by David DeLee
He stood up, leaving the dead undisturbed.
He gathered Grayson without mentioning the tattoo or Tara’s And Kayla’s suspicions. There would be time for that later. For now, the two of them silently returned to Neptune’s Glen.
Retracing Grayson’s steps, they slowly shuffled out from behind the partition separating the kitchen from the restaurant’s seating area. Bannon had his arm around Grayson’s shoulders and was holding her hand. It was ice cold. He heard the chatter of those still there, felt the excited euphoria the hostages experienced having just been freed, primarily by their own hands. The place was abuzz with activity, and not just by Tiamat Bluff survivors.
The wounded were either seated at booths and tables around the restaurant or laid on makeshift stretchers. They were being attended to by Coast Guard medics.
How had they arrived so quickly? Bannon wondered.
Among the new arrivals, Bannon noticed Captain Tolliver in the corner conversing with McMurphy and Larson. Tara stood over where Kate Holloway’s body lay, now mercifully covered with a blue sheet.
Bannon would later learn the USCGC Gordon Lewis, a three-hundred-seventy-eight-foot Hamilton-class cutter, had joined the Putnam on the surface above them. She brought with her two Mystic-class DSRVs. Subs capable of accommodating twenty-four personnel each. The rescue subs were being used to ferry guardsmen down and transport injured hostages and prisoner’s topside to the two cutters.
Medics hovered over Kingsley who remained basically unharmed physically. Intently watching over him were a fresh cadre of Secret Service agents, including Franklin Gregg.
He was the first to see Bannon and Grayson emerge from the kitchen. “Madam Secretary!”
The whole place stopped and stared. Kingsley came to his feet, waving away a medic but accepting Gregg’s hold on his elbow, steadying him. He beamed. “Liz!”
McMurphy rushed across the room with Tolliver and Larson in tow. Tara came over as well, surrounding Bannon and Grayson. All of them happy and curious as to their ordeal below.
McMurphy slapped him on the back with a big grin. “Glad you made it.”
Tolliver took his hand and shook it. “Bang-up job, Brice. Bang-up.”
“Thanks to you and your gifts, Captain.”
“Just glad I could lend a hand.”
Grayson disengaged her arm from Bannon’s, giving him a brave, but weak smile. She moved off toward Kingsley.
Larson said, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”
“Thanks to you, Doctor.” Bannon looked at Tolliver, McMurphy, and Tara. “Thanks to all of you.” He glanced across the room to where Kingsley and Grayson embraced in a hug. “We saved a lot of lives today.”
Tara looked at the bodies still on the floor, draped in blue sheets. Her gaze fell lastly on Kate Holloway. “But lost too many, too.”
Quiet, respectfully, Bannon agreed. “Yes, we did.” He reached out and squeezed her arm. Then he turned to Tolliver. “Bob, can I assume you’ve got this? I’d like to get my people—”
Tolliver raised his hand, stopping him. “Say no more. We’ve got this. You heroes go get some rest. You’ve earned it.”
“No offense, Doctor Larson,” Bannon said, reaching out to shake her hand. “But I’ve had enough of Tiamat Bluff for now.”
“None taken,” she said. “Under the circumstances, I could use a break from here myself.”
To Tara and McMurphy, Bannon said, “Ready?”
They nodded in silent agreement. He swept an arm toward the doors cleared away from the opening that led out of Neptune’s Glen. McMurphy and Tara moved in that direction. Bannon caught Grayson’s eye and nodded. She forced another smile and nodded back.
To his people, Bannon said, “Let’s go home.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
Three days later, the Keel Haul was closed to the public. Bannon hung a sign on the door that read: closed for a private gathering. The adverse effect on business would be minimal. A seaside bar operating in January in New Hampshire wasn’t exactly the hottest of hot spots.
As for this event, it was part memorial repast for those who’d died at the Siege of Tiamat Bluff as the news was calling it and part celebration for the heroic efforts of so many who saved the President and everyone else targeted for death by Sucre and Lang.
Bannon and the others had spent the last three days in Boston and then Washington, D.C. involved in debriefs with just about every alphabet soup agency known to exist and enough congressional subcommittee to give them their fill of government and politics for a long time to come.
Prior to, Bannon had instructed his team to minimize any mention of the potential conspiracy Tara and Kayla had dug up, the Leviathan thing as McMurphy called it. During the debriefs, they focused their testimonies strictly on the context of POTUS’ kidnapping and the events directly involved with that singular event.
Bannon knew this wasn’t the end, but the beginning. Eventually, they’d have to deal with Leviathan, but for now, and until they could figure out who could or couldn’t be trusted, they would keep what they knew to themselves, and watch and listen and wait. And be ready to take action when the time came.
The day before was spent honoring the Navy SEALs killed in action then it was on to Falls Church. There, they attended the funeral of Agent Kate Holloway, a fallen American hero.
Tara seemed to have the most difficult time with the service even though she’d never met Kate Holloway in person. It was through her intimate connection to the woman’s family that made the event so difficult.
The dark, Egyptian beauty, was one of the toughest, bravest, strongest people Bannon had ever known. She would face a battalion of enemy combatants with only her haladie in hand and never hesitate. But seeing Roger and the girls, Kacey and Karley. The girls dressed in black. Their blond hair pulled back in severe ponytails—like their mother when she was on duty—she told Bannon she had to leave, ready to flee the cemetery. “How can I face them? I couldn’t save their mom.”
“We do it together.” Bannon took her by the hand and together they approached Roger Holloway. Tara introduced Bannon. The men shook hands.
“Thank you for all you did for my wife, Commander Bannon,” he said. “I heard what the…they put her through, the impossible position they put her in. And I’ve been told, through it all, you believed in her. Thank you for that.” He turned to Tara. “My family, we owe you our lives. Thank you.”
The girls moved from their father’s side and wrapped their arms around Tara’s legs, hugging her tightly. Tears flowed from her green eyes as she got down on her knees and hugged them back.
Now, back at the Keel Haul, from behind the bar, Bannon raised a mug of beer. “To Kate Holloway.”
He looked out over a small sea of raised glasses, grateful for every single person in the room.
McMurphy sat in his usual spot at the end of the bar, deep in conversation with Robin Larson. Tara sat at the bar, next to Captain Floyd of all people, silently sipping their drinks. Chief Singleton stood speaking with Kayla, Grayson, and Captain Tolliver.
Elizabeth Grayson excused herself and drifted over to the bar. She ordered one more drink for the road. Agent Wheeler would serve as her designated driver. “I’m heading back to Washington tonight. Tom’s waiting for me outside.”
“You okay?” Bannon asked.
She nodded and forced a smile. “I will be.”
“None of this is your fault,” Bannon said. “It’s all on Lang.”
“Isn’t it?”
“You were following orders.”
“Said every Nazi soldier ever.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself. Lang was dealt a crappy hand, no doubt about it, but how he played it, that was up to him.”
“Easy for us to say. We didn’t go through what he did.” She forced another smile as she pushed away from the bar. “We’ll have to agree to disagree on this one, Brice.”
Bannon changed the subject. “Have you decided what you’re goin
g to do about Kingsley’s offer?”
“I have.”
“Gonna tell me?”
This time her smile was genuine. “After I tell him.”
Bannon returned the smile. “Way to build suspense.”
“Keeping secrets. It’s what a good spy does.” She reached across the bar and grasped his hand. The warmth had returned to her skin. “Thank you for what you did down there. All of it.”
“Just doing my job.”
“Stop it. For once, accept the gratitude of a grateful nation, and a grateful President. And a very grateful old woman who is standing here with you, because of you.”
Bannon raised a glass.
She clinked glasses with him and finished her drink. “One who’s still sore as hell three days later.” She lowered her voice. “As for that other thing.” The night before Bannon had brought her up to speed on everything they knew—which wasn’t much—about Leviathan, including the tattoo he’d found on Chase Lang’s wrist. “Look into it, but discreetly. Not that it needs mentioning, but report only to me.”
“As always.” Bannon nodded. “Have a safe trip back, Madam Secretary.”
Once she left, Bannon refilled McMurphy's empty beer mug.
“What was that all about?” the big Irishman asked. “What offer?”
“Nothing we need to worry about, I suspect.” To Larson, he said, “Can I get you another?”
“No. I don’t think so. John and I have to get going.”
Bannon looked at McMurphy. He raised an eyebrow. “John?”
McMurphy’s ruddy complexion deepened three shades of red. Larson noticed and smiled.
“Where might you and John be going?” Bannon said. “If I may ask?”
McMurphy downed the last of his beer and stood up. “I promised to help Robin and her team begin repairs on Tiamat Bluff. I figured it’s the least I could do, considering the mess we made of it down there.”
“All for a good cause,” Larson said, hooking her arm in the crook of McMurphy’s arm.
“Yes,” Bannon said. “It’s the least you can do.”
“Anything comes up in the meantime,” McMurphy said. “You know how to reach me.”
“I do.” Bannon smiled. “Have a good time.”
“It’s work,” McMurphy said. “Strictly work.”
Bannon smiled. “I’m sure it will be.”
As they start to leave. Larson stopped and turned. “Oh, I almost forgot.”
She dug around in her shoulder bag as Kayla, Tara, and some of the others drifted over to say their goodbyes. She rummaged around until she extracted an item from her bag and handed it to Bannon. It was a rather large snow globe but rather than containing snow, the clear water inside had tiny gold starfish and other aquatic animals floating around as Bannon shook it.
Inside was a replica of Tiamat Bluff, built into the sloping ocean grade of Georges Bank, as it was in real life. The craftsmanship was amazing, down to the tiny details of small rectangular lights and a glowing replica of the domed park on top of Tiamat Bluff.
“It’s from our gift shop,” she said.
Bannon held the globe out, noticing a star and long crack in the glass shell. “Not that I’m complaining, but it’s damaged.”
“Yes. I thought that rather appropriate actually.”
Bannon nodded. “Yeah. Me, too. Thank you.”
He set the sea globe on the shelf over the register then watched them head out into the night. Aa gentle snow had started to fall outside. The flakes fluttering softly in the outside streetlamp lights. Once the door closed, he turned to those who remained. “Captain, I believe I owe you a drink.”
“You don’t,” Tolliver said. “but I’ll graciously accept one anyway.”
“With my gratitude, name your poison.”
The Coast Guard captain rattled the almost empty tumbler he held with a little bit of ice left. “Another of these would work just fine.”
Bannon went to work on making the gin and tonic. As he busied himself behind the bar, he called out to Singleton, “Ah, Chief. I’ve noticed I’m running a little low on Nut Brown Ales since I was here last. Anything we need to discuss? Like maybe starting a tab.”
Singleton furrowed his forehead. “Tab?” He pointed at Tara. “She said ‘have whatever you like.’”
“But she doesn’t own the joint.” Bannon said it with a smile on his face, making it clear he was just giving the old cop a hard time.
Relived, Singleton settled onto a barstool. “In that case, I’ll take another one.”
EPILOGUE
CIA Headquarters
Langley, Virginia
The following morning, Elizabeth Grayson stood facing the CIA’s Memorial Wall.
The white Alabama marble gleamed in its brightness. Five rows of stars carved into the marble represented the men and women of the CIA who’d made the ultimate sacrifice for the Agency and their country. Framing the display are the United States stars and stripes and a flag bearing the CIA seal. Under the stars, in a steel frame jutting out from the wall and encased in thick glass is the Book of Honor, listing by name some, but not all, of the fallen agents. The unnamed stars remained secret. Even in death.
One of those unnamed stars belonged to Chase Edwards.
That would only be the case until the next CIA employee was killed in action.
Elizabeth Grayson didn’t know when that would be, or who, but she wasn’t naive enough to think that it would never happen. Wars, cold and otherwise, were an ongoing reality in the world. And in wars, good people died.
She thought Chase Edwards had been one of those people and at one time he had been. But no longer. When the next agent fell, the last honorable vestige of Chase Edwards would fall, too.
She bore that responsibility no matter how many others said she didn’t. Her greatest military regret had become an even worse cross to bear than ever before.
She hoped she could live with it.
David Kingsley came up behind her. His footsteps whispered over the polished lobby floor. Alone, except for the two Secret Service agents watching but well out of earshot, she said, “Hello, David.”
“I was told I’d find you here.”
She’d last seen him at Agent Holloway’s funeral service. He’d given the eulogy. It had been quite moving. “You’re looking good, David.”
And it was true. Hair spray held his white hair in place. His skin had regained its color and complexion. He smiled, flashing his trademark sparkling white teeth, as bright as a toothpaste ad. Up close she could see the concealer that had been applied to the worse of his bruises. The black and blue color had faded to an ugly eggplant color underneath.
“I was about to say the same of you.”
She might have succeeded in putting herself together enough to be presentable, but she was achy, sore, and had slept poorly over the last few nights, sleep interrupted by horrific nightmares. All of it left her drained and tired. And that said nothing about the guilt and crushing weight of responsibility she felt. The last three days—especially during her debriefings—her self-doubt mounted. She felt like it would break her.
But now was time to put things right.
“I’m glad you’re here.” She glanced behind them, ensuring his Secret Service detail remained out of eavesdropping range. “I wanted to tell you, as much as it means to me, you offering me the Vice-President position on the ticket, I respectfully need to decline. I believe I can better serve you, and the country, in the job I currently have. If, of course, you’ll still have me.”
Kingsley stood with his hands clasped behind his back staring at the wall. He gently rocked on the balls of his feet. “I expected you might say that. And the truth is, I actually came here to withdraw that offer, had you not declined. After seeing you over these last few days, down there,” he explained. “I realized having you as my Veep would be a terrible waste of your ability and talents, not to mention an unconscionable disservice to a country that needs you.”
His interest piqued, Kingsley said, “That is?”
Grayson leaned forward. “The person or persons responsible for all this.”
“Chase Lang? What about him?”
“Not him. You heard Chase—he was a hired gun, who’d manipulated the circumstances to his own agenda, but he was working for someone else. My team’s discovered evidence of a greater threat.”
“What sort of threat?”
“A conspiracy, a group working at some as yet unknown purpose. But one I’m sure isn’t in this country’s best interest.”
“Who?” Kingsley got angry.
“I can’t answer that. Yet. All I can say for sure, is I believe General Juan Cabrillo to be an important part of it.”
“This whole affair staged to create an alliance between him and us.”
“Yes, sir. There are those in the political spectrum that prefer we have a more positive working relationship with Cabrillo than you’ve allowed.”
“Because of the uranium.” Kingsley shook his head in disgust. “Despite the man being a brutal mass murderer and butcher.”
“Money and power make for very strange political bedfellows in this town, sir.”
“And can sway men and women from their moral compass far too easily,” Kingsley said.
“Too true, unfortunately.” We don’t know how big or how small or how deep into the halls of government this might go. How international it might be. All we’ve got to go on is a single reference. The name Leviathan.”
“What does it mean?”
“We don’t know, sir.”
“Find out. I want you to dig down to the bottom of this. No stone left unturned, and Liz?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Stop it before anyone else gets hurt.”
“We’re already on it.”