FOREWORD

by Ten To Midnight--Free(Lit)

  “He’s still well connected,” Gellis pointed out. “Good friend of Tony Bishop, isn’t he?”

  That remark evoked a wry smile. “Let me tell you something about those two. Bishop never gave up on Stein. He always hoped that he would come back to Langley. But I saw Stein about a year ago. You know something? I hardly recognized the guy. Even if he did come back, he wouldn’t be any good to us. Hell, the grumpy son-of-a-bitch is probably dead now anyway, God rest his soul.”

  “Got a smoke?” Gellis asked. He had lost his cigarettes in the struggle outside the Consulate. Sharp offered him a filter tip and lit it for him. “You sound bitter, Sharp. Why are you still at the Agency?”

  The CIA operative shrugged again. “Good money, foreign travel. And occasionally, they let me kill bad guys.” He was only half-joking, Gellis suspected. “Why am I still there? Because I don’t know how to do anything else. I just keep doing it, even if I don’t always approve of what I’m doing.”

  Gellis’s journalistic instincts were aroused by that remark and the way Sharp had delivered it. He smelled a story. “And whathave you been doing that you don’t necessarily approve of?”

  Sharp’s eyes swept the room, checking for eyes and ears that weren’t there. He lowered his voice, his expression deadly serious. “Normally, I would answer that question by telling you to go fuck yourself. But, hell, what does it matter now, right?” He inhaled another drag of nicotine. “For the last two years, I’ve been a delivery boy, running arms and equipment to the Ukrainian Army. That was why the Agency conjured up my early demise. It was a cover, but I guess you already figured that out, right?”

  Gellis’s eyes widened. “I thought the U.S. was supposed to be neutral.”

  Sharp stubbed out the remains of his cigarette underfoot. “Damn, I thought you were more worldly wise than that, Richie-boy. Lesson number one about U.S. foreign policy: America isnever neutral. Lesson number two: If there’s a conflict going on somewhere, there’s money to be made.” He paused, chewing his lip. “This operation is so black, that I doubt that even the President knows about it.”

  “Plausible deniability, right?” Gellis snorted. Sometimes he heard things that made him ashamed to be an American, things that reminded him that democracy was often the greatest illusion of all.

  “You’re learning fast, buddy.”

  “What kind of stuff were you delivering to them?”

  “Oh, guns, rockets, even goddamn missile components. You name it.”

  “Missile components? Are you sure?”

  “Listen man, I just deliver the stuff. They give me a list. I hand it up the chain of command, and that’s where the decisions are made. Been runnin’ back and forth since just before the Russo-Ukrainian war broke out. Why me? Because I know the language, I’m discreet and I’m the best at what I do.” Not to mention I’m the only fucker crazy enough to do it, he didn’t say.

  A theory began to gel in Gellis’s mind. Two years… That means Paul Nielsen was DCI when this operation started. It was his baby. And it continued under Bishop’s tenure… An idea had just occurred to him. An idea so absurd, there had to be something in it. If it were true… “These components that you delivered. Could they have been used for, say, a ballistic missile?”

  Sharp shrugged nonchalantly. He couldn’t see what relevance this had to anything, but then he didn’t know much about what had provoked the war. “Sure, but they could’ve been used for other things too, I guess. Why do you ask?”

  “What do you know about how the nuclear war started?”

  “Not a lot. I was on a train from Prague when it began. All I know is that the Russians attacked us. I don’t know how or why. Quite frankly, I don’t much care. So long as we hit ‘em back.”

  Gellis couldn’t believe Sharp’s indifference. Either he really didn’t care, or he had a death wish, or perhaps it was all part of the act. Whatever the reasons, the reporter chose to educate the spy with what little information he knew. “It wasn’t like that at all. Russia nuked Ukraine. Ukraine nuked Russia back - nobody knows how they managed that. Russia thought that it was us who nuked them. So they nuked us. We nuked ‘em back. You see where I’m coming from?”

  Sharp did, but at the same time, he refused to acknowledge his role in the awful chain of events that had taken place. “No,” he insisted. “That’s ridiculous. You’re implying that we gave the Ukes the technology to start this?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying.” He was on a roll here. The investigative reporter in him continued to piece everything together as he spoke. “This operation started when Nielsen was DCI, right?”

  “Right,” Sharp agreed. “So?”

  “And it continued after Bishop took over. Any chance that Bishop might not know what you’ve been doing?”

  “I don’t report to Bishop. I report to the DDO, who reports to Bishop.”

  “And the Director of Operations is…”

  “John Huth,” both men said simultaneously.

  “Right,” Gellis continued. “And John Huth, if I’m not mistaken, is Nielsen’s protégé. He’s a leftover from the old regime, right?”

  “You could say that.”

  “And Nielsen is now commander-in-chief.” He enunciated his words slowly, driving the point home. “What if he’s been running his own operation in Ukraine? And now he’s threatening to destroy Russia, and probably Ukraine with it. Nuclear war sure is a good way to cover your tracks, don’t you think?”

  Sharp took a few moments to contemplate the outlandish theory. “Y’know Gellis, that’s awfully thin. I mean, who would want to wage a nuclear war to cover their tracks?” He snorted contemptuously. “Shit, what difference does it make now anyway?”

  “It makes all the goddamned difference in the world,” Gellis insisted. “If this link to Nielsen is for real, then he’s effectively been conducting his own foreign policy independent of the Mitchell administration. For what purpose, who knows? But the point is, that would bring into question his right or authority to act as commander-in-chief, especially under the present circumstances.” He paused, wondering whether this new information might change anything. From what he understood, the crisis was being driven entirely by Nielsen now. But if he could be stopped… “I think we need to go to Altman with this. Right now.”

  Sharp sighed indifferently. “You do what you want, buddy. I’m gonna get me some sleep. I’ve been traveling since half past forever. Maybe I’ll wake up to the smell of a Kentucky fried world. Who knows? Damned if I can do anything about it.”

  That really got Gellis’s back up. “Now you look me in the eye, Sharp, and you tell me that you don’t give a damn. I don’t believe that for a second. You’re still an American. You swore an oath of allegiance, remember?”

  Sharp walked right up to Gellis, so that their noses were almost touching. He jabbed the reporter hard in the chest, knocking him slightly off balance. “Don’t you dare preach to me about oaths and obligations. I’ve risked my life for my country. What’s your excuse?”

  Gellis refused to back down. “I don’t have one. But all those things you did for your country mean nothing if you do nothing when it really matters.”

  And there the two men stood, eyeball to eyeball, for several long, tense moments. Eventually, it was Sharp who broke the silence. “Okay, MisterNew York Post . You think it’s gonna make one bit of difference? You want a Pulitzer that badly? Then let’s go. Let’s speak to the suit. I betcha he’ll laugh us out. But if that’s what you want, fine.”

  “Thank you.”

  The two men left the washroom and headed for the Consul-General’s office.

  BALTIMORE-WASHINGTON AIRPORT

  Jefferson’s heart was racing. He’d never been this scared. Not because of what might happen to him, but because of all that depended on his success in the next several, violent minutes. Being prepared to take a bullet for his charge was one thing. But knowing that an entire planet’s fate could depend on his actions was something for
which his training hadn’t prepared him. He took a series of short, sharp breaths to compose himself before embarking on what would be his first combat mission.

  “Just think of it as a video game,” Lewis advised. “When we move, we move together, just as I told you. If I take the lead, you cover. And vice versa.” He didn’t mention that he hadn’t been in a combat situation for nearly five years, and that the odds of two men against ninety-odd soldiers didn’t provide a perfect scenario for which to reacquaint himself with the intricacies of battle. He hoped that what he had taught trainee field officers at the Agency still held true. Combat skills were something that - once you had them in your blood - never really left you. But, hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that. Lewis’s plan was to avoid confrontation if at all possible. And if the Gods were smiling on him and Jefferson tonight, then they would get through this without having to fire a single shot.

  “Got it,” Jefferson nodded uncertainly, checking that Lewis’s cuffs were firmly secured.

  “You ready, bud?”

  Again, Jefferson nodded.

  “Good. Let’s lock and load.”

  Jefferson checked his sidearm. Holding Lewis in front of him like the prisoner he was, he unlocked and opened the door. As expected, the two FBI agents moved quickly to block their passage.

  “Hey,” the more senior of the two agents said. “Where the hell are you going?”

  “To the runway, of course,” Jefferson said, looking at the agent as though he were from another planet. “Didn’t you guys get the message? Transport’s here for the prisoner.”

  “I don’t think so, sir,” the second agent said.

  “Tell you what. Why don’t you check it out yourself?” Jefferson knew that was a dumb idea. The Feds wouldn’t know who to check it out with. The chain of command, particularly in the law enforcement community, had been blurred to the point of incomprehensibility by the nuclear attack.

  The two agents glanced hesitantly at each other. That split second provided the window of opportunity Lewis and Jefferson needed. In a swift, blurring motion, Jefferson withdrew his sidearm and cracked the second agent’s head with its butt. The agent’s legs folded beneath him. As he fell to the floor, Lewis moved on the second man, who was rigid with shock. With his hands still cuffed, Lewis head butted the agent and followed the movement with a hard leg sweep that knocked him to the floor. By the time both agents were on the floor, Jefferson had acquired their weapons.

  “Good move,” Jefferson said admiringly.

  “Where I come from, they call it a Glasgow Kiss,” Lewis informed him.

  “Remind me never to go to Glasgow.”

  He quickly unlocked Lewis’s cuffs and handed him one of the agents’ guns. The two Feds were still on the floor, struggling to regain their bearings, when their two attackers began to drag them into the interrogation room.

  Jefferson stripped them of their blue FBI jackets - emblazoned with the Agency legend – while Lewis relieved them of their radios and cuffed their hands together around a radiator pipe. They weren’t going anywhere now, no matter how hard they struggled to free themselves. Jefferson handed one of the blue jackets to Lewis and kept the other for himself.

  As Jefferson and Lewis turned to leave the room, one of the agents called after them.

  “You’re gonna fry for this, you bastards.”

  Lewis turned, unable to resist the bait. “Buddy, if we fail, we’re all gonna fry tonight. Now just take it easy. Someone’ll come to help you out soon enough.” Nothing personal, guys. Just business. Hope you understand.

  And with that, Jefferson and Lewis left the room, locking it behind them.

  U.S. CONSULATE, FRANKFURT

  Altman’s face raged red as beetroot. “Have you looked out the window?” he snarled. “Thanks to your escapades, there are over a hundred German soldiers out there, just waiting for orders to storm this place. And now you waste my time with some horseshit about missile components.”

  Sharp leaned casually against the wall and lit a cigarette, peering at Gellis through a cloud of acrid blue smoke. “Told you he wouldn’t give a shit.”

  “And put that goddamn cigarette out,” the consul-general barked. Sharp obliged, theatrically stamping it underfoot on the white shag-pile carpet. He gave a charming smile to the diplomat.

  “All we’re asking for,” Gellis reasoned, “is a line to the President. I know you know where he’s being treated. He needs this information. This could have major implications.”

  Altman grunted. “Our communications are in chaos, for Chrissakes. How the hell am I supposed to patch you through to a goddamn bunker in Maryland? In case you hadn’t noticed, we’re in the middle of a continent at war. And you want me to connect you to another continent that’s been laid to waste. Even if I could, I doubt the President would give you five seconds. And that’s presuming he’s still alive.”

  “I could set the comlink up,” Sharp remarked casually, as if commenting on the weather, “for what it’s worth.” He produced a small laptop computer from the briefcase he’d been carrying since leaving Kiev two days’ earlier.

  Altman and Gellis looked up at the CIA man, whose face bore a wry grin.

  BALTIMORE-WASHINGTON AIRPORT

  They strode purposefully through the airport lounge, eyes sweeping left and right for signs of trouble, their hands poised over their sidearms in case any presented itself. They were trying their best to look casual, but not too casual. After all, the nation was at war and nobody looked all too relaxed about that. But the trick was to look like they knew where they were going, and even though they really didn’t, they tried not to let that show.

  So far, nobody had stopped to question Lewis’s and Jefferson’s FBI credentials. Not for the first time, Lewis was grateful that he had one of those nondescript faces nobody ever remembered. He was in combat mode; his senses sharp and alert, aware of every movement around him. He hoped that his combat skills wouldn’t be tested. Not yet, anyway. As proficient a warrior as he was, Lewis knew that real-life combat wasn’t like in the movies. If two men tried to engage ninety soldiers in an open area such as an airport lounge, the two men would die, pure and simple. And, with that in mind, he couldn’t remember ever being this nervous.

  Jefferson, meanwhile, was struggling just to keep his breathing even. Everything seemed to have moved into slow motion for him. He expected somebody to stop him at any moment - and then it would all be over. Not just his life, but those of the next three billion human beings. He blinked hard as a bead of sweat trickled into his eye. What the hell am I doing here?he thought. I’m a beefed-up bodyguard, not a goddamn special ops guy.

  They were heading for an emergency exit that led onto the runway. The door was about ten yards away from them now, and they had a clear path to it. Lewis realized that the analogy he’d used earlier of a video game hadn’t been too far from the truth. Getting to the door was to reach the end of Level One. He didn’t know what Level Two would involve, but was sure that it would be much harder.

  Mercifully, the soldiers and other assorted personnel around the lounge seemed too preoccupied to notice the two bogus FBI agents. The activity seemed much more frenetic now than when Lewis had first been led through the building. He was thankful for that, and even more thankful that nobody remembered him from earlier.

  That was about to change.

  “Hey!” The shout stopped them in their tracks. Jefferson’s heart skipped a beat. His sweaty right hand touched his semi-automatic for comfort. Stay cool, man. Stay cool.

  As the two men turned, they saw an Army Colonel striding briskly towards them. The tag on his uniform identified him as McGuire.

  “What’s the problem, Colonel?” Lewis grinned cockily, adopting a southern accent. It was the one American accent at which he was adept.

  “Who the hell are you guys?”

  Lewis answered. “Ah’m Special Agent Harrison. This is mah partner, Special Agent Milburn. We’re from the Baltimore field office. Damne
d if ah know what we’re s’posed to be doin’ here though. You the guy in charge?”

  McGuire was carefully studying Milburn/Jefferson’s face, which was now perspiring heavily. “You’d better believe it, pal. What’s wrong with you, boy? You hot?”

  “Just scared, Colonel,” Jefferson admitted. That wasn’t a lie; but it conveniently suited the situation. “I just want this thing to be over, you know?”

  McGuire said nothing. His gut instinct told him that something was wrong here. Badly wrong. He shook his head uncertainly. “I don’t buy this. I’m gonna check you guys out.”

  As he reached for his handheld radio, Lewis moved swiftly to his side. “Ah wouldn’t do that if ah were you, Colonel McGuire,” he smiled coldly, pronouncing the Colonel’s name asmag-wah . McGuire felt the unmistakable sensation of a gun barrel being pressed into his ribs. Lewis covered the weapon with the wing of his jacket. “Now ah’ll tell ya what’s gonna happen now, Colonel. We’re all gonna walk very quietly and merrily towards through that there door” - he pointed at the Emergency Exit - “and you’re gonna pretend that everything’s hunky dory. Y’hear?”

  McGuire nodded nervously. Despite his rank, he’d never experienced combat and had certainly never had to fear for his life before. Lewis had correctly guessed from his accent and demeanor that McGuire was very likely the product of an Ivy League college and West Point; no doubt the son of a well-connected Daddy. No other way for such a clean cut kid to make Colonel. Well, it was time to introduce Mr. Clean to the harsh realities of life. That was too bad for Mr. Clean, but fortunate for Lewis and Jefferson that he was too terrified to put up a struggle.

  The three men left through the emergency exit, McGuire sandwiched between the two renegades, Lewis’s semi-automatic pressed into his ribcage. As they stepped outside, Lewis immediately spotted a Bell 412 chopper about a hundred yards away. Despite its civilian markings, Lewis guessed that it had probably been requisitioned by the military under EWO regs. He nodded in the general direction of the chopper. Jefferson took the hint. They made towards it. It occurred to Lewis that he didn’t have the first clue how to fly a helicopter. He hoped Jefferson did. Talk about winging it,he mused.