by Leigh Barker
The last time Hofmann had heard this much rubbish, it was falling down the slope into landfill.
“I could not have put it better,” he said, and nodded confirmation just for emphasis. “The difficulty will be, when you replace one of them, the others will come at you en masse. They won’t want to be picked off one by one.”
“Already happened. A couple of times already.” Dicky let his breath out in a low hiss. “Cut off one head and two more grow in its place.” He frowned. “Like that fucking hydrant thing from the Romans.”
“Quite. Then we have to cut the hydrant’s heads off all at the same time.”
“A mass culling?” Dicky’s frown returned, this time deeper. “They’ll be stamping their feet in the Senate.”
“Decisions unpopular with those in power often require one to be bold.”
Grow a pair, Dicky.
The President stood up and walked around the oval rug, his right index finger tapping his chin. On the second circuit he sat back down.
“Dealing with these people who deliberately impede any measure that threatens the status quo requires a bold leader.” He puffed out his chest. “And that’ll be me. Bold. I have decided to replace them all in one sweep.” He nodded to himself. “I can’t just replace one, or the others will come at me all guns blazing. So all of them have to go.”
“A bold decision, Mr. President, but the right one.”
“I’ll bring in bright men from the world of commerce. Men who know what needs to be done to move an organization forward. To drag it kicking and screaming into the twenty-first century. Men who aren’t afraid to knock heads and lop a few when required.”
“And women,” Hofmann said, just to be awkward.
Dicky frowned again. He really didn’t get it.
“Women have earned the right to be considered equal,” Hofmann explained. And almost sounded sincere.
“Right, and women. If any of them are up to the job. Maybe even a black guy. We had one for a president. You know that?” Dicky shook his head at the memory.
The rights of women and minorities were in safe hands.
“I really think you have something there, Mr. President,” Hofmann said. “May I suggest that the directors you choose are first and foremost loyal to you.” He raised a hand. “As President of the United States, of course.”
“Yes, that makes sense. I’ve had it with small men smiling to my face and stabbing me in the back.”
“Time to do a little stabbing of your own.” Hofmann smiled, picked up his scrambler and stood. “It’s been a real honor and a pleasure, Mr…Dicky.” He put out his hand.
Dicky stood and shook it, putting his left hand on Hofmann’s forearm. “The pleasure was all mine. It’s a rare thing to meet a man as successful as myself who shares my values.”
Hofmann wondered if God was gagging at the gall of the man.
He tried to free his hand, but it was caught.
“If there is anything, anything at all I can do for you, Dicky, you simply have to ask and you shall have it.”
Dicky released his arm and hand.
“I think we’ll meet again real soon, Leonard. We share a mindset and a vision.” He nodded slowly, sagely. A wise man making a profound statement. “And if there’s anything I can do for you, my friend, then you just pick up the phone.”
“Thank you, I can’t begin to tell you how much I appreciate that.”
Because measurement on a subatomic scale is a scientific endeavor.
Hofmann took one pace, stopped and turned. “It strikes me, sir, that we truly do share a common vision. A rare thing indeed in this world of politics and self-interest.”
“I hear that.”
“I would be honored if you would allow me input into your selection of agency directors. My position puts me in daily contact with the very best business leaders from all branches of commerce. As does yours. Or it did before you became embroiled in this.” He smiled. “Fear not, Dicky, you will soon be back at the head of your kingdom. More highly respected than ever.”
“I am looking forward to that,” he said, and smiled broadly. “But not too soon.”
They laughed at his joke.
“But yes, I believe your input would be invaluable. I shall have my people talk to yours and arrange…a summit.”
Another joke. He was on a roll.
“Excellent.” Hofmann half turned and stopped again. “And in the spirit of that input, may I suggest that you act soon, before word leaks out and gives them time to marshal their forces.”
Dicky gave him the wise nod.
“May I be presumptuous and send you a provisional list of candidates I feel will serve you, and the country? People who, through their multinational corporations, do not have the bigoted and myopic view of our relations with other nations. Even ones who were formerly our adversaries.”
“My thoughts exactly. Yes, do send me your suggestions. I guess I’ll know most of them personally.” He followed Hofmann to the door and took his arm again. “Fast reaction is the key to successful business. Word will leak.”
“I shall have my people work on your request through the night, Mr. President.”
Hofmann got out as quickly as he could, without seeming to run. In his head he saw the war room scene from Dr. Strangelove in crystal clarity. A portent. Maybe he should learn the words to ‘We’ll Meet Again’.
“You’re up to something,” Winter said in a lull in the firing. “You’ve gone quiet again.”
Ethan was sitting with his back against the thick sideboard and looking around the room as it was obliterated by the mercs’ seemingly unending supply of bullets.
“You see those pictures there?” He pointed at the dresser with most of its shelves shot out.
Winter leaned forward away from the ghastly shipping trunk, looked at the pictures tumbled about the shelf and shrugged. “Pictures. People like taking pictures of themselves. Never did know why.”
“Look at them again.”
Winter squinted in the dust. “Nice Indian family, looks like.”
“Pakistani,” Ethan said. “Not that it matters. What matters is why is there a raft of pictures of a man, his wife and two kids on the dresser. And there.” He pointed at the side walls that had escaped the thousand dollars’ worth of bullets.
“Relatives?” Winter said, but not very convincingly.
The firing started again. Maybe the mercs had ducked out for lunch.
Ethan continued to look at the pictures. Lots of them. Twenty, thirty and all showing the same family. The family who owned this house.
Shit. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Marius heard the firing stop and for a brief moment wondered if it was all over, but doubted it. It was just a lull in the assault, a coincidence when all the shooters reload at the same time. He’d seen it before.
He pushed open the door to the kitchen and pressed his semi-automatic against his thigh.
“You having any success getting the drone back?”
Andie glanced up from her computer and nodded. “Almost there. Should’ve been easy, but the operators back in the States have been putting obstacles in my way.”
Marius chuckled. “Nothing easily won gives any satisfaction.”
“No.” She was no longer really listening.
“Please look up, young lady.”
She looked up, mostly because nobody had ever called her that. She wasn’t sure she liked it much. She didn’t say so. The pistol pointing at her face drove the thoughts out of her head.
“I’m very sorry I have to do this.” He closed his eyes for a brief moment to demonstrate his regret. “It gives me no pleasure, believe me.”
“Do what?” Andie shook her head and blinked hard. Her hands fell from the keyboard and onto her lap. “What is it you’re sorry about?” She stared at the gun. “I don’t understand. You’re on our side. You fought them.” She pointed at the wall.
Marius was silent for a moment, then took a long breath
. “I believe you do deserve an explanation. Albeit necessarily brief.” He stepped further into the kitchen, his legs almost brushing the table Andie was sitting at.
It took him a moment to begin, formulating his words. Difficult concepts in a foreign language. “This…” He waved his pistol at the walls. “This little charade, us fighting side by side against a formidable foe.” He shrugged. “I’m afraid I orchestrated it.”
“Why would you do that? Why would anybody do that?” Andie said.
“Quite simple. I have been…contracted to fulfil a certain task, one deemed crucial by my paymaster.”
“And that is?”
“Oh, to eliminate you, my dear. Of course.”
Andie blinked hard several times. “It makes no sense. I’m just a nobody US sailor.”
“Oh, don’t sell yourself short. You are far from a nobody. It appears you are in possession of information…data, I believe you call it. Data that would be very damaging to my employer should it become public.” He sighed. “So it has come to this, I’m afraid.”
“But I don’t understand. Why the attack on the house? Why not just shoot me out in the street? You have a rifle.”
“For an analyst you are not thinking particularly clearly. What do you suppose would have happened if I’d shot you as you came up the street?”
“Ethan would’ve kicked down the door and blown your head off.” She was silent for a moment and then nodded. “Right, I see.”
“Yes, I believe you do. Now you will simply be a tragic casualty of this terrorist assault on US personnel.” He brought his pistol around to point at her chest. “I shall find you, of course, and try valiantly to save you. I may even be a hero. One can only ho”
The top of the table erupted as three rounds burst through it and blew the Viking back through the doorway.
Andie stood up and walked across the room, Ethan’s Colt in her hand and pointing at Marius, who sat against the corridor wall.
He looked up at her and smiled. “Now I must admit I didn’t expect that from…” He coughed and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth.
“A girl?” Andie said, the gun unmoving.
“I…don’t…think…”
He died still looking at her.
“No, you didn’t, did you?” Andie said and returned to her computer.
Ethan stepped over the Viking’s legs and took the pistol from his fingers. He glanced at Andie, raised his eyebrows and chuckled. “Seems a bit of a harsh criticism of his hospitality.”
Andie looked up and smiled, though her eyes were strained and lined. “He called me a girl.”
“Oh, that’s alright then. Got what was coming,” Ethan said. “Looks like you’ve got everything in hand. Winter might need waking up.”
“I’ve got a Predator if you need one. No missiles though.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Where do you want it?”
“Put it in the backyard.”
She gave him a double take. “You mean crash it?”
“Unless you can land it and we can all fly away to a happier place.”
“I’ll crash it.”
“Do that.” He stepped back over the Viking and looked back. “Give me…” He checked his watch. “Three minutes?”
“On the dot.”
He almost said that’s my girl, but came to his senses. “Try not to put it through the veranda roof.”
“Only if you say please,” she said, and grinned at him. Relaxing now she was doing something for the war effort.
“Pretty please,” Ethan said as he went back down the corridor. He stopped at the door to the veranda. “Coming in.”
“Did you bring beer?” Winter said.
“No,” Ethan said, moving back behind the wall. “Andie’s bringing a Predator though.”
“That’ll do.” Winter glanced back at the door. “You find the Viking?”
“Andie found him first.”
“That’s my girl,” Winter said.
“I think she’s still got some rounds left in the Colt.”
“I’d deny it if you ever say anything.”
“The drone’s going to make a bang. I think you should maybe put your hands over your ears.”
Winter gave him a startled look. “The kid’s going to put the drone down here?”
“Right in the backyard.”
“Shit!” Winter rolled onto his stomach and crawled to the door and out into the corridor.
Ethan took Winter’s rifle and raised an eyebrow. “You like it down there?”
“Not much, but it’s a good place to be when the Predator hits.”
“Not really. The Predator hasn’t got any Hellfires, but it carries six hundred pounds of fuel. Used maybe half, bit more. Three hundred pounds of aviation fuel left.”
“Why didn’t you say?” Winter said, jumping to his feet and pressing himself against the wall. He watched Ethan striding away down the long corridor, glanced back into the veranda and ran after him. That was a lot of fuel heading his way.
He stepped into the office and Ethan closed the door. “Sixty seconds yet.”
The drone hit. Twelve hundred pounds with sixty-five feet of wings hit the rocks twenty feet from the house at two hundred miles an hour. An instant later the aviation fuel exploded like a mini nuclear detonation and turned the confined space between the house and the cliff into an early vision of hell.
Nothing and nobody was going to live through that. The veranda imploded and turned to glass shrapnel, stippling the rock and plaster walls for the half second they withstood the blast before blowing into the house.
“That’ll do the trick,” Winter said, and reached for the door handle.
Ethan put his hand on his arm. “Hold on another two.”
Winter was about to tell him the fuel had cremated the bad men when a second explosion rocked the house.
“Propane tank, up in the rocks on the left of the yard,” Ethan said, and shrugged. “I was thinking of putting a couple of rounds into it and making a bit of a statement.”
“But you decided not to roast us into barbeque sticky ribs,” Winter said.
“Not so much. Got sidetracked by the Viking.”
“You ever get to see the shrink for a psych eval?”
“No, never did get around to it.”
“You should, Top, you really should.”
Winter opened the door and waved his hand as if it would blow away the thick grey smoke billowing along the corridor.
“The guys storming the front’ll probably want to come in for coffee and a look-see,” Ethan said. “If Smokey and Loco are still upright, we should be able to give them a big hello.”
“Copy that.” Winter checked his mag and glanced back at Ethan following him to the front of the building. “Try not to blow anything up for the rest of the day. Can you do that, boss?”
“Can’t promise.”
Orpheus was having a good day. The sort of day that was becoming rare recently. Best not to jinx it by thinking he was having a good day. Just enjoy. He’d particularly liked the news item showing the FBI Special Agent in Charge Robert Arness being led away from his office in handcuffs. Philip’s work paying off. He’d have to say something to the man. One day. Not today.
The newscaster, that Barbie thing they thought men liked, had also suggested that the removal of the FBI director might be connected to the arrest of one of his senior agents for a gruesome sexually motived murder. A stretch, but verification and common sense had never been allowed to get in the way of a good story. Or ratings. Stay tuned for pictures of blood at the crime scene.
The president had come through on his promise and sacked the heads of the security and law enforcement agencies. He’d stuck to the main players and left the directors of fishing and walking in the woods alone. So not quite the idiot Hofmann had thought him, though to have achieved that would’ve been worthy of some sort of award.
So all things considered, a good day.
&n
bsp; His desk phone rang and he ignored it for several seconds before picking it up and looking at it as if it were an airsick bag.
He didn’t speak, managing only a grunt. He had a pretty good idea what the call was going to do to his day. And he was right. He listened for a few seconds and then slammed the phone down.
The girl was still alive. Philip’s man had failed to get rid of her. A simple enough task, one would have thought. Perhaps he needed another fixer, one better able to handle the difficult calls. The FBI agent was in the plus column, but this failure paled it into insignificance.
They would be coming back to the US, this little band of fools. Coming to stir things up at a most crucial juncture. She, this sailors’ whore, didn’t know what she had, or the FBI would’ve already kicked down the door.
A smile came uninvited. The FBI wouldn’t be kicking down his door, not unless he told them to do so. They were, or soon would be, as neutered as a frisky puppy. Their strings would be all but invisible, but they would be pulled by him.
But if and when the girl discovered what she had, he doubted even he could face down the clamour for his arrest and incarceration. Or worse. This fiasco was beginning to feel like killing a cockroach only to find it eating his lunch.
It shouldn’t be this hard. A girl, for Christ’s sake. Albeit she was with a bunch of old men who used to be Special Forces but now had to take a nap after lunch. It shouldn’t be this hard.
His mistake had been to delegate it to an imbecile, someone whose sordid sexual proclivities had seemed like an asset, and perhaps on a small scale were, the agent’s demise was testament to that, but when it really mattered, the man was not up to the job. And now was an unfortunate time for it to become apparent. But all was not lost. Yet. A man better equipped to handle this issue was on hand. And would be looking back from the mirror if Hofmann chose to go take a pee right then.
Philip had misunderstood these…marines. He hadn’t realised that taking them head-on was a flawed strategy. These men would respond to a direct assault just like they’d been trained to. By working as a unit and going straight for the attacker’s throat. And from the recent report, that was exactly what they’d done. Successfully. Scratch most of his assets in Pakistan. Irritating.
