“You’re exactly the right person,” Dorn countered. “You’re an ex-marine. You already know a great deal about Red Cell Seven. You already command a great deal of respect in multiple circles in New York and Washington. And, most importantly, I trust you completely.” He laughed hard for a few seconds, but it was too painful and he ended up groaning and shaking his head. “I’m entrusting my life to a Republican. I never thought I’d do that.” He gestured at Bill. “And you might actually be an even more effective economic advisor if you aren’t the CEO of First Manhattan. You can be even more candid with me.”
“How about these two?” Bill asked, gesturing at Jack and Troy. “You said you wanted all of us working for you.”
The president’s eyes moved deliberately to Troy and then Jack. “I’ve thought a lot about this, and I want you two men to be my personal ghosts in the shadows. You’ll be deep, deep undercover. The only people in the world who’ll know what you’re doing will be your father and me. I’ll call you my Gray Men. Troy will no longer be a Falcon.” Dorn smiled mischievously. “And Jack, you need a job anyway, so it works perfectly for you.”
Jack laughed. “I do need a job. But I’m not sure about being a Gray Man. This is right up Troy’s alley, but it sounds a little crazy for me. I’m not trained for that.”
“From what I understand, you did pretty well in Alaska.”
“Still.”
“I’ll convince you,” Dorn assured Jack as his gaze turned intense despite his weakened condition. “The icing on the cake for me is that you’re a liberal, Jack. Though, like me, maybe not as much of one as you were a week ago,” he said, smiling grimly. He gestured at Bill and Troy. “So you can keep an eye on these two for me. You can make sure they don’t go too far to the right when I’m not looking.” He smiled a little. “You three won’t have to worry about the bad guys killing you. You’ll probably kill each other first.”
They all chuckled for a few moments.
“My biggest regret,” Dorn said as their laughter faded, “is that I didn’t appreciate how good a man Rex Stein was. I treated him like shit, but he still saved my life.”
“He was a patriot,” Bill said.
“He was a patriot,” the president agreed. “And I didn’t understand how important that really is until I was lying on that stage with blood pouring out of me. It’s all about trust at this level. Nothing is more important,” he said in a hushed voice. “And that’s why I want the three of you to work for me. I trust all of you completely.”
CHAPTER 40
“I FAILED.”
Maddux nodded to O’Hara. “You did fail, Ryan. But don’t feel bad about it. We got what we wanted. Red Cell Seven survived. President Dorn no longer wants to shut it down. I got that from a very good source this morning. It’s definitely true.”
“Good.” O’Hara stared down at the ground. “Still, I wish I’d finished the job. I take pride in hitting what I aim at.”
“You did hit him.”
“I was aiming for his heart, not his lung.”
Maddux nodded appreciatively. “Well, the primary goal was achieved. And it took a superhuman, suicidal effort by Rex Stein to save Dorn.”
“It was a superhuman effort,” Randy Hobbs agreed. “I was shocked the guy could move that fast. I couldn’t believe it when he tore across the stage like that.”
Hobbs was short and wiry, like Maddux, with thinning brown hair cut very short. He and Maddux had been close friends for a long time, and Hobbs was the man who’d accompanied O’Hara to Los Angeles while Maddux was in Alaska hunting Troy.
“You just got a little unlucky.” Hobbs chuckled snidely. “Look at it this way, kid. You got a two for one, and that must be some kind of presidential assassination record. It took Oswald three shots to get Kennedy and Connally in Dallas. Unfortunately for us, you killed the other guy.”
Maddux sneered. “Like it was just three shots in Dallas.”
“Like it was just Oswald,” Hobbs added quickly.
The three men broke into loud laughter as they stood beneath a secluded grove of oak trees in the Missouri state park. Back here in these woods at this time of night they were miles from anyone. They could enjoy a good laugh without worrying about anyone hearing them.
“What are you going to do now, sir?” O’Hara asked Maddux when their laughter finally faded.
“The same thing I’ve been doing, Ryan. I’m going to make sure the elected officials of this country never forget what happened on September 11, 2001. I’m going to make sure those officials keep giving the leaders of the United States intelligence infrastructure everything they need to protect the citizens of this country. I’m going to make sure the doves don’t build a nest under the eaves of Capitol and start making us vulnerable again with all their bleeding-heart liberal bullshit. I’m going to make sure no one even considers shutting down Red Cell Seven ever again.”
“By engineering what look like foreign terrorist attacks against the United States?” Ryan asked evenly. “By scaring those elected officials on Capitol Hill out of their damn minds with more rogue LNG tankers sailing into American harbors?”
“By doing whatever it takes.” Maddux’s eyes roamed to O’Hara’s by way of Hobbs’s. “You got a problem with that, kid?”
O’Hara stared back at Maddux for several moments. “No, sir,” he said, shaking his head as he reached for his pocket. “No problem.”
Before O’Hara’s fingertips got to his pocket, Hobbs had whipped a pistol from his belt and leveled the barrel at O’Hara’s head. “Easy, kid.”
“It’s information for Shane,” O’Hara said calmly.
“Take it out slowly, Ryan,” Maddux ordered.
O’Hara withdrew a folded piece of paper and handed it to Maddux as Hobbs slid the pistol back into his belt.
Maddux pulled out a small flashlight and scanned the piece of paper after he’d unfolded it. “Very nice, Ryan,” he said appreciatively.
“What is it?” Hobbs asked.
“A list of suspected Chinese spies who are living and operating in this country,” Maddux answered. “I’m staying in the assassination business as well,” he said, slipping the paper into his pocket. “And, based on this list, it looks like I’ll be busy, Randy.”
“I got it from a contact of mine at the Office of Naval Intelligence,” O’Hara explained. “There’s more to come. Apparently, the Iranian list is pretty long too. I should have that one for you next week.”
Maddux nodded at O’Hara and then gestured at Hobbs. “I told you he was good, didn’t I?”
“I figured that out in Los Angeles two minutes after I met him,” Hobbs agreed. “Actually, it was less than that.”
“Then why’d you pull the gun on me a few seconds ago?” O’Hara demanded.
“Training, boy,” Hobbs replied with a gleam in his eyes.
O’Hara pushed his chin out defiantly. “Well, watch it, pal. And there’s no need to call me ‘boy.’ I know I’m black.”
“Easy, Ryan,” Maddux urged. “There’s no need for that.”
“He’s just young,” Hobbs said condescendingly as he glanced off into the darkness. “Ryan’s a good boy, but he’s still got a lot to learn. We’ll teach him, though. We’ll—” Hobbs stopped short as he turned back toward the other two men. O’Hara was now holding a pistol to his head. “What the hell?”
“You know I was the shooter in LA,” O’Hara explained. “I can’t have that, boy.”
Hobbs’s gaze flashed to Maddux. “Shane?” he mumbled in a gravelly whisper, suddenly panic-stricken.
“Sorry, pal. There’s nothing I can do.”
“My God, Shane, I—”
Hobbs collapsed to the ground as soon as O’Hara pulled the trigger. Spasms racked his body for several seconds as he moaned pitifully, and then he lay still.
“He was a good man,” Maddux said as he stared down at the dead body. “But he was expendable, and he was past his prime.” Maddux smiled thinly. “I liked t
he way you got pissed at him there at the end, Ryan. Good acting. It put him at ease. It made him think he was better than you.”
“It’s what you told me to do, sir. And he reacted just like you said he would. He looked away, and it gave me plenty of time to pull my gun.”
“Well, I’ve won a lot of money off him at poker, so I had an advantage. He always looked away from the bet when he had a good hand.” Maddux laughed softly. “You know, I almost believed you myself when you asked me what I was going to be doing now. If you crash and burn out of RCS, Hollywood could be an option.”
“Thank you, sir, but I don’t plan on crashing and burning out of Red Cell Seven.”
“Excellent answer.” Maddux pointed down at Hobbs’s body, then into the darkness. “Throw him in the river at the bottom of the hill, will you, Ryan? Weigh him down with a few rocks so his body doesn’t show up for a while. I know you’re not religious, but say a prayer as he disappears, OK?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And keep me as up to date as you can with what’s going on in Red Cell Seven, all right? Without making anyone suspicious, of course.”
“I will,” O’Hara promised. “In fact, there’s some kind of announcement coming in the next few days. I spoke to another Falcon and he thinks we’re about to find out who’s going to replace Roger Carlson.”
Maddux nodded. “Good. Let me know as soon as you find out.”
“So, where you headed?” O’Hara asked as Maddux took a step into the darkness.
“I’ll tell you this time,” Maddux answered after a few moments of uncomfortable silence. “But don’t ever ask me that question again.”
“Yes, sir,” O’Hara agreed solemnly. He understood his mistake. He wouldn’t make it again.
“I’m going to Chicago, Ryan. I’ve got some unfinished business there. Then I’m going to kill a few spies. After that, who knows?” Maddux raised one eyebrow. “Maybe I’ll go shopping.”
“Sir?”
Maddux patted O’Hara’s shoulder. “Call me when you have that list of Iranians.”
“Yes, sir.”
O’Hara watched as Maddux disappeared into the darkness, and then he chuckled as he bent down to pick up Hobbs’s body. That was one scary son of a bitch, he thought to himself. Maybe someday he’d be half as good.
CHAPTER 41
“I KILLED a man outside that house in Alaska.”
“He was about to kill you, Jack.”
“Still.”
“Would you rather be the one in the ground right now?”
Jack shook his head. “No, I would not.”
“Then you did the right thing by killing him first.”
Jack and Troy were sitting on the huge back porch of Bill and Cheryl’s mansion looking out over the horse pastures as they drank hot coffee. It was a chilly, though not bitter cold, December afternoon. Not nearly as cold as that day in Minnesota, Jack remembered.
“It’s still strange to think about taking a man’s life, about him never taking another breath.”
“Do you think about it a lot?” Troy asked.
“It’s the first thing I wake up to every morning.”
Troy nodded. “That’s how it was for me the first time too,” he admitted. “But I got past it.”
Jack glanced up at the dark clouds scuttling low across the sky. Christmas was a week away. “How?”
“I killed again,” he said quietly as he took a sip of coffee. “The second time was easier. It didn’t bother me nearly as much.”
“Jesus,” Jack whispered. How could it not bother him as much? Could it really get easier? And if it did, was that a good thing?
“Hello, boys,” Bill called loudly as he came through the French doors and sat down with them. “How’s everything?”
“Good,” Troy said. “How about you?”
“I’m making my announcement tomorrow about stepping down from First Manhattan. I’ll stay on for six months, but my COO will be taking over the day-to-day responsibilities immediately. He really already has. You all right, Jack?” Bill asked.
Jack had been thinking about probably having to kill again if he was a Gray Man. It must have been obvious that something was bothering him from his expression. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Mom says dinner should be ready in about an hour. When’s Karen getting here?”
Jack leaned forward in his chair and gazed at the tree line in the distance. “She just sent me a text. She should be here in a few minutes.”
“Good. I like her a lot. I hope it works out for you two.”
Jack stared carefully at that spot in the trees a moment longer, and then he looked over at Bill. “Thanks, Dad. That’s really—”
The thirty-caliber bullet struck him squarely in the chest, and he tumbled backward over the chair.
There’d been someone hiding in that tree line after all, Jack realized as he gazed up at the sky. His chest hurt so much.
EPILOGUE
REGGIE WAYNE had retired from the Washington, DC, Metro Police Department last month after twenty-three years on the force. During his time on the streets of the nation’s capital he’d seen it all—murders, rapes, robberies, riots, fires.
He’d even been on duty that clear, crisp September morning when the jet had slammed into the western side of the Pentagon, right across the Potomac River from Washington. As word of the awful explosion had spread, Reggie had watched congressmen and women race from the Capitol. And later he’d spoken to other cops on the force who’d seen the president run from the White House into a waiting limousine headed directly for a waiting Air Force One. Along with New York, it was the most pressure-packed city in the country for all levels of law enforcement.
During those twenty-three years, Reggie had experienced a thousand times more panic attacks and adrenaline rushes than most people would in a lifetime. He’d even been shot once. And been told by the attending surgeon, as they were wheeling him into the operating room, that his chances of surviving the chest wound he’d suffered while breaking up a bank robbery were fifty-fifty at best.
So this security-guard gig at Tysons Corner was nice. The money wasn’t as good, but it was a hell of a lot safer here in northern Virginia where the well-to-do lived, shopped, and ate out at Morton’s, The Palm, and the Capital Grill. After his years on the force in DC, he felt like he’d dodged the ultimate bullet by getting out alive. He was proud of himself for that too. He hadn’t waited too long. And the pension he’d draw from the city in another couple of years would more than make up for the difference in pay.
Tysons Corner was located just outside the Capital Beltway fifteen miles west of the White House. And there were two massive shopping malls less than a mile away from each other. The first—Tysons One—was an upscale mall for the relatively wealthy, and the second—Tysons Two—was a super upscale mall for the super wealthy. A week before Christmas both of them were jam-packed with customers.
And shoplifters.
“Reggie, Reggie,” the voice blared through his walkie-talkie. “Pick up.”
He grabbed the device from his belt and pushed the red button. “Yeah?”
“We got a lifter at the L.L. Bean. He’s on the first floor. The store manager’s waiting for you at the mall entrance to point the guy out.”
“Got it. On my way.”
He shoved the walkie-talkie back into his belt and hustled through the crowded large corridor toward Bloomingdale’s, which was at the north end of the mall. He enjoyed these calls. It broke up the monotony of the day and kind of took him back to his days on the street. It wasn’t like there was anything he could really do to a shoplifter. He smiled thinly—except scare the hell out of him. And he intended on doing just that.
But his smile faded as he neared the store. After twenty-three years on the Metro force, he recognized evil immediately. He’d developed that sixth sense about it, and the four grizzled-looking men walking toward him in long dark trench coats were definitely evil. Pure evil.
“Oh, shit,” he muttered to himself when he saw the working end of a sawed-off shotgun poke out from beneath one of the trench coats.
This was the mother of all mall nightmares, Reggie realized. These men intended to create hell on earth.
He wasn’t armed and he was outmanned, but his training took over. The men were fifty feet away, but he was still going to try to take them down. He might, just might, be able to surprise them, get one of the guns, and shoot the other three before anyone was killed.
Reggie inhaled deeply and then took off toward them. Forty feet, thirty, twenty. None of the men were even looking at him. He was going to make it. He was going to get one of their guns and save this mall.
But with only a few strides to go, one of the men lifted his shotgun smoothly from beneath his coat and hit Reggie with a deafening blast to the stomach. Reggie doubled over and tumbled to the corridor’s tile floor, screaming.
Then all four men turned their weapons on the crowd.
As Reggie clutched his bloody wound, he saw a young woman holding a baby crumple to the floor and then an older man shot directly in the face.
Tysons One was in chaos. The dead and dying lay everywhere as the fortunate fled in panic.
Reggie watched the mob run until his eyes slowly closed for the last time.
Within seconds of shooting Reggie, the four men had killed and wounded another seventeen people. At that point they raced back outside to a waiting van and took off.
They quickly changed vehicles in a remote area of the huge, crowded parking lot and then switched vehicles again two miles away in the parking lot of a strip mall. Before the first wave of police could respond, the assailants had disappeared.
An hour later they were back in their apartments in central Virginia watching television. Watching the results of what they and others around the country had just done.
The same scenario had played out in ten other major malls around the country at the same time, and Americans were suddenly barricading themselves inside their homes, terrified. Seventy-three people were dead and over two hundred had been wounded.
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