by Rawlin Cash
“And you only see threats from within?”
“We’ll all be killed by our own side in the end, Ma’am. Mark my words.”
“I feel like you’re trying to tell me something, Hale.”
“This scheme that’s going on right now. Two presidents dead. You on the run. I’d bet my life it’s got an internal angle. It wouldn’t be possible without someone from our own side having a hand in it.”
Jennifer looked grim. She was no stranger to the intrigues of political life, she hadn’t gotten where she was without getting her hands dirty, but Hale’s viewpoint was pessimistic even by her standards.
“So if all threats come from within, why do you work for the CIA?”
Hale took his time answering. It was a question he rarely asked himself. For someone so interested in his place in the world, he rarely acknowledged to himself that he’d gotten there by choice, that he was there because he wanted to be, because he’d fought long and hard to get there.
“I guess, at the end of the day, Jennifer, I’m just one more rat in the mess. My tail is as tangled as any other. Something drew me in initially, although I couldn’t rightly tell you what it was now. Not that it matters. I’m tied up in it and I can’t get free without gnawing my own tail off.”
“A rat can’t gnaw off its own tail.”
“No it can’t.”
“You’ve pictured it, haven’t you, Hale? You’ve pictured the rat that breaks free.”
Hale smiled, but said nothing.
Twenty-Five
Fawn flew in to the US military observation facility in Quitovac, Sonora. During the cartel crisis, the army set up military bases in northern Mexico and there were no plans to relinquish them any time soon. From the base she took a civilian vehicle down the coast to the town of Puerto Peñasco.
They’d tracked Hunter by satellite and she was surprised when she got to the house to see that an old woman and young child were also there. She watched them from her car and after about thirty minutes Hunter appeared on the front porch. He stood there looking at her.
She grabbed her folder and ran up to the house, unarmed and unwired.
“Fawn Aspen,” Hunter said.
Fawn looked around the house. It was domestic, comfortable, homey.
“I like what you’ve done to the place,” she said.
Hunter led her into the kitchen. It had a view of the ocean. They sat at the counter and looked out at the water. A Mexican woman in her sixties prepared coffee and brought it to them on a tray with pastries.
“I didn’t know you had family down here.”
“My family, man, woman and child, is dead,” Hunter said.
Fawn was surprised he said that. He usually kept things as impersonal as possible, as if even now, even though they were dead, not talking about them might keep them safer.
He looked embarrassed.
“Who’s the child?” she said to change the subject.
“I knew her mother. She was a prostitute in Culiacán.”
“Always such a romantic,” Fawn said, remembering the woman from the report. She’d been murdered in her apartment along with the child’s grandmother. “So you’re looking after her?”
Hunter had a look on his face like it was the first time he’d given it any thought.
“I couldn’t leave her there,” he said.
“And the woman?”
“Antonia. I hired her to keep house.”
“I see.”
Hunter took a sip of his coffee and looked at her.
Fawn knew he knew why she was there. President Walker had been shot just hours ago. Jennifer Blackmore had addressed the nation in a short speech in front of what was quite clearly a backdrop of the US Capitol circa 1975. The government was in crisis.
The nation was abuzz with rumors and every media outlet was trying to explain the presidential line of succession and how continuity of government worked. Blackmore was the third president in as many days and her swearing in had done little to reassure the nation.
“You know why I’m here,” Fawn said after a brief silence.
Antonia had taken the child out onto the beach. Fawn thought the child looked remarkably settled for someone who’d essentially been kidnapped by a CIA assassin.
“I know why you’re here,” he said.
Fawn held his gaze. He was handsome but there was a darkness in his eyes, a depth that led to an utter abyss. She knew what had been done to him and it scared her. He would only ever be half a man. Half man, half ghost. That was all that was left. But she supposed men were half rotten anyway, so depending on which half he’d lost, he might have come out better than he’d gone in.
“Will you help us?” she said.
“Am I really the one you need?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I don’t know what other assets are available. I know Hale and the president want you.”
“Which president?”
“Blackmore.”
Hunter smiled. “Wouldn’t she rather rely on the secret service? Isn’t that more in keeping with her principles?”
Fawn looked at the ocean. Jennifer had been very outspoken in her opposition to Mantis.
“I didn’t realize she’d hurt your feelings,” she said.
Hunter let out of a laugh. “I’m just saying, she’s on the record saying I’m an abomination, literally an abomination, but her first day on the job she sends you to come get me.”
“Maybe she’s listening to Hale.”
“Hale doesn’t trust me any more than Blackmore does.”
Fawn shrugged. She took a sip of her coffee. It was strong.
“She knows her life’s at risk.”
“It’s not the CIA’s job to protect her.”
“The secret service failed to protect Jackson and Walker. Would you want to rely on them?”
“What about the military?”
“They’re doing their job, sure, but they’re too porous. This threat is too up close.”
“Doesn’t Hale have any new programs? Any Mantis 2.0?”
“You’d know the answer to that better than I would,” she said.
“How’s that?”
“Because you like to visit NSA data centers.”
Hunter smiled. “So you got my package?”
Fawn looked at him. She was irritated. She hadn’t expected him to jump at the job offer. If she was him, she wouldn’t have wanted anything to do with the government. But something about talking to him, the way the conversation went, the constant sparring, it felt personal. Like they knew each other better than they did. It was like they were an old couple, bickering over whose turn it was to take out the trash.
“I’d love to stay here all day and chat,” she said.
“Jesus, Fawn. I’m just …”.
“Just what?”
Hunter shrugged.
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I get it. You’ve got no one down here to talk to so you’ve got to try and get an argument going with me.”
“I’m just saying, she’s against people like me. Don’t I have a right to ask a few questions?”
“She’s against soldier enhancements. So what? She’s hardly the only one. You’re against them too, aren’t you?”
He laughed. “I wouldn’t wish this on anyone.”
“With her as president, there certainly won’t be any more programs like Mantis.”
“There will always be programs like Mantis, Fawn. You know that. All their secret funds and secret programs. Even the president doesn’t know what they’re cooking up in those skunk works.”
Fawn sighed. She drank more coffee. She wanted to leave. That would piss him off. She knew he was as eager to hear what she had as she was to tell him.
“Speaking of skunk words,” she said, “here’s what we’ve got. Two presidents shot dead. There’s something up with the bullets. The technology looks like a more advanced version of the smart bullets DARPA currently has under development.”
&nb
sp; “Those programs are years from delivering,” Hunter said.
“Exactly. But someone’s got a working version. A version far better than our own.”
“How is that possible?”
“Maybe someone’s smarter than us.”
“Maybe,” Hunter said wryly.
Fawn had a good idea of Hunter’s view on the issue. She shared it. In all likelihood, any new military technology had its origin in the US. If someone else got their hands on it, it meant there was a traitor in the US selling it to them.
“It’s a sniper system,” she said. “I’m calling it a super sniper. Looks like he can identify targets remotely, maybe by drone, and can shoot them without a line of sight.”
“The drone designates and the bullet homes in?”
“Looks like it.”
“That’s a very dangerous combination.”
“It means any time the president is in the open, she’s at risk.”
“The secret service is obsessed with sight lines.”
“Yes, all their strategies involve securing sight lines. They’re not equipped to offer protection from this type of targeting.”
“So you want me to come in and find the sniper.”
“Is that too much to ask?”
Hunter shook his head. “Drink your coffee,” he said.
She looked down at her cup and took another sip.
He said, “Any idea who’s behind the attacks?”
“No clue,” she said. “Maybe the NSA has a theory. Nothing I’ve been brought into the loop on.”
“Could be anyone,” Hunter said.
“There are a lot of reasons to want to kill a president.”
“But to kill two?”
“You don’t think it’s some sort of political wack job, do you?” Fawn said.
“Not with advanced weaponry.”
She knew he was right. This was a sophisticated opponent. There was money at play. Money and power.
“You know what I was thinking?” Hunter said.
“Tell me.”
“Someone wants a new president. They’ve got their claws into someone who’s already on the line of succession. If they want to put that person in power, all they have to do is keep killing all the way down the line.”
“And when they stop?”
“That’s when they’ve got their man.”
“Or woman,” she said.
Hunter nodded. “Could be they’ve already got who they want. Maybe it was all a ploy to put Jennifer in the White House.”
“We’ll know if they come after her.”
Hunter shrugged.
“It’s worth looking into,” Fawn said. “I’ll start running over everyone in the line of succession. They’re all constantly vetted but I could look a little harder. Look at their connections. See if anything looks fishy.”
“Everything will look fishy,” Hunter said. “I guarantee it. These people are all in bed with each other. And with Putin. And with China. And with the Arabs. And the Europeans. And the British. And every billionaire you’ve ever heard of.”
“And haven’t heard of.”
“The thing about Washington,” Hunter said, “is that everyone always has a motive. Even when they’re playing by the rules, they always have a massive motive to go out and play dirty.”
“That’s harsh.”
“Think about it, Fawn. They’re playing a game where the only way to win is to cheat. What kind of person puts their life into a game like that?”
She shrugged.
He finished his coffee.
“So you’ll help us?” she said.
Hunter got the coffee pot and poured them each a fresh cup. “If you look after the child,” he said.
“I can get that taken care of.”
“No. I don’t want it taken care of. I want you to do it personally.”
Twenty-Six
Hunter and Fawn took a government jet from Quitovac to the Greenbrier Valley Airport. The interior of the plane was plush, upholstered in tan leather. They were the only two passengers and Hunter noticed the air hostess more than he should have. He didn’t know who was hotter, her or Fawn. It had been over a month since he’d been with a woman and his body was feeling it. He told himself it was a healthy sign.
They’d left the child with Antonia and Hunter had extracted a promise from Fawn to come back and get her as soon as she could. It had been his only condition.
Hunter had trouble with the idea that he was purely a harbinger of death. He was brought in to kill, and every time he got to work, he left a pool of blood. Doing something for the child was his way of fighting back the darkness.
Fawn was on her iPad. “We’ve got more intel on the bullet,” she said.
Hunter was interested but he was watching the air hostess and didn’t want to take his eyes off her. She was preparing their drinks, coffee for Hunter and orange juice for Fawn, and everything she needed was in a low cupboard that she had to bend over to access. She was well-toned with shoulder-length blonde hair and small breasts.
“I’m sorry,” Fawn said. “Am I distracting you?”
Hunter let a smile spread across his face but continued looking at the hostess.
“I’m listening.”
“I’m not saying another word,” Fawn said, and she didn’t.
She waited for the hostess to bring the drinks and then asked her to give them some privacy. The hostess withdrew to the cockpit.
Hunter took a sip of the coffee and it tasted good. He’d gotten used to the little packets of nescafé from the grocery store in Puerto Peñasco and this was an improvement.
“What did they find out about the bullet?” Hunter said. “Does it bare any resemblance to the two currently under development?”
“That’s the thing,” Fawn said. “We’ve brought in specialists from DARPA and Honeywell and Lockheed. They know the current prototypes back to front.”
“And?”
“And this one is leagues ahead of what we’ve got.”
“So it resembles the Russian prototype?”
“No, definitely not. If anything, it’s a highly advanced version of one of ours.”
“Which one?”
“The Honeywell.”
Hunter looked down at his coffee. That was exactly what he’d been hoping not to hear.
“So the drone probably was doing the targeting,” he said.
Fawn nodded.
The Honeywell prototype worked like an airstrike, with someone on the ground marking the target, and the projectile being fired from a different location. It meant the shooter did not need to be in sight of the target and, in Hunter’s opinion, made it significantly more difficult to protect a specific target like the president from a shooter.
“This is an assassin’s wet dream,” Hunter said.
Fawn opened the small bag of pretzels the hostess had given her. “We still don’t know how the targeting works,” she said.
“You can say that again,” Hunter said. “I don’t see how they managed the shot in the capitol.”
“We’ve got a team of ballistics guys looking at it but they can’t come up with anything either.”
“And how on earth did someone develop this before us?”
“Hale’s working on that,” Fawn said. “Apparently Fitzpatrick knows about some technology transfers that might help explain it.”
“I might have guessed the NSA had a hand in this.”
“Not directly. But he has a theory. I’m sure we’ll find out more when we get to the Greenbrier.”
The plane was already descending and Hunter looked out the window at the Appalachian countryside. Below them was the industrial backbone of the country. He knew the land well. He knew the story. The mines. The workers. The layoffs. The cancer. The poverty. The opiates.
“When will they ever stop?” he said suddenly.
“Stop what?”
“Fucking us.”
“The NSA?”
Hunter sighed.
“Whoever it is that’s fucking us,” he said.
Fawn looked at him. He looked back at her and for a moment their eyes locked and it was as if they were really seeing each other.
Hunter made to speak and then stopped himself. She knew he had something to get off his chest.
“You’ll go back for that kid?” he said. “You promised.”
“I’ll figure something out.”
Before the plane landed, the air hostess came back to get their empty cups and Hunter had to force himself not to stare. He looked out the window at the countryside. He counted fifty holes on the Greenbrier golf courses.
On the ground no one was waiting for them and they had to call a cab to get to the hotel.
“What’s Hale’s idea, bringing everyone here?” Hunter said in the back of the cab.
Fawn was looking out the window at the expanse of white stone that made up the magnificent facade of the hotel. She didn’t answer.
“You ever play golf here?” Hunter said to the driver.
“No, sir,” the driver said. “I’ve gambled though.”
“How’s that?” Hunter said.
“Not bad. They’ll comp your drinks if you buy a decent amount of chips.”
“That’s not bad.”
“They turn out to be expensive drinks in the end.”
Hunter nodded. He tipped the driver a twenty when they got out.
He didn’t know what to expect from the arrangements at the hotel. He knew it had once been the site of a massive underground compound that could house the government in the event of a nuclear attack. That had all been dismantled twenty years ago.
There was a sign advertising tickets to view the bunker. For thirty bucks he could go right in.
Fawn led them to the front desk and they checked in like normal guests. They got a suite and Hunter saw the rate was almost eight hundred a night.
“Your bags?” the bellhop said.
“The airline lost them,” Hunter said.
The bellhop nodded and asked if he could show them to their room.
“We’re meeting someone in the bar,” Fawn said.
Hunter followed her to the bar. It was beautiful, with a checkered marble floor and wallpaper that looked like the pages of an illustrated children’s book. The upholstery was colorful. They sat at a table by a window overlooking the garden. The shrubs made a pattern like a family crest.