by Stephen Frey
Troy shook his head. “Vasquez won’t talk. You know that, Dad. And the usual channels can’t do what they need to do to get him to—”
“I’m working on that. I think RCS will get custody of him soon. The DEA will help us with that. They’re very appreciative of what you and Travers did. They don’t give a rat’s ass about President Dorn’s kinder, gentler agenda. They are like us. They understand the lengths to which we must go. They understand that it’s a guerrilla war, which cannot be waged with decorum. The war on drugs is very much like the war on terrorism. The people at the DEA laugh at President Dorn.”
“Good.”
“I heard you saw Jennie before you went to Florida.”
“How’d you hear that?”
“I called her. She told me. I like her, Troy. I hope you two keep in touch.” Bill turned his head slightly to the side. “What’s wrong, son?”
“What do you mean?”
“You seem…preoccupied. Is everything all right? You should be a very happy man.”
Troy thought long and hard before he spoke. “I’m considering resigning from Red Cell Seven.”
Bill pursed his lips tightly. “Does this have anything to do with Little Jack?”
It surprised Troy when his father zeroed immediately in on the issue. Spending time with his young sons had never been a priority for Bill. “Maybe.”
“Take your time with that decision. Once you leave, you can’t come back.”
“I don’t want L.J. to be without a mother and a father growing up. Mom’s doing a great job, and I appreciate it…but still.”
“Troy, you shouldn’t let—”
“Even if I never have another gun aimed at me, I’ll be gone all the time if I stay with RCS, Dad.”
“It’s a huge sacrifice. There’s no doubt.”
“I’ll never see my boy.”
“You have a responsibility to your country,” Bill argued gently. “Not many people can do what you can. If you leave Red Cell Seven, this country becomes weaker.”
“I have a responsibility to my son as well. He needs me.”
“It’s a hard choice, Troy. I’m not about to say it isn’t.”
“I’ll never see L.J.,” Troy repeated. “Worse, he’ll never see me. I know how that feels, and I don’t want him knowing.”
Bill grimaced.
Troy felt bad for launching that verbal missile, but it had to be said. It had been a long time coming. “You knew about the plot to kill President Dorn all along. Didn’t you, Dad?”
“It was Shane Maddux’s idea,” Bill spoke up sharply.
“But in the end, you and Carlson backed it.”
“Yes, we did,” Bill admitted. “Let’s be brutally honest here. President Dorn’s a very liberal politician. But even worse, he’s a weak man. Down deep I think he understands what has to be done to protect this country. But he won’t do it. The Holiday Mall Attacks are a perfect example. We deal with the chaos, and he still wants to do away with us. And things are only going to get worse from here,” he continued. “Today it’s drug billions partnering with religious extremists. Who knows what it’ll be tomorrow. RCS’s survival is essential if the country is going to be prepared for whatever it turns out to be. We can’t have a man in the Oval Office who wants to destroy us. Full stop.”
“So you kill him?”
Bill stared at Troy steadily but said nothing.
“Are you going to try again?” Troy couldn’t believe he was asking that question.
Still, Bill didn’t answer.
“Did you cut Maddux loose after the assassination attempt?” Troy finally asked.
“We had to. Roger and I couldn’t have the cell thinking we endorsed the shooting. That could have caused dissension in the ranks. It was strategic. Maddux understood.”
“Protecting this country rules his life. It’s the only thing he really cares about, the only thing that matters. You turned your back on him, Dad. You cut loose your loyalty to him for your own gain.”
“No, for the country’s gain. And like I said, he understood.”
“You made it sound like he alone was responsible for the shooting.”
“There was a bigger picture.”
“Now who sounds like a politician?”
“Why are you defending Shane Maddux so hard? He killed Lisa. You say he killed Jack. Why do you care about him so much?”
Troy took a deep breath. “He saved my life in Florida this afternoon. I’m sitting here now only because of his talents and his devotion to this country. If not for him I would have joined Jack today.”
Bill nodded. “Ah,” he murmured, “I get it now.”
“Jack died because of you, Dad, not because of Shane. Maybe Shane shot him, but you lit the fuse to that execution. Jack went to Alaska to show you how much he loved this family because you made him feel so terrible about who he was for all those years…and who he wasn’t. At least, you made him think he wasn’t. He’s dead because you didn’t care.”
“And a lot of people are alive today because he did go to Alaska, including you. And because I do care, deeply.” Bill hesitated. “There’s something you need to know about…” His voice trailed off.
“About what?”
“Never mind.”
“Come on, Dad. What were you going to say? I need to know.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“I want to hear what you were going to—”
“No,” Bill said sternly. “There’s something much more important we need to talk about now.”
“What is it?”
“I need you and Major Travers to go on another mission right away. I’ve already spoken to Travers about it, and he’s agreed. You must lead the mission because I can only truly trust you. But I can’t send you alone. It would be too dangerous.”
PRESIDENT DORN eased into the big chair behind the desk with help from Baxter. It was the first time he’d sat in anything but that damn wheelchair in a long time, and it felt good. The wheelchair had served its purpose well, and it should be saved for its historic significance. It should probably go to the Smithsonian so people could appreciate his courage and conviction. But he had no more use for it than that.
“Feel good, sir?” Baxter asked cheerfully as he sat in the chair in front of the desk.
“Very good.” Dorn exhaled heavily. “It feels incredible to have these death squads stopped, too.”
“Absolutely. I got another call right before I came in here. They caught two more of them in Missouri. We’re down to only five outstanding. I think it’s safe to say the danger has passed. People will come back out from their burrows.”
“Excellent.” Dorn intended to put Baxter’s mind at ease quickly. “But it doesn’t change my view on Red Cell Seven, Stewart.”
“Thank God,” Baxter said loudly as relief spread through him like a wildfire through a bone-dry forest. “I was worried you might be rethinking your strategy with those bastards. You know, what with Troy Jensen leading the charge down in Florida today.”
“I don’t give a damn. RCS must be destroyed. It’s the only way.” Dorn’s eyes narrowed. “Is our plan still in place?”
Baxter nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”
“YOU AND Travers are going to Wyoming,” Bill explained, “to the Wind River Range in the western part of Wyoming, specifically to Gannett Peak. It’s the highest peak in the state.”
“Why are we going there?”
“You know why.”
“Protect the peak,” Troy whispered. “You told President Dorn in the residence the other day you didn’t know where the original Executive Orders were. But you did. You lied to him.”
“Grow up, son. We all knew what was going on in that room.”
“So one of the original orders is hidden on
Gannett Peak.”
“Yes. And I’ll give you its exact location immediately before you leave here tonight.”
“What about the other one? The one not hidden on Gannett Peak?” Troy asked. “Where is it?”
“I honestly don’t know. I never did. But my gut tells me President Dorn has it now.”
“Why?”
“Roger Carlson’s wife, Nancy, is missing. No one has seen or heard from her in days, even her children. I believe she knew where the other original was, and Dorn made her pay the ultimate price for that knowledge.”
“Do you really think he would go that far to destroy us? I can’t see him killing a woman to get possession of something.”
“You underestimate President Dorn, son. He is weak, and he is a bad liberal, but he is not above having people get their hands very dirty for him. In the end, he is not unlike us.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“He’ll use any means he has to in order to get what he wants. But his objectives are not as honorable as ours. He’s concerned about himself, and that’s basically all.”
“Where is Karen?” Troy asked after a few moments.
“I don’t know.”
“I’ve called her over and over, Dad, but she doesn’t call back. If you know where—”
“I don’t know,” Bill interrupted sharply. “Now, will you go to Wyoming for me and bring back that original Executive Order? Will you go with Major Travers? It’s absolutely essential that you do, if you still believe in Red Cell Seven.”
Of course he would. Bill knew that. “If you’ll answer one question honestly for me, I’ll go.”
Bill stared across the desk for a long time before he answered. “All right, one question.”
“What happened to Rita Hayes?”
BAXTER PARKED the car in the alley, turned off the headlights, climbed out, checked both ways through the shadows, and then hurried inside the abandoned building through a side door. This was a dangerous neighborhood in southeast Washington, but he couldn’t have anyone else do this for him. It had to be him and him alone.
“Stop.”
Baxter did so as soon as he heard the voice. Fortunately he recognized it right away. “Okay, I’m stopping,” he said, holding his arms up, though he didn’t know why. It just seemed like the thing to do. “What’s the deal?” he asked when Wilson Travers appeared out of the shadows in front of him. “What’s going on?”
“We’re going west. We’re headed to somewhere in Wyoming, but I don’t know any more than that yet.”
TROY STEPPED outside the mansion and onto the back porch in the bitter cold so he had privacy. He pulled his cell phone out and dialed Karen again. But once again it went straight to her voice mail.
CHAPTER 34
SNOW AND sleet whipped against Troy’s and Travers’s unshaven faces. The flakes and pellets were blown chaotically about by powerful gusts, which at times exceeded fifty miles an hour. After a long and grueling backcountry trek, they’d finally made their way to Bonny Pass, which was high and deep inside the breathtakingly beautiful and remote Wind River Range of western Wyoming. Gannett Peak, the highest point in the range—and the state—soared slightly over 13,800 feet above sea level, and was another thousand feet above them. If not for the heavy cloud cover and the snow and sleet lashing the two men, they might have been in its impressive shadow. Despite being so close to the massive mountaintop on this late December afternoon, they couldn’t see it through the gloom even though it towered directly above them. Thanks to the awful weather they hadn’t seen any of the peaks in the range since they’d arrived.
From here on the Bonny Pass apex, the path to Gannett Peak’s narrow, rocky ridge rose steeply up across either the Dinwoody or Gooseneck Glacier. Both of those routes involved treacherous, technical climbs, especially fighting the kind of harsh weather western Wyoming had been buffeted by the last few days. It would have been impossible to make it up that last thousand feet right now—probably for another few days, according to the Weather Channel forecast—but fortunately, Troy and Travers didn’t have to go all the way up there to “protect the peak.”
Troy knew that, but as far as he was aware, Travers did not. As far as he was aware, Travers had no idea what they were even doing here. His father had sworn he’d told Travers only that he must accompany Troy west on a crucial RCS mission—and that was it.
Maybe Travers had put two and two together by now—he was a smart man. Maybe he realized how this mission somehow involved that traditional Red Cell Seven greeting, and maybe he’d even pieced this thing together further than that. But it had been three days since they’d left the East Coast, and Travers hadn’t said a word about it. He hadn’t even asked specifically about the mission’s objective—which Troy found odd and a little suspicious.
There was probably no reason to worry, Troy figured as they slogged through the snow together. But he couldn’t help himself. It seemed like he was overly suspicious, even of people he should be able to trust. It wasn’t much of a way to live, when he really thought about it—which made the decision he’d come to, early on in the trek, easier to live with. So had the picture of Little Jack that he carried with him all the time now.
They were forty miles from the trailhead and far from anything remotely civilized as darkness descended on the Wind River Range. They’d flown into Casper three days ago; four-wheeled it west to the trailhead from that small city in the middle of the Cowboy State; been forced to hold at the trailhead for a full twenty-four hours before beginning the ascent, because of a total-whiteout snowstorm; then camped last night ten miles from here at frigid, windswept Lower Titcomb Lake. It had been one of the coldest nights of Troy’s life despite being wrapped up inside a North Face Dark Star, which, in turn, was wrapped inside a tent. But now they were finally closing in on their target. It would have been so much faster to take a chopper up here, but the weather had precluded any chance of that—and they couldn’t wait for it to clear. Troy couldn’t take the chance of someone else getting here first.
Soon after starting the trek, they’d encountered a small herd of elk on the trail. The animals were huge and amazingly magnificent. As he’d stared at them from less than twenty yards, Troy had wondered how his father could shoot one just to put the majestic animal’s head on a wall. In that moment he’d made his final decision about whether to stay with Red Cell Seven when this was all over.
Troy checked their position on the GPS device he was carrying on his belt. It was supposed to be accurate to within five feet.
“Decus septum,” Travers spoke up loudly as gales whipped through the invisible peaks above them with hair-raising howls. “Protect the peak.”
Troy turned slowly back around to face the major. The cave was less than a hundred feet away according to the device. “What did you just say?”
“Protect the peak,” Travers repeated, gesturing up and to his left. “Gannett Peak is right up there. I’m no idiot.”
“Of course not.”
“So, what are we doing here, Troy? What’s going on? I think I deserve to know. I’ve been waiting for you to volunteer the 411 for three days. But now I figure I’ll never know unless I ask. It kind of pisses me off, too.”
Troy didn’t hesitate. “We’re here to retrieve an original of Executive Order 1973 One-E signed by Richard Milhous Nixon.” Travers was right. He did deserve to know what this trek into a blizzard was about. In the last week Travers had more than proven his loyalty and dedication. Troy’s paranoia was unwarranted. “That Order established Red Cell Seven, and it’s essential that we recover it. RCS’s future may depend on the success of our mission. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away. I understand why you’re angry.”
Travers gazed back at Troy through the gathering darkness. “Then let’s get it and get the hell out of here. I’ve had enough snow and wind in the last few days to last me
a lifetime. I’m from Alabama. I can’t stand this stuff.”
Despite the snow, they found the cave easily. The opening was exactly where Bill had described it—between two tall rocky outcroppings that formed a rudimentary arch on the right wall of the cut as they were headed toward the peak. If Troy hadn’t known the cave existed and exactly where to look for it, he never would have found it. To access it, you had to go around the side of one of the outcroppings and be within a few feet of the opening to spot it. But with the GPS device, finding it had been relatively easy.
It was only a few feet tall and wide, but once they’d crawled inside they were able to stand up with no problem. The cave was seven feet high and ten feet across. With both of their flashlights brightly illuminating the space, Troy began tracking the left wall, paying close attention to a piece of paper Bill had given him and what was scrawled on it in pencil as he moved deeper into the mountain.
Fifty feet into the cave, Troy’s heart began to thud when he spotted two initials etched on a rock at eye level—RC, for Roger Carlson—exactly as the paper and his father’s verbal directions indicated.
Troy motioned for Travers to help him, and the two men fought the rock for a few seconds before finally managing to pull it away from the cave wall, revealing a small space and a metal box behind where the rock had been. Troy grabbed the box, opened it, and pointed the flashlight down. Inside was a tightly sealed clear plastic bag, and inside the bag was the original Executive Order. Troy held the bag up so Travers could see it, too, and it seemed obvious what the contents were. Nixon’s signature was at the bottom of the page in flowing letters, and the words on the page weren’t difficult to read—or interpret.
“Jesus,” he whispered as the pounding of blood in his body intensified. He was holding a piece of history. “This is it, Major.”
“I’m sorry, Troy.”
“What?” Troy called over his shoulder as he continued to stare at the document, transfixed by its importance.
“I said I’m sorry. But I have no choice. I have to do this.”