by Brad Taylor
81
I woke up a little disoriented, confused for a second about where I was. The drive from the nuclear plant was a splintered dream, Jennifer spending her time weaving across lanes as she talked on the phone and tended to me. I was now in a bed, swathed in bandages, and it clicked that Jennifer had managed to get me inside the Taskforce, to the little medical department we kept for injuries that couldn’t go to a hospital.
I heard the door open, hoping it was Jennifer, but seeing Kurt instead. Then I remembered that Jennifer wasn’t allowed in here. Great. Probably won’t see her until the arraignment.
“How’re you feeling?”
“I’ll live.”
Kurt smiled. “You’re a hard man to kill, I’ll give you that. Broken clavicle seems to be the worst of it.”
I didn’t return the smile. “So what’s my status?”
“Don’t know yet. The politicians are monitoring the press. I got the president to hold off on anything hasty. If something pops, they’ll decide whether to throw you under the bus.”
I nodded. “That’s fine. I’m ready for whatever. I only ask two things.”
“What’s that?”
“Number one, you let Jennifer go. There’s no reason for two folks to go to jail. I’m enough. Can you make that happen?”
Kurt paused a second, considering, then said, “Yeah, I can get that done. What’s number two?”
“The president comes in here before I go to jail and gives me a fucking thank-you.”
“Uhh… I don’t know about that one. You might have to settle for me.”
I laughed, then grimaced at the pain in my shoulder. “I know. A man can hope, though.”
Kurt said, “It’s not as bad as you think. We’ve got a pretty good plan in place.” He told me the cover story involving the Secret Service CAT team and the “misfire” at the nuclear plant, which was good, then the fact that nobody could predict the actions of the boy, which was bad.
“It’s holding up so far, though, so maybe it’ll be okay.”
Before I could answer, Holly entered the room with a bunch of balloons and flowers, like I was twelve and just had my tonsils out. She was followed by a nurse, who went straight to the machines monitoring my status.
“What the hell is this shit?” I said. “Are you kidding me?”
Holly said, “Cut the crap. It’s a girl thing. We’re just happy you’re alive.”
She put the balloons next to the bed, a DVD on my lap, turned to Kurt, and said, “Sir, I’ve got something a little urgent to show you. Sorry to interrupt.”
Kurt said, “No problem. We were just bullshitting anyway. Pike, I think you’ll be good. You mentioned a thank-you, and you’re on to something. The president’s a good man. He’ll remember what you did. I’ll make sure of it.”
I rolled my eyes, letting him know what I thought of that little bit of hope. He smiled and left the room, followed by Holly. She paused at the door for a second, waiting until Kurt was in the hallway, then turned to me and stage-whispered, “You owe me more than dinner now.”
What the hell is she talking about?
I looked at the balloons next to the bed, thinking she’d lost her mind if she believed I was going to owe her something for bringing me that crap. I picked up the DVD and turned it over.
The Princess Bride.
The nurse spoke, and I realized what the payback was for.
“Still trying to piss off the boss, huh?”
Jennifer was smiling, and looked very, very good. I smiled back. “How’d you get in here?”
“Holly and I are best friends now. She helped me break in, along with telling me some stories about you that probably should be kept hidden.”
“Really. Breaking the rules. What’s that about?”
She came around the bed and took my hand. “Well, someone told me that the rules only applied if you let them. I thought I’d check out that theory.”
“Sounds like a genius. How’s it working for you?”
She gave me a crooked grin that cut straight to my core. “Pretty good so far. I’ll let you know in a couple of weeks.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’m the only one in danger now.” I told her about my conversation with Kurt, then noticed the baseball cap she was wearing. It had Romans 3:8 stitched on the back, the Bible quote we used as an inside joke.
“Where’d you get the hat?”
She turned her head left and right, showing it off. “You like it? Turbo gave it to me.”
“Turbo? Are you kidding me? After all of his crying about Assessment?”
She blushed slightly. “Nope. I went to see how Decoy and Retro were doing, and a bunch of guys were already there. Word’s spread about stopping the attack. You guys suck at keeping secrets, by the way. Anyway, Decoy thanked me for saving his life — which isn’t true, of course, but they all seemed to believe it — and Turbo gave me the hat. Probably just because he was afraid you were going to kick his ass again, but it’s still pretty cool, huh?”
“Very cool. If they gave it to you, they meant it. Don’t blame me for your mistakes. How’s Retro doing anyway?”
“He looks terrible, but they say he’s going to be fine.” She snapped her fingers. “Oh, I saw Knuckles! He’s doing much better, and asked about you. Well, about us and our situation with the president. They all think it’s a crock.”
“Glad to hear he’s coming around. Maybe I’ll visit his sorry ass as well.” I paused, then said, “What is our situation? You still planning on leaving? Going back to being a professor of anthro-psychology or whatever the hell it is?”
She cocked her head, apparently considering how to respond. “Let’s not worry about that right now. Let’s figure out if I’m going to be mailing you a file inside your birthday cake in prison.”
She leaned forward and kissed my forehead. “I’ve got to get out of here before Kurt comes back. They said you’re healthy enough to leave here today. I’ll see you this afternoon.”
82
Five days later, I glanced reflexively at the “cleared list” for Delta Airlines. I had a confirmed seat on the same flight tomorrow, but Kurt had called this morning and said the president had decided I was free to go. Not wanting to see if he would change his mind, I’d hauled ass straight to Reagan National Airport to try my hand at a standby flight. Well, hauled ass was a relative term, since I needed to use a cane, and my left arm was strapped to my chest to prevent movement.
I’d left the Taskforce medical facility the same day I talked to Kurt and Jennifer, and had gone to the same hotel as Jennifer. Since then, other than visiting Knuckles, Decoy, and Retro in the hospital, I’d simply sat around, watching breaking news stories, praying some junior Woodward and Bernstein wasn’t looking for a scoop, but so far the Secret Service story, along with the “misfire” at the nuclear plant, seemed to be holding up.
One thing that was definitely working in my favor was that the entire nation was fixated on the attacks. It had, naturally, become the center of attention, and the successful resolution had pretty much guaranteed the president’s reelection. Originally elected on a platform of national security, President Warren had been getting hammered lately because of the economy, and it was looking like a pretty good bet that he’d be a one-term president. Now the campaign had become dominated by national security, with the president looking like a savior, and there was little chance that would change so close to the election, which is what Kurt had meant in my hospital room. Without saying a word, I knew President Warren understood who he had to thank. And it also meant at least another four years of Taskforce operations, if something else didn’t come along to shine a light on the president’s little secret.
For her part, Jennifer had left without giving me an answer to where she stood both with the Taskforce and with our company. I’d broached the subject again as she packed to go back to South Carolina, afraid that she’d already made up her mind and just didn’t want to voice it out loud because it would
be a double kick to my balls if I went to jail.
I was certain she was upset at my call to shoot Americans first and ask questions later. Certain she couldn’t see the necessity of the action and was holding it against me, regardless of what she’d told me in the car prior to the killings. I had tried to defend my decisions.
“Jennifer, we didn’t do anything wrong. Everyone we killed deserved it. I don’t want you thinking that you did something immoral. Those men dug their own graves by their actions. There’s no such thing as reading a terrorist his rights when he’s in the middle of an attack, even if it’s inside the United States.”
Jennifer had stopped packing and sat down on the bed, searching my face for something. “What would make you think I was upset about that? I was upset about the damn blood and the fact that Retro was dying, but not what we did. Sorry. I guess I’m not a hardened commando yet.”
I plowed ahead, not even listening to what she had said. “It wasn’t murder. Even if it was in the United States. People don’t follow the rules just because they’re here, and sometimes you have to play on the field that they built. Had we waited, it would have been a larger attack than 9/11. We did the right thing.”
Her eyes flashed anger, and I’d realized I’d overstepped. Misjudged her again.
“I know,” she said. “Jesus, is that what you think of me?”
She saw my embarrassment and said, “That is it, isn’t it? Because I got upset with what you did in Cairo, you think I’m some kind of peace freak, don’t you? That’s why you kept questioning me. Asking if I had it in me to get the job done.”
She stopped, wringing a shirt in her hand as if she were trying to squeeze out poison. “You, of all people, know better than that. I may not like running around shooting everything that moves like you guys, but I understand it’s sometimes necessary. I’ve learned a little bit about real-world justice. I mean, really, I killed a man with a rope.”
She threw the shirt into the suitcase. “I also understand that just because it’s done under the umbrella of the United States, it’s not necessarily right. I can see the difference between right and wrong. I’m not so sure about you.”
The comment hit me like a slap. “Jennifer, we talked about Cairo….”
Her expression told me she’d regretted what had just slipped out of her mouth. “I know, I know. I’m not saying you don’t consciously wish you could take that back, but you’ve got some sort of prehistoric subconscious thing going on that doesn’t care about the distinction between right and wrong. It’s like…”
I waited on her to finish, but she said, “Never mind.”
I said, “‘Never mind’? You can’t leave that out there hanging. What were you going to say?”
She cocked her head, searching my face again.
“You know, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to figure you out, and I have a theory.”
Oh boy. Psychobabble time.
“Everyone operates on some scale of morality. Most people live on the positive side of things. Some operate way, way above, and can do heroic acts as normal events that others would not attempt. Some people, like Hitler or serial killers, operate way, way down on the scale, probably never reaching the positive side at all. Whatever it is, your range on the scale is pretty much firm. A serial killer will never do anything heroic, and a truly heroic person has some built-in stopgap that keeps him from doing vile things.”
She paused. I saw where this was going. She thinks I’m evil because of Cairo — and it’s permanent. I suddenly felt nauseous. She was going to leave the company. Leave me.
“You, however, are an anomaly. You can, and often do, act very heroically. You have a capacity that very few people on earth possess, but it works both ways on the scale. I think the death of your family destroyed whatever stopgap you had, and now you have just as large a capacity for evil as you do for good.”
She touched my face. “And you need to find that stopgap again.”
Her words sank in, and I felt an enormous sense of relief. I sat on the bed next to her. “So, if I contain myself, we’re good? If I don’t kill anyone who doesn’t deserve it, if I prove I’m really on the positive side of the scale, you’ll stay?”
She smiled and patted my hand. “We’ll talk about that later. It’ll take more than just you saying it. I’m not sure what I’m going to do, and like I said at the Taskforce, it may be moot anyway. Although I do sort of like this hero stuff.”
That had been four days ago, and now that I wasn’t worried about going to jail, I was surprised at the level of anxiety I felt flying home to Charleston. To the answer.
I saw my name scroll on the screen. I had made the flight. I went down the gangway, feeling as nervous as a kid on his first date.
Jennifer went through the office with a dust mop one more time. Pike would be home any minute, and she wanted the place to look perfect. He had called earlier in the morning, from inside the airplane of his connecting flight in Atlanta, letting her know he’d managed to snag a standby seat. She’d felt a little thrill just hearing his voice, and it had sunk in for the first time that the feeling was genuine. His absence the last four days had solidified something; it wasn’t about anything he had done for her in the past. The thrill wasn’t misplaced gratitude to him for saving her life. It was what it was: an attraction to the man himself.
She still hadn’t made a decision on what she was going to do about the company. She’d thought of little else since her last conversation with Pike, and had realized that it was really up to him. She knew in her heart she couldn’t stay if he didn’t find a way to control the blackness he held. She’d end up hating him, and she would leave first to prevent that.
She went into their office bathroom, checking one more time to see if something nasty had magically appeared in the toilet in the last ten minutes. She heard the front door open and someone shout, “Hello?”
Her face split into a smile, and she ran out, shouting, “Pike!”
Standing in the doorway was her ex-husband, Chase. All six feet four inches, oozing false charm.
“Hello, baby. How’s it going? I told you I’d be coming by.”
She felt the terror seize her, and circled the desk, putting it between them. She sat down so he wouldn’t notice her trembling.
“What do you want? I told you not to come here.”
“I just want a little help. Is that too much to ask?”
He clapped his hands, causing her to jump. He smiled at her reaction, making her feel weak and cowardly. You’re not the same girl. You are not the same girl.
He kept his hands clasped, pretending to survey the office.
“You’re doing pretty well for yourself, I see.”
The door opened behind him and Pike entered the office, awkwardly walking on a cane. Jennifer saw his smile melt into confusion. Oh no. This just got bad.
“And you must be the partner,” Chase said. “Really good to meet you.”
Pike shook his hand, saying, “And you are?”
Jennifer said, “Pike, this is Chase, my ex-husband.”
She saw Pike’s face harden, and knew that Chase was now in serious danger. Jennifer had told Pike everything her ex-husband had done, a sort of therapy to excise the fear she still held because of the beatings she had taken at his hand. It had been a mistake. Pike had become enraged, wanting to fly to Texas and confront her ex. She had stopped him, but she feared what he would do now. He might kill Chase. Literally.
Pike said, “Why don’t you just get the fuck out of here, while you can still walk.”
Jennifer shouted, “Pike! This isn’t your business. Go. Please.”
Chase said, “Yeah, you ought to listen to her. I don’t really give a shit about your injuries. I’m just here for what’s rightfully mine. You say anything else to me, and you’ll have both arms in a sling.”
Like a child poking an alligator lying in the sun, Chase had no idea of the danger he was in. Jennifer knew Pike could kill him easily
, even with only one good arm.
She saw Pike begin to close the distance and shouted again, “Pike! Stop! Now!”
He did, although she could tell it was taking all of his self-control.
“Please leave,” she said. “I can handle this.”
Pike’s glare remained fixed on Chase. “You sure?”
“Yes.”
With what looked like superhuman effort, he slowly turned toward the door. She could sense the pain he felt at the act. But he’s doing it. She felt a sliver of relief, then realized what had just happened. He was leaving because she’d asked. No other reason. He wanted to beat Chase within an inch of his life, probably wanted to punish him more than anything else on earth, and he was leaving.
I’m his stopgap.
For reasons she couldn’t explain, the fear left her.
He had his hand on the knob, when Chase said, “That’s a smart decision. This isn’t your business anyway.”
Jennifer said, “Pike?”
“Yes?”
She tried to remain serious but couldn’t prevent a smile from leaking out. “I’ve changed my mind. I think I could use a little help here. To keep the fight fair.”
The pain on Pike’s face drained away, replaced by a smile that matched her own. Instead of turning the knob, he locked it.
“As you wish.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The prologue of this book is fiction, but there is a ring of truth. The one-one of the team was named for my cousin, SGT Dickie Thomas. He was killed running recon for CCS in Cambodia on January 9, 1970, on a mission not unlike the fictional one I portrayed. He was twenty-two years old.
He and men like him in MACV-SOG were and are some of the bravest soldiers this country has ever had, and their story is largely untold. Conducting missions that were damn near suicidal, they went across the fence into denied countries time and time again, developing tactics, techniques, and procedures that are still used by Special Operations Forces to this day. Chris Hale’s actions in the book sound like fiction because it’s hard to believe that such selfless courage exists, but the story is true. SPC5 John J. Kedenburg, a one-zero for a CCN recon team, received a posthumous Medal of Honor for the actions I attributed to Chris Hale, sacrificing himself to save the life of his team member — a Vietnamese.
