yeah, thank God. Thanks for asking.”
“You married up. Everybody knows that except her.” Pearce smiled. “But she did all right, I guess.”
“I’m a lucky bastard, no doubt about it.”
“And you climbed the ladder. Congratulations.” Pearce raised his cup in salute.
“It’s a job.” Early looked around the dark room. “Maybe if it doesn’t work out, you can put a word in for me. I could dig working in a place like this.” The beefy former special forces operator glanced around the room. “I wonder if they have a health plan.”
“What brings you to this neck of the woods?” Pearce asked.
“You, amigo.” Early smiled.
“Well, here I am.” Pearce took a sip of tea. “That about do it for you?”
“We need your services.”
“Who is ‘we’?” Pearce asked.
“‘We’ is me and the number one boss lady.”
“Seems to me the boss lady has a lot of employees to carry her water. You don’t need me.”
“For this job, we do. No one else can hack it.” Early turned serious.
“Off the books, I take it.”
“Yup.”
Pearce thought about it for a moment. Took another sip of tea. “No, thanks.”
Early frowned. “It’s damn good money. I thought you were in business.”
“I am. Doesn’t mean I take every job. Don’t have to. That’s why they call it ‘free’ enterprise.”
“It’s for a good cause, Troy. You remember those, don’t you?”
“I used to believe in Santy Claus, too. Good causes get people killed, just like the bad ones.” Pearce leaned in a little closer. “You remember that, don’t you?”
Early’s foul mood turned even darker. He did remember. It’s why he’d left the service a few years after Troy did.
“Yeah. But this time it’s different,” Early said.
“That’s what they always say, until it’s not.”
“No, seriously. Myers is different.” Early meant it. “You know Kate’s loaded. I could be reef diving in Fiji right now if I wanted.”
Pearce smiled. “You were always such a Boy Scout, Mikey. You think this president is different because she’s in the other party? Don’t be naive.”
“No, I’m not talking about that. She’s in there for the right reasons, doing the right things. Or at least trying to.”
“Really? Then why hire me? Sounds like she’s trying to cover her ass on something.”
“No. She’s straight up. Trust me.”
The waitress sauntered back over with Early’s plate and a cup of coffee. She set them down on the table. “Chicken empanada and sides.”
“Looks good,” Early said.
“Is good,” she insisted.
“What kind of joe did you bring me?”
“Tanzanian peaberry.” She turned to Pearce. Her face softened. “More tea?”
“In a while. Thanks.”
“I’ll check back in a few.” She drifted to another table.
Early watched her for a moment. Caught her stealing a glance back at Pearce. Early stuck his fork into the empanada. “She’s sweet on you.”
Pearce shrugged. “She had a little boyfriend trouble a while back. I made it go away. That’s all.”
“And you call me a Boy Scout.” Early shook his head with a smile as he took another bite.
“You know how you can tell when a politician is lying?” Pearce asked. “When their lips are moving.”
“Man, this is really good.” Empanada churned in his mouth like tube socks in a laundromat dryer. “You want some?”
“No, but thanks.”
Early took a sip of coffee. Examined the cup. “This is unbelievable. Maybe she’s sweet on me, too.”
“She probably heard you were a good tipper.”
Early pulled a cell phone out of his shirt pocket and set it in front of Pearce.
“I’ve already got a phone. But thanks.”
“Not with that number on it. Pick it up and call her.”
“Who?”
“Who do you think?”
Pearce frowned. “She’s on East Coast time, you know.”
“She’s at work. Call her. Tell her she’s a liar and I’ll go away. We never met. I won’t bother you again, and neither will she.” Early stabbed his fork into a chunk of roasted rosemary potato glistening with olive oil.
Pearce picked up the phone. Leaned back in the booth. Thought about it for a few seconds, then punched the call button. It rang twice.
“Hello, Mr. Pearce,” Myers answered.
Pearce shot a curious glance at Early. Is this a joke?
Early grinned. No, it’s not.
“Mike asked me to call you,” Pearce said.
“That means you turned down his offer. I’m sorry to hear that. He’s a big fan of yours.”
“Mikey’s always been a cheerleader for lost causes. Including yours, I’m afraid.”
“He told you about the situation?”
“I turned him down before we got that far.”
“I actually prefer doing business face-to-face. If it’s at all possible, I’d like to meet with you later today and put all of my cards on the table. You can fly back with Mike.”
“It’s going to be a very short meeting, ma’am, and I don’t think you’re going to like it.”
“If you can spare the time, I’d be grateful.” Myers clicked off.
Pearce stared at the phone in his hand for a long time. Old habits die hard. How do you say no to the president?
“She’s a pistol, ain’t she?” Early smiled.
Pearce slid out of the booth as Early took another bite of food.
“What’s the verdict, chief?” Early asked.
Pearce grabbed his ranch coat and stood up.
“I’ve got a boat needs refinishing this afternoon. So if we’re going to do this, let’s go.”
Pearce pulled on his coat.
Early dropped his fork and leaped up.
“Give me your wallet,” Pearce demanded.
“What for?”
Pearce motioned impatiently with his hand.
Early handed Pearce his wallet. Pearce fished out a hundred-dollar bill and tossed it on the table.
“What are you doing?” Early asked.
“She’s got a kid. And you were never a good tipper.”
Pearce tossed Early’s wallet back at him, turned, and marched toward the door.
The White House, Washington, D.C.
It was just after seven in the morning when Early and Pearce arrived at the private VIP entrance to the West Wing.
Early and Pearce checked their weapons with the duty officer behind the security desk, a striking Haitian-American woman with luminous green eyes.
Early placed the palm of his right hand on the security scanner.
“What? No smile today?” Early asked.
“Sorry, Mr. Early. Everybody’s jittery. Someone called in another bomb threat an hour ago. That’s the third this week.”
“Just another crank. Won’t amount to anything,” Early assured her.
“Hope you’re right.”
A few moments later, Early’s personnel page pulled up on the security monitor. It included his latest headshot, a short bio, his job title and security status. The guard nodded him through to the unmarked door behind her.
“Thanks, Simone. Take it easy.” Early strode through the checkpoint.
Pearce didn’t budge.
“You coming?” Early asked.
“You need to wave me through.”
“He can’t. We have a strict security protocol,” Simone said.
“This isn’t a good idea,” Pearce said to Early.
Another security agent stood close by. A big slab of meat in a crew cut wearing a name tag that read HANK. He shifted his weight, his thick body visibly tensing.
“The president’s waiting,” Early said.
“Sir, you have to place your hand on the scanner,” Hank said. His cold, gray eyes weren’t asking.
Pearce looked him up and down with a smirk, then turned back to Simone. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He stepped over to the glass and put his hand on the scanner.
Simone flashed a dazzling smile. “Thank you, sir. I promise this will only take a second.”
Pearce left his hand on the scanner but glanced over his shoulder at Hank, who was still eyeing him.
Simone frowned. “I’m sorry, sir. Something’s wrong. Mr. Early’s file pulled up again. Would you mind removing your hand for a second?”
“Sure thing.” Pearce smiled.
Simone tapped a few keys to relaunch the program. When it pulled back up, she said, “Please put your hand back on the scanner.”
Pearce put his hand back on the glass screen.
Vice President Greyhill’s file pulled up.
“I don’t understand,” Simone whispered to herself. “You’re not the vice president.”
“Maybe I’m wearing a disguise,” Pearce offered.
“What’s the matter?” Hank asked Simone.
“A glitch. Let me try something.” Simone turned to Pearce. “I’m sorry, but this will take a few moments.”
“We’re already late, Simone,” Early said.
“The president will have to wait a little longer, sir,” Hank said. He glared at Pearce. “You need to step back.”
Pearce smirked. “I’m fine right here.”
Hank took a step toward Pearce.
“Oh, Jesus,” Early whispered. He knew Pearce wouldn’t back down. But Simone saved the day.
“Ah. The system’s back up. Please, sir. Once more, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Pearce put his hand on the glass for the third time.
Simone frowned. “Your name isn’t Elvis Presley, is it?”
“Afraid not,” Pearce said.
Alarms rang on Simone’s computer. The monitor snapped to black.
“Qu’est-ce qui se passe?” Simone hissed. She tapped keys furiously.
“Your system just crashed,” Pearce said.
Early’s eyes screamed a question at Pearce. What have you done?
Pearce shrugged.
“Told you it wasn’t a good idea.”
Hank grabbed Pearce by the shoulder.
Big mistake.
16
The President’s Dining Room, West Wing, the White House
“Sure you don’t want anything to eat, Mr. Pearce?” Myers asked. She was just si
tting down to a couple of poached eggs and a cup of black coffee.
“No, thank you. We ate on the plane,” Pearce said. He sipped his green tea.
“MREs,” Early grumbled. He was working on his second cup of coffee already.
“Mike tells me you’re quite a fisherman. You ever fish salmon?”
“Only every chance I get.”
“I had the hardest time learning to tie the Jock Scott. My husband had the patience of Job.”
“They say that the hardest flies to tie are your first one and your last one,” Pearce said.
She took a bite of egg.
“That was quite a little show you put on downstairs. I see why Mike puts such faith in you.”
“One of the reasons I get hired is that I don’t leave any footprints behind.”
“You mean, besides the one you left on Hank’s face?” Early grinned.
“From what Mikey tells me, it’s probably best for all concerned that I was never here to begin with.”
“Technically, you broke the law when you tampered with our security system, but I’m the one who called this meeting, so this one’s on me, Mr. Pearce.”
Pearce took another sip of tea.
“That’s where you say something civilized like ‘Thank you, Madame President,’” Early said.
Pearce ignored him. Early was still fuming over the embarrassment Pearce had caused him at the security desk.
Myers leaned back in her chair. “I understand you’re reluctant to accept the assignment I have for you, even though you don’t know what it is.”
“Let’s just say I have trust issues,” Pearce said. He glanced around the room. It was well appointed with period-style furniture. His eyes fixed on a large oil painting of Lincoln and his war cabinet. “It’s the decisions people like you make in rooms like this that cause most of the suffering in the world.”
“I have trust issues, too,” Myers said. “But I still think you’re just the man I’m looking for.”
“How do you know that? Mike’s an old buddy, but even he hasn’t kept up with me for the last few years. And as you’ve seen, nobody else has, either.”
“I usually make up my mind about a person in thirty seconds, and I seldom change it.” Myers smiled over the edge of her coffee cup.