by Tom Clancy
Brent nodded. “We knew she’d turn up.”
Schoolie winced, took a deep breath, and said, “This isn’t the kind of stuff we should be doing.”
“It’s a different war now.”
He snorted. “Yeah, I don’t like it.”
“So why’re you telling me this?”
“Because I know you, Brent. You won’t take this lying down.”
Brent accepted his beer from the waitress and, after a long pull, said, “Maybe I will.”
“Why don’t you talk to Dennison? I’ll drive you down to the comm center.”
“I need a chauffeur?”
“You parked on the grass again, and they just towed your car. You didn’t learn your lesson from the last time?” Schoolie tipped his head toward the front windows, where a tow truck was just leaving with Brent’s car hanging from the back.
Brent burst up from the table, cursed, and started toward the door.
“Get it later,” said Schoolie. “Come on, I’ll take you for that call. See if you can have a little video chat. Do it now before your meeting with Grey.”
“Yeah, I came back here to call down to Florida, where I just was…” he said wearily. “Maybe I should’ve dropped in on Dennison while I was there.”
“Maybe. Have a seat, finish your beer and your dinner. Then we’ll go.”
Brent complied, and Schoolie tried to probe him for what had happened on the mission. Brent gave him the look that said even asking was breaking the law. That Schoolie had mentioned his own assignment was certainly a violation, not one Brent would ever report, but a violation nonetheless.
“Why are you trying to help me?” Brent said, after taking his last sip of beer.
Schoolie averted his gaze. “This is going to sound stupid.”
“I figured.”
“Seriously, I’ve served under a lot of people. I’d be honored to work with you. I’d like to see Boleman out and you in. I’d like to see that happen.”
Captain Jay Boleman was a few years younger than Brent and regarded as one of the top three team leaders in the entire organization. Unfortunately, his skill was equaled by his arrogance.
Brent grinned broadly. “So you’d rather work for a junkyard dog than a greyhound, is that what you’re saying?”
“Jay’s an ass. We both know it. Anyway, I thought I’d help you out.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
They left the Liberator and went to the comm center for a secure line. Brent made the call to Tampa, only to be told that Dennison was gone for the day and that if the matter wasn’t urgent that he should try again at 0800. He cupped the receiver.
“I guess you’ll have to call her tomorrow,” said Schoolie.
Brent swore to himself. “The meeting’s tomorrow. I need to talk to her now.”
So he told them the matter was urgent, and they patched him through to Dennison’s home via an encrypted signal.
“She’s going to be pissed,” said Schoolie.
“Frankly, fat boy, I don’t give a damn.”
“Captain Brent?” Dennison began, tugging her robe more tightly around her shoulders. She had a quart of rocky road ice cream in her hand with a spoon jutting from it.
“Major, we need to talk.”
“Look, Brent, there’s no more discussion. If you take issue with what’s happened, you need to bring that up to Colonel Grey. I shouldn’t have to remind a career officer about the chain of command.”
“Colonel Grey and I have different perceptions regarding my After Action Report.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I was removed from the mission before being allowed to finish it.”
“I see you’ve had time to think. And in your case, that’s dangerous. Look, I’m sure they’ll have a place for you. I’ve heard a lot of great things about your skill as a trainer. You’d be excellent at the JFK School.”
“Someday, yes. But not now.”
Dennison glanced at her ice cream. “Is there anything else?”
“Don’t give this to Boleman. It’s mine. Let me finish it. I was close. Very close.”
“I’m sorry, Brent, but it’s too late for that. This call is over.”
“How did you find her?”
“I’m tired, Captain.”
“I’m just asking.”
She sighed. “Doletskaya gave us a list of her contacts, and a name came up in Geneva. We had some eyes on that zone and spotted her. We’d tried to bait her, even had him leave messages. She either didn’t get them or wasn’t taking the bait. But the analysts picked her up right away. The NSA’s already got people moving in.”
“She’ll be long gone.”
“We need to figure out where she’s going.”
Brent assumed his best poker face. “I know where she’s going.”
“Oh, really?”
“Ma’am, I need to finish what I started.”
“Good night, Captain.”
She abruptly ended the link.
Brent turned back toward Schoolie, who was now engulfed by a fiery car crash, the flames rising up his body and burning him into a skeleton whose bones turned black.
Brent blinked.
“Damn…” Schoolie said, glancing away. “Tomorrow you’re busted out of the Ghosts. Ah, it’s not so bad.”
Brent looked incredulously at him. “You think I’m going to let that happen?”
“What do you mean?”
Brent cocked a brow. “You know what I mean.”
“Aw, no, you’re crazy.”
Brent widened his eyes. “Am I?”
* * *
The Snow Maiden spotted the man on the rooftop of the building across the street, so she, Heidi, and the others ducked back into the coffee shop.
“What’s going on now?” cried Heidi. “I thought we were going to the market, then my apartment.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry about coming here,” said the Snow Maiden. “It was a mistake. I need a car right now.”
“You know I don’t own a car.”
She looked to the coffee shop owner. “Him. Tell him I need to borrow his.”
Heidi did so, and although the Snow Maiden couldn’t hear what they were saying, the shop owner’s expression was enough. The Snow Maiden crossed to the counter, waved the man into the back room, then drew her pistol, put it to his head. “Keys. Now.”
He fished into his pockets. She took the keys, then motioned for Chopra and Hussein to head out the back door.
In the alley, they found the man’s little Kia. She ordered Hussein into the trunk, told Chopra to lie across the backseat, and gave the keys to Heidi. “You need to drive.”
Heidi was beginning to hyperventilate. “Viktoria!”
“Stay with me, and I’m going to tell you what’s going on. Okay? I need your help.”
Heidi fought for breath, took the keys, and climbed into the car.
“We need someplace secure. Maybe at the university?” the Snow Maiden asked.
“Okay, okay.”
As they pulled out, she called Patti. “Unexpected friends here. Are they yours?”
“Yes, they are,” said Patti. “And you should be thankful. The Americans sent operatives. We took care of them for you. Don’t try to drop off the grid again, are we clear?”
“We are,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Meet me tomorrow at eight A.M. Café Gavoroche. I’m sending you the map now.”
“All right.”
“Now there’s no need to rush off just yet, if you’d like to spend some time with your friend.”
“I’m afraid the evening’s already been ruined…” She hung up and told Heidi to turn the car around; they were going back to Heidi’s apartment.
Hussein began pounding on the trunk partition. “I want out of here! Right now!”
Chopra sat up. “I assume our little clandestine exit has been canceled?”
“Quiet,” the Snow Maiden told him.
He
idi suddenly pulled over to the curb. “I need to know what’s going on right now. I’m sure Hans back at the coffee shop has called the police.”
“You’re right. So maybe we’re not going back to your place,” said the Snow Maiden. “You can check us into a hotel. That’ll work now.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Heidi, I never told you this, but Aldo was working for the CIA. That’s why he was killed. And the same men who tried to kill him are trying to kill me.”
“No, that’s not true.”
“Come with me, and I’ll explain. I’ll tell you everything. Just help us get a room.”
“I don’t even know who you are.”
“I want to tell you. I really do. But it’s important that you just do as I say. All right?”
“No, no, I won’t do this, I can’t,” cried Heidi. “I don’t know if you’re a criminal or a prostitute or who you are!” She reached for the door handle and opened the door.
The Snow Maiden bit her lower lip, drew her pistol—
And as Chopra shouted, “No!”
— she killed her old friend.
SEVENTEEN
MacDill Air Force Base
U.S. Special Operations Command
Joint Strike Force Command Headquarters
Tampa, Florida
Brent sat in the reception area outside General Scott Mitchell’s office. Mitchell was the man, head of the entire JSF. You couldn’t go any further up the ladder.
And you didn’t get a meeting with a guy like that by just whining that you disagreed with a superior’s decision.
You got a meeting by showing… audacity. A word much in the news during the past year or so.
So Brent had made the call and had informed the general’s staff that he wanted to strike a bargain.
The general had initially declined, but his curiosity won out when he learned that Grey had denied Brent permission to go over her head, and Brent retorted that he wasn’t seeking permission; this was just a courtesy call advising her of his intentions.
Dozens of framed wartime photographs of Mitchell in action covered the walls, and as Brent studied them, he began to understand the enormity of what he was doing, the enormity of this man’s position.
Who in the hell was Brent to try cutting a deal for another chance? The mere act was going to incite every officer above him: most notably Grey and Dennison.
Moreover, Mitchell had been a Ghost Recon legend, arguably the unit’s greatest living officer. Many of the techniques, tactics, and procedures that Brent had learned had been developed by Mitchell himself during his own time at the JFK School. Brent wasn’t even sure if he could speak intelligently let alone make a persuasive argument once he faced the man in the flesh.
And worse, he’d have to do that on two hours of sleep. He’d spent most of the night arranging to get his butt back to Tampa, and as he checked his watch, he expected his cell phone to ring at any—
There it was, ringing. After a long sigh, he answered.
“Captain Brent, this is Colonel Grey’s office. It’s oh eight ten, and we’re wondering where you are.”
Brent tossed his head back, closed his eyes, and saw himself standing before a general court-martial. No, his punishment wouldn’t be that severe, of course, but his imagination always took him straight to hell first.
“Captain Brent? Are you there?”
“Ah, yes, I’m here, here as in I’m at MacDill AFB for a meeting with General Mitchell.”
“Uh, all right, I’ll inform the colonel.”
“Thanks.”
As Brent hung up, he pictured Grey’s face when she got the news. Heat waves would billow from her brow.
“Captain?”
Brent rose and was escorted into the general’s office by Mitchell’s assistant.
The general had divided the room into two areas: a rather regal-looking work zone with rich dark furniture, bookcases, and unit flags hung from the walls, the other area a high-tech observation post with a cocoon of monitors displaying battlefield operations. The station was, in effect, a miniature version of the JSF’s more elaborate command center. Mitchell was seated at that station, wearing virtual-reality gloves and manipulating holographic data bars that only he could see via his VR glasses. His fingers flicked right and left, and he made the O shape with index and thumb several times to close open windows. He suddenly wrenched off the glasses and gloves and bolted from the seat as though it were on fire.
“All right, all right…” he muttered, clearing his thoughts aloud.
The general sported a snowy white crew cut that complemented his angular jaw. Brent guessed he spent as much time in the gym as he did in the VR chair, and an unmistakable twinkle in his eye seemed infectious.
“Captain Brent, you’re a persistent man,” said the general, taking Brent’s hand in his own. “That much I admire. The rest of your record looks inconsistent. You, son, have been on a roller coaster ride instead of a career ladder.”
“I just take it as it comes, sir.”
Mitchell hardened his gaze. “So what the hell’s the matter with you?”
“Sir?”
“Forgive my candor. Dennison tells me she pulled the plug on your mission. And Grey doesn’t want you on it. You’ve come here to ask for a second chance in the guise of some deal regarding a low-life warlord in Afghanistan that you want to hand over to me.”
“Sir, I’ve had sources there for years, and I’m finally calling in all my favors.”
“At a rather convenient time.”
“Sayyaf has links to China and the Russian Federation. There’s a rumor that he’s in bed with the Green Brigade, too. He’s a piece we need to take off the board.”
“And you’re handing him to me in exchange for another chance to go after the Snow Maiden.”
“What would you do?”
“I wouldn’t come in here and insult my boss’s intelligence.”
Brent glanced away and smiled. “Sir, in the grand scheme of things, I’m just a little guy. I know that. And at my level, this is the best I got. The deal might be insulting, but you’ll have Sayyaf.”
“So Brent comes first, country second.”
“I never wanted it to be this way. I hate the politics. I really do. But I’m asking for a lot, so I give something in return.”
“So this has been your ace in the hole in case we screw you over, huh? Keep a little piece of the pie to yourself, and give it back when the time is right.”
“No, sir. I wish I were that smart. When they pulled me off the mission, I started thinking about my options. Then I made a few calls.”
Mitchell sighed very deeply for effect. “You want me to take this deal and overstep my officers.”
Brent opened his mouth — but the general spoke before he could: “And you want me to take your intelligence on good faith and place more Americans in harm’s way.”
Brent glanced toward the window. The general’s tone had come as a challenge, and Brent knew if he backed down now, there was no second chance. The general was probing, looking to see if he had any fight left in him. Well, he sure as hell did.
“Sir, can I ask you a question? Why’d you join the Army?”
Mitchell grinned, as though over some private joke. “You know the answer to that as well as I — because they forced you to read my bio.”
“I don’t mean the facts, sir. I mean the feeling.”
“To be in control, right? To feel some power. To put forth that power in a way that yields a tangible and desirable result. Hell, that sounds so academic. Maybe we all got into this because it just makes us feel good. We want to do the right thing for our families and our country.”
“That’s not my story, sir. I got into this to try to be somebody I’m not. I did it out of guilt. I thought I could make things right. I learned a lot. And maybe I’m not the most qualified Ghost for this job, but you can bet I’m the most persistent. I’m disciplined, and I never forget what I want.�
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Mitchell crossed around his ornate desk and plopped down hard into the leather chair. He leaned back, pillowing his head in his hands.
“The idea that you’ve been withholding intelligence from us doesn’t just strike a nerve, Captain. It makes me want to squeeze your neck until your face turns blue.”
“With all due respect, sir, there’s a difference between delaying my report and withholding it.”
“Semantics. Your intentions are clear.”
Brent knew he’d regret it, but he raised his voice. “Sir, I just want to fight another day. That’s it. You’ve been the fall guy yourself, so you know what I’m talking about. Once a Ghost, always a Ghost. We know how this pans out.”
The intercom beeped, followed by a voice. “Sir, I have Colonel Grey on vid channel three.”
“Sir, don’t take that call,” said Brent.
“Why not?”
“Because she’ll tell you I’m incapable and insubordinate.”
“And you’re late for a meeting with her,” added the general. “So you’re right, she doesn’t have to tell me how insubordinate you are. I’m witnessing it firsthand.”
“I just want to fight.”
Mitchell told his assistant that he’d return the call. Then he faced Brent and sighed. “Why do I bet on you?”
“Sir, we lost a good man out there, and I’d like to take his brother, my team, and one other sergeant. You give me those people, and I’ll get this Snow Maiden for you.”
“You didn’t answer my question. Why do I bet on you — when you’ve already failed? And don’t tell me it’s because I’ll get the warlord. I don’t give a crap about him right now.”
“We weren’t allowed to finish what we started.”
“So pulling the plug on you was premature?”
“Absolutely, sir.”
“Even after repeated failures? Maybe we cut our losses with you. Why don’t you just back off? Start training the new guys, be the voice of experience. Get back to Robin Sage. I did it for years and found it very rewarding.”
“Because it can’t end like this. I got into the Army for the wrong reasons. I need to finish for the right ones.”
“So if I cut you loose, it’s with the understanding that if we don’t get results, you’ll be moving on to something else.”