Black Rain and Black Sun 2-Book Bundle

by Graham Brown

  The president seemed to make a mental note of this. “No doubt you’re correct,” he said, with great sobriety. “I’ll make sure we discuss it with our counterparts in Mexico.”

  Danielle asked the next question. “And what about Saravich? Where is he?”

  “He’s been treated and released,” the president said.

  “Released to where?” she pressed.

  “He’s boarding a British Airways flight to London,” the president said. “From there it’s direct to Moscow.”

  “And then what?”

  Hawker could hear the concern in her voice, perhaps more plainly than she’d like. But she’d told Hawker the story. Saravich had saved her, and together they had saved him. His brother had saved Yuri from the Russian Science Directorate and then from freezing to death on the Arctic ice. By extension those acts had helped save them all. In both cases the men had violated the directives they’d been charged with. Hawker’s kind of people.

  “Don’t worry about him,” the president replied. “Ivan Saravich is a hero of the Russian people. Like the three of you, he is a hero to the world at large. The leaked story will indicate that his guards were killed in the battle with Kang and his army, but that his actions were instrumental in destroying that army, which they were. And if I know anything, I’d guess that Ivan Saravich will become a Russian celebrity of some sort and enjoy a long and honored life.”

  Danielle sat back, seeming satisfied and hopeful.

  “And what about us?” McCarter asked.

  This time Stecker answered. “In your case,” he began, “it’s simple. First, you’ll be sworn to secrecy under the Anti-Espionage Act of 1949. Under the terms of that act—”

  “Oh, spare me,” McCarter said, holding up a hand.

  “I’ve been down this road before. I get it. I promise you, I have no intention of returning from sabbatical to announce that I’ve been working as a spy, escaping from hired killers, and carrying around a magic stone that saved the world.”

  He paused, then added, “Although maybe I should. They’d probably send me on another sabbatical, this time for mental health reasons.”

  Hawker almost laughed. The feeling bubbled up within him and he just barely held it back. Without seeing the truth, it was too absurd to believe.

  Across the table, even the president smiled. He turned to Stecker. “I’m thinking we can cross that one off the list.”

  “And what about Hawker?” Danielle asked, attacking like a good lawyer.

  Moore reacted first. And Hawker guessed there were additional considerations, no doubt involving the CIA.

  Fine with him. If ever there was a time to fight it out, this was it.

  “A deal has been crafted,” Moore said.

  Before Hawker could reply, Danielle jumped to his defense. “There’s no need for a deal here. I mean, my God, what could he possibly still owe you?”

  “Nothing,” Moore admitted. “In fact, it’s my understanding that he’s come into a large sum of money. Enough to make certain that he’ll never owe anyone anything.”

  Moore looked at him. “If I were you,” he said, “I’d take that money and disappear, and never work another day in my life.”

  Hawker leaned forward. “And on the odd chance I don’t want to do that?”

  Moore raised an eyebrow. “Then you can have a full pardon,” he said. “Or a grant of immunity at all levels, or whatever you want to call it, accompanied by the CIA’s express, written apology for the situation they put you in years ago.”

  As Moore spoke, Stecker squirmed, but he made no move to refute what was being said.

  “In return for what?”

  “Your agreement to continue working as an agent of the United States for the next five years.”

  “Undercover,” Hawker said to clarify. “For the CIA?”

  “No,” Moore said. “For the NRI.”

  Hawker sat back, surprised.

  “You don’t have to do this,” Danielle interjected. “You can still go find that beach.”

  Yes, he could still go. And where would it lead him? Out on his own again. Certainly she didn’t mention coming with him.

  “There is a catch,” Moore said.

  Only one? Hawker thought. Must be a hell of a deal.

  Moore cleared his throat again, and it seemed to Hawker as if he were looking for the words.

  “Among other things,” Moore said, “it is your particular status in the world, as a known pariah of sorts, that makes you uniquely valuable. As has been discussed among the three of us behind closed doors, you are a unique asset in all the world. You can go to places we could never get an agent; you can find your way into organizations that would be impossible for us to infiltrate or even get close to without ten years to set up a cover. For you to be most effective, you’ll need to maintain that status.”

  Moore cleared his throat again. “In other words,” he said, “it must appear as if you are still on the run. Which means you will have to leave the United States within twenty-four hours.”

  The words were like a dagger to the heart. He looked over at Danielle.

  “Give me a few hours to think about it,” he said.

  “I think we can do that,” the president said.

  And with that the meeting adjourned. Stecker left immediately, muttering to himself. The president shook hands with all three heroes and then left with the Secret Service. Moore lingered, speaking to Danielle, before departing.

  And then Hawker, McCarter, and Danielle were left looking at one another.

  “What are you going to do?” Hawker asked McCarter. “Maybe you should join up full-time. I mean look, they want to hire me; they must be desperate.”

  McCarter laughed. “No thanks,” he said. “I have a son and a daughter who both have their mother’s eyes. I’m going to go see them, and stay until I’m driving them crazy. Might even reprise my Moses Negro look.”

  He laughed. “At the very least I have a couple of great stories to tell my grandkids, while they’re still young enough to believe them.”

  Danielle hugged him.

  “Stay in touch,” she said.

  “I will,” he promised.

  McCarter shook Hawker’s hand and then they hugged.

  “Stay out of trouble,” Hawker said.

  “Godspeed,” McCarter told him. “Whatever you decide.”

  McCarter left to collect his things and Hawker found himself looking at Danielle, fixed on her eyes. Lost for a moment.

  “So what are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Want to help me figure it out?”

  “Yeah,” she said.

  “I got to go get my stuff before the nurse burns it,” he said.

  “You have stuff?”

  “A few things.”

  She smiled. “All right. Meet me downstairs. I’ll wait for you.”

  Danielle went back to her room, thrilled to be leaving, excited for a chance to be out in the free world again.

  As she was packing up her stuff, the door opened. From the corner of her eye, she saw a huge bouquet of flowers. Somewhere behind it stood a man.

  “You can give those to another patient,” she said happily. “I’m getting out of here.”

  “Okay,” the man said in a surprised tone.

  She recognized his voice.

  “Marcus?” she said, spinning around. “What are you … what are you doing here?”

  He looked good, looked fit. Serious as always.

  “I blackmailed Arnold,” he said. “I wanted to make sure I came to see you.”

  “Why?” she said. “I mean not why. It’s just I’m … I’m getting out. I would have come to see you tomorrow.”

  She felt her equilibrium tumble. She had planned to go see him as soon as she got out of the hospital, but she hadn’t expected him here. She was unsure of how to react. She wasn’t ready. “You got your hair cut” was all she could come up with.

  “A couple of times,”
he said. “It’s been eight months.”

  He moved toward her and they embraced and still she didn’t know what to say.

  Hawker thanked the nurse for not throwing his watch and his pen away. That was the extent of his things.

  “It doesn’t work,” she said, pointing to the watch.

  He knew that. In fact the dial was cracked, the hands frozen at the exact time of the blast. For reasons he found hard to explain he didn’t want to let it go. It was proof of what had happened. Proof that man had done some good to his fellow man, despite what must have been a horrendous cost.

  “It works for me,” he said.

  She gave him a look that said he was even crazier than she thought and he stepped out of the room and headed down the hall.

  —————

  Danielle sat on the bed. Marcus sat beside her, holding her hand. It felt so familiar and yet strange at the same time.

  “So much has happened,” she said. “I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Who was it that took you?” he asked.

  She was about to answer but caught the words in her throat. He wasn’t part of the institute anymore; he wasn’t cleared to know.

  “Right,” he said. “This again.”

  She gazed at him, her eyes asking for some slack.

  He seemed to get the message. “I have something for you,” he said. “I know I handled things badly when you left but now that you’re back …”

  He pulled out a small case. She knew it held a ring.

  She did not reach for it.

  “I know we fought about the job,” he said, “and about you going back. But now that—whatever you were doing is over—we won’t have anything to cause those arguments anymore.”

  Her mind whirled. He was right about all that, but she didn’t want to do this now. She needed a minute.

  “I said a lot of things that were cruel,” she began. “I was angry at you for not supporting me.”

  “I didn’t want you to go, because I was worried about you and I didn’t like being left behind. So I’m sure I was just as much in the wrong as you.”

  Maybe time did change things. They were finally saying the right words instead of just trying to win the argument.

  “You know this can be good,” he added. “You know it was, before our egos got in the way.”

  He opened the case. Of course, the diamond was perfect.

  On his way to the elevator Hawker passed the nurse’s station. All smiles for him. “Having a good day?” he asked.

  “You’re leaving,” one of them said. “We’re ready to party.”

  He had to laugh.

  He stepped into the elevator and rode it down to the first floor. From there he walked to Danielle’s room. Hearing her talking to someone, he glanced inside. They were sitting on the bed holding hands.

  He pulled back quickly, surprised, stunned. He was certain that they hadn’t seen him, but feeling like an intruder, he backed away. Right into Arnold Moore.

  Moore stepped past him and peeked into the room, then came back to where Hawker stood.

  “Bad timing,” Hawker said.

  “There’s some history there,” Moore advised. “I’d tread lightly if I were you.”

  Hawker clenched his jaw as the reality of the situation crashed in on him. Things happened when people were under pressure and far from home, but the normal world was something different. He wanted to talk with Danielle, tell her how he felt, most of which she already knew or guessed at. But what would that lead to? She was getting out and lining up on final approach for a normal life, one without blood and death and destruction around every corner. Just as he’d suggested she should. How the hell could he ask her not to?

  “Might be better if I don’t tread at all,” he said.

  Moore nodded, noncommittal. He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked down the hall. “You make a decision?”

  “Yeah, I’m in,” Hawker said, making it that moment. “Send me on my way.”

  Moore pulled a passport wallet from his coat. “Instructions are in there, along with new ID and papers,” he said. “We have a car waiting outside, and a ticket for you to Miami. Transport will be standing by.”

  Hawker studied Moore. He had a new sense of the man. He guessed they’d argue plenty over the next five years. But at least he knew he could trust him.

  “I’ll give you your money back,” he said. “When the five years are up.”

  “Interest?” Moore asked.

  “Probably not.”

  Moore shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

  Hawker took the papers. “Don’t you drag her back in,” he warned.

  “Once was too often,” Moore assured him.

  Hawker nodded and then reluctantly started for the far door. “Tell her I said goodbye.”

  “I will,” Moore promised.

  Danielle pulled the ring from the case. The facets caught the light and it sparkled almost like the Brazil stone. It was awfully pretty. But pretty things did not move her anymore. Never really had. She pushed it away.

  “I don’t want you to be angry,” she said.

  He looked as if he was. But it didn’t matter. She’d decided something in San Ignacio, even before she’d kissed Hawker. It had to do with living for the future.

  “I went back to the NRI because I had to,” she said, stating her original position. “But also because I wanted to.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “You like your life,” she said. “You like teaching, and your friends, and the university. You like the consulting work and the lobbying firm. But for me those things were just okay.”

  “You’ll get used to them,” he said.

  “I don’t want to get used to anything,” she said.

  He inhaled a deep breath and looked away, as if trying to hold back.

  “I don’t feel pity for you,” she said. “You have almost everything you want in life. You got shot and almost died and instead of crawling into a hole you’re in the world building an empire. The only thing about your life that brings you pain is me.”

  “That’s not always the case,” he said with conviction.

  “No, not always,” she said. “But it shouldn’t ever be. If I stay and live your life, I will resent you forever, because this isn’t where I belong. And if I continue with the NRI, you will always worry about me and always be reminded of what happened to you. I don’t want either of those things.”

  “What do you want?” he asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But until I find it I’m not willing to give up the search.”

  He looked as if he was about to launch into the full-court press, the all-out effort to change her mind, but he didn’t. Reluctantly, he put the ring away, closed the box, and stood up. A long moment of silence followed. “You win,” he said finally.

  “No one wins,” she said. He leaned toward her. They hugged and he walked out.

  She watched him go, knowing she’d hurt him again, but feeling like she had finally done the right thing for everyone including herself. She gathered up the rest of her belongings, walked out and down the hall. Moore waited there for her.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said, certain of it for the first time in a while. “I am.”

  “I saw Marcus leave,” he said. “You not going home?”

  “The NRI is my home,” she said. “And I’m grabbing on with both hands.”

  He smiled. “You’ll end up old and lonely like me.”

  “I can think of worse things,” she said. “Where’s Hawker?”

  “He’s gone,” Moore said.

  Her heart dropped. This could not be happening. If Hawker vanished into the haze she might never find him again.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Did he say where he was going?”

  “No,” Moore replied. “But he’ll check in when he gets there.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He took
the deal,” Moore said.

  She was very surprised. “You’re serious?”

  “Uh-huh,” Moore said. “Now, I just need to find someone to be his contact. Someone who might be able to keep him under control and out of trouble. I was thinking Carson or Palomino or …”

  She glared at him. “You give that job to anyone but me and I will kill you right here and now.”

  “Well,” he said, false shock covering his face, “since I can’t even afford a funeral these days … I guess the job is yours.”

  CHAPTER 70

  Hawker was riding shotgun in a Bell JetRanger as it crossed the Everglades of South Florida and descended toward the tarmac in an isolated corner of Miami International.

  Someone in the NRI or CIA had telegraphed his whereabouts to the State Department, part of the cover he would now maintain. As a result, U.S. marshals and members of the FBI were undoubtedly searching for him, possibly even in Miami. To keep the cover clean he would have to stay on the run. He was used to that.

  As the JetRanger descended, Hawker gazed across the flat expanse of Florida. The air was warm and humid, an incredible difference from frigid Washington. To the west the sun was setting, a giant orange ball once again, falling through the hazy sky.

  The latest estimates had the poles returning to normal after thirty-seven days, and a similar event as not likely to occur for another five thousand years.

  In the meantime, the aurora that had sprouted over central Mexico was being watched closely, guarded by an impressive phalanx of military hardware but left alone. All involved agreed that ignorant interference in the device would only risk its failure.

  Yuri had been carried back to San Ignacio and buried on holy ground, a martyr unknown to most of the world. Perhaps as it should be.

  The JetRanger touched down at the center of the helipad. The pilot pointed across the ramp, to an old, unadorned cargo jet.

  Hawker shook the pilot’s hand and grabbed his pack. He jumped out of the helicopter and made his way across the apron to a forty-year-old DC-8, retrofitted with new engines.

  The plane carried no markings. But the men who stood outside it were most definitely retired military. Thirty-year vets by the look of things: weathered, confident faces, gray buzz cuts and steely eyes.