“I wish I could take the credit, but it’s a team effort. Ah . . . Beaumont told me something you need to know.”
“All right . . .” Benson listened while Ryan laid out the sacrifice McBride and Fontana thought they were making to ensure the grenades didn’t get loose.
“Incredible,” Benson said, “although I’m not surprised. Like father, like son.”
“So it would seem.”
“No goodbyes,” Benson said as he hung up. When he spoke to the president in a few minutes, he planned to give the Border Patrol a nice plug for its role in the success of the mission.
He leaned back and looked at the ceiling. He felt terrible about losing a man, but he sat in the director’s chair because he could make the tough decisions, fully knowing the cost in human life. Even so, a single loss was too many. He planned to personally contact the dead PMC’s family with his condolences.
Walking toward the Oval Office, he called Rebecca. “It seems your faith in BSI isn’t misplaced. We’ve got the WMDs.”
“That’s great news. Did we lose anyone?”
He told her what Chief Ryan had relayed about losing a BSI contractor.
“At the risk of sounding callous, it could’ve been much worse.”
“It’s not callous; it’s the truth.”
“Thank you for trusting me about using BSI.”
“Of course. Listen, I need to call off the B-2s. Menendez was on board for the surgical strike, but he didn’t know about our fail-safe backup plan. If we’d had to drop sixty tons of bombs on Mexican soil, it would’ve been a diplomatic crap sandwich.”
“Good thing we don’t have to take a bite.”
“No kidding. McBride and Fontana did well. I’ll be in touch with you later this morning. You get some sleep.”
He made a call to the secretary of defense, who was more than pleased with the news.
The door to the personal secretary to the president lay open, but he still gently knocked on its jamb. Madeleine Westerhout looked up and smiled.
“You’re working late, Maddy.”
“It didn’t feel right going home. Go on in; he’s just finishing a call.”
Benson walked in front of her desk and stopped at the open door. Still on the phone, President Trump waved him forward. He kept a respectful distance until the president finished the call.
“The First Lady says I need to call it a day. From your expression, sounds like she’ll get her way. Is the news good?”
“Mr. President, the news is extremely good. We’ve recovered all of the WMD grenades.”
“Did we lose anyone?”
“Yes . . . One BSI contractor . . . He was KIA on site.”
“I’d like to personally offer my condolences to the family, if that’s okay with them.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem. I’m sure Vincent Beaumont will be more than willing to make all the arrangements. You’d like to do that here, in your office?”
“Yes.” The president must’ve sensed there was something else because he said, “You look like a man with something more to say.”
Benson nodded. “You aren’t going to believe what Nathan McBride and Harvey Fontana did to make sure we kept control of the grenades.”
EPILOGUE
Being inside the green-and-white landscape of Arlington’s hallowed grounds felt humbling and, honestly, a little unsettling. Even though Nathan fully understood the cost of freedom, he had a hard time wrapping his mind around so many fallen heroes—more than four hundred thousand were laid to rest here.
Holly slowed her SUV when a black squirrel scurried across the road.
Seated between Jin and his mom in the back seat, Lauren didn’t comment at seeing her favorite animal. Normally, she would’ve, but the mood in the car had been subdued during the drive over from the Willard. He knew Lauren’s arm and rib cage served as constant reminders of what she’d been through.
Physically, his niece was okay. Mentally, not so much.
It would take her a long time to get over seeing her grandfather murdered, especially the way he’d sacrificed himself to save her.
The lead vehicle, driven by Vince’s brother, turned at a fork in the road. It made Nathan think of a choice he’d made early in life: to join the Marines rather than pursue a theatrical career. He couldn’t help but wonder how starkly different his life would’ve been.
Off to the west, the sky looked sharp and menacing. A few booms of distant thunder had rumbled across the cemetery but, so far, no rain.
Twenty other vehicles were part of today’s small motorcade, nothing compared to the two-mile-long procession at yesterday’s public service, where his father had received a full military honors burial.
Nathan had appreciated every aspect of the age-old ritual: the horse-drawn carriage carrying the draped casket, the flag-folding, rifle volleys, bugling of “Taps,” the chaplain’s prayer. Everything. The service had been masterfully performed by a multiservice honor guard with every branch of the armed services represented. Stone McBride had served in the Marines, but the secretary of defense—a close friend of Stone’s—had requested the mixed honor guard.
He’d wanted to sit next to his mom, but the high-profile nature of the service—live coverage on every cable news network because President Trump had attended—meant their faces would’ve been seen by millions of people. Not an option, especially for Jin. Besides, Cantrell had strongly suggested—ordered, really—that they blend in with the crowd during the public service. Knowing this smaller private service would take place today, his mom had been okay being seated next to Senator Kemper and his wife—her closest friends—instead of her immediate family.
Holly pulled to the shoulder along with the rest of the motorcade, and they climbed out. He felt a wave of dizziness and steadied himself against the fender.
“Are you okay, Uncle Nate? Here, I’ll help you.” Lauren took his hand as the five of them walked deeper into the grounds.
Limping from the calf wound she’d sustained in the alley, Jin stayed next to Holly. His sister wasn’t the only one limping. Off to his left, Vince hobbled along on crutches while his brother pushed Charlene’s wheelchair across the grass. Vince’s hip had required replacement surgery because the bullet had smashed through his femur head, severed the ligament, ruined cartilage, and shattered his acetabulum.
Nathan watched Jin take in the vast latticework of headstones and wondered if North Korea had something similar. Probably not.
His sister looked nice in a formal black dress. And Holly? She looked stunning. No other word fit.
“You were a little quiet on the drive over,” he said to Lauren. “You okay?”
“I guess. It’s hard to believe Grandpa’s gone. Everything happened so fast.”
“Yeah, that’s usually how it goes. How’s the rib cage?”
“It only hurts when I breathe.”
He liked the wry humor; it reminded him of his dad.
“Then don’t breathe.”
“Funny.”
“Lauren.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m really proud of you. I mean the way you’ve handled all of this.”
“Thanks. I try not to think about it too much. It seemed like a bad dream . . . still kinda does.”
Harv and his wife, Candace, converged with them from where they’d parked. After a two-minute walk, they were close to the grave site.
“Wow,” Lauren said. “Is that Vice President Pence?”
“Yes. Try not to drool on his shoes, okay?”
“Ha ha ha. I get to meet him, don’t I?”
“Absolutely.”
“Hey, there’s Senator Kemper. Who are all these other people?”
“Do you know what the intelligence community is?”
Lauren looked up at him and thought for a moment. “Not really.”
“It’s the term for all agencies under the Office of the Director of National Intelligence. I recognize some of the directors, but most of
them I don’t know on sight. Good thing Holly requested name tags for everyone.”
“No kidding.”
Quietly, he asked his niece, “Do you remember how to address people? Do you want to go over it again?”
“If it says ‘Director’ on their name tag, I say ‘Director,’ then their last name.”
“That’s right. Same with ‘Senator’ and ‘Secretary.’ If you’re not sure, then just say ‘sir’ or ‘ma’am.’ Call the vice president ‘Mr. Vice President.’ The Speaker of the House is here, so use ‘Speaker,’ then his last name. The Department of Defense is also well represented. I don’t recognize all of them, but the secretary of the Navy, the commandant of the Marine Corps, and the sergeant major of the Marines are here.”
“Their uniforms look really cool.”
“I’m also seeing several Supreme Court justices, so use ‘Justice,’ then their last name, except for Chief Justice Roberts, add ‘Chief.’”
“Got it,” she said. “I’m a little nervous.”
“You aren’t the only one,” Holly said.
“You’re nervous too?”
Holly nodded. “You know what keeps me out of trouble, Lauren?”
“No, what?”
“When I’m uncertain what to say, I don’t say anything.”
“That’s the best advice you’ll ever get,” Nathan added.
“Don’t worry,” Holly added. “Everyone you’re going to meet loves to talk, so let them.”
“I will.”
Two semicircular rows of seats were arranged surrounding a lectern with the Marine Corps emblem. Attired in dress blues and holding American flags, a squad of Marines stood behind the seats.
Nathan didn’t know how such things were decided, but he was pleased to see his father’s grave lying next to George Beaumont’s—they’d served together in the Korean War.
“Holly, this is . . . beautiful. Thank you again for arranging it.”
“Of course, it was my honor.”
Hands down, the best part of this memorial service was seeing Charlene Beaumont. She seemed aware and alert. From what the doctors could determine, she hadn’t suffered any permanent brain damage. She’d come out of the coma during their raid against the Rio Grande cell. Vince had found out about it when he’d called his son from El Paso’s emergency room. His only son now, Nathan thought. Losing a child like that was the worst tragedy imaginable. He hoped Vince and Charlene would find a way to cope. Had Charlene not acted so quickly and fought back, Vince would’ve lost his entire family.
As Nathan approached, he felt the scrutiny from many pairs of eyes. It didn’t bother him. No doubt everyone attending knew of BSI’s successful mission, and they were understandably curious.
Nathan, Harv, and Vince shook hands with everyone present, including the Marines holding the flags. Lauren and Jin were right behind them, also shaking hands. Vice President Pence thanked Nathan and Harv for their service, both recently and as retired Marines and CIA operations officers. Most of the people present—men and women alike—had worked with his father at one time or another. It felt good seeing them pay their respects.
The groundskeepers had done an amazing job. Transplanted sod made it look as though nothing had been disturbed. Nathan couldn’t help but notice the available plot next to his father’s and hoped he’d be laid to rest there, though not too soon.
He took his seat, this time next to his mother. Not a single reporter or photographer could be seen, which suited him just fine.
The service opened with a prayer, beautifully delivered by a member of the US Navy Chaplain Corps. FBI Director Lansing read a eulogy that Holly had written. Anyone who wanted to say a few words or recap a brief story about his father took a turn at the lectern. No one spoke for more than two minutes.
When it was Vince’s turn, he thanked everyone for coming, specifically mentioning the vice president. He then put both hands on the lectern and started. “Stone wasn’t Senator McBride’s birth name. It was Matthew, named after the apostle. We called him Stone because of the incredible bravery he displayed during the Korean War. His Marine Corps platoon had been assigned to shore up an Army battalion that had come under heavy fire. Hunkered down in their foxholes, his platoon had endured half an hour’s worth of near-constant mortar bombardment. In an act of sheer defiance, what some might call recklessness, he climbed out of his foxhole, stood on its rim, and emptied his M1 at the enemy line, some two hundred yards distant. My father, George, who’d been in the foxhole with him, yelled, ‘Get down from there, Stonewall Jackson, before you take one where it won’t bounce off!’”
That drew a few laughs.
“Senator McBride’s act of bravery inspired everyone along the line, and they charged the enemy’s mortar position, overrunning it, and ultimately winning the battle. From that moment on, everyone called him Stone, a name that truly fit. He died protecting his granddaughter from certain death, the very definition of a hero. It was my honor to know him.”
The moment had arrived.
Nathan’s turn to speak.
Even knowing exactly what he planned to say, the words almost escaped him. He stepped up to the lectern and took a few seconds to compose himself. He’d been through a lot over his lifetime, but this solemn duty felt like the most difficult thing he’d ever attempted.
He took a deep breath. “I’m not very good at this, so I’m only going to offer two sentences . . .” He looked at Holly for strength, then said, “The measure of a man isn’t determined by his life’s accomplishments; it’s determined by how badly he will be missed. My father’s passing is an ache on all of our souls.”
With emotion threatening to overwhelm him, he stepped away from the lectern and embraced Holly. He closed his eyes, trying to hold it together. He didn’t want to break down in front of these people.
Holly wiped her cheeks. She’d known his father well; they’d been friends for several years. More than that. She’d once told Nathan she thought of Stone as her father-in-law.
Vice President Pence immediately got up and offered his hand. “Mr. McBride, those could be the two finest sentences ever spoken here.”
“Thank you, Mr. Vice President.”
After the chaplain’s closing prayer, everyone converged on Nathan to pay their respects again and shake his hand. He motioned for Harv and Vince to join him. They deserved this gratitude as much as he did. The assault against the Rio Grande cell had been a team effort. He wished every member of BSI’s fire teams could’ve been here.
Off in the distance, a three-round volley echoed across the grounds as another hero was laid to rest.
The service concluded, and people began walking across the lawn back to their cars.
He asked Lauren to stay with his mom and Jin when he saw Director Benson nod him over. Harv, Holly, Vince, and Charlene joined him.
Rebecca Cantrell stood next to Benson, along with Border Patrol Chief Ryan Switzer. “Hello, Holly. Still keeping good company, I see.”
“It’s good to see you again,” Holly told Cantrell.
Benson offered Charlene his hand. “I’m very sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you, Director.”
“I can’t begin to imagine what it was like at that mall, but from what I heard, you acted decisively. A Marine, through and through.”
She said thank you again.
Benson continued. “I haven’t had a chance to thank you three in person, so on behalf of myself and every American, who will never know what you guys did, thank you.”
Nathan liked DNI Benson. There was nothing pretentious about the man—probably why Benson and Rebecca got along so well.
The vice president finished a conversation with the Marine Corps commandant, waved goodbye, and started back to his motorcade—Secret Service detail in tow.
“Ladies, if it’s okay, I’d like a few moments with your men,” Benson said.
Several yards back, two men in suits accompanied them as they parted ways with the wo
men and walked down the row of white headstones. Security for the DNI, Nathan knew. Benson didn’t say anything until they were well out of earshot.
“I thought you’d want to know that Alisio and El Lobo caved without much trouble. All we had to do was threaten to turn them over to the Mexican authorities. President Menendez wants them back for a high-profile public trial and sentencing. It’s all part of the game. We offered to protect them from what would surely be a living hell in a Mexican penitentiary in exchange for everything they knew about their ISIS connections. Bank accounts, contact names, dates, locations . . . you get the picture. Right now, they believe they aren’t being extradited, but once we’re finished with them, they’re heading back to Mexico to face multiple charges of murder, extortion, racketeering, money laundering, et cetera. They’ll both get life without parole.”
“That’s good news,” Nathan said. “Will you be able to trace the WMDs all the way back to their source in North Korea?”
“That’s our goal. The captain of Alisio’s private yacht is offering his testimony in exchange for full immunity and a new life inside the WITSEC program. There might be some politics in play if we can establish the WMDs were stolen or sold. Either way, it’s equally damaging and embarrassing to DPRK’s regime. The rest of the world won’t be pleased to learn the North Koreans failed to control those WMDs, especially given their nuclear efforts. It might be enough to push things over the top and get the international community to go beyond sanctions and implement a complete boycott of all trade.”
“Let’s hope so,” Harv said. “It might still be possible to avoid military action.”
“Are you confident we recovered all of the grenades?” Nathan asked.
“Yes. The ISIS leadership paid two million apiece for them . . . in Bitcoins. We found the good-faith deposit on Alisio’s computer.”
Nathan shook his head.
“What?”
“It’s discouraging to know that ISIS has that much disposable cash. Let me guess. It’s a proverbial drop in the bucket for them?”
“More like a cup of water than a drop, but yes, they have state-sponsored sources of cash. We’re working hard to shut them down.”
Hired to Kill Page 33
