by Alex Howell
It wouldn’t matter at all if Mason didn’t finish the job, didn’t bring to justice the man who had masterminded everything. Clara was getting rescued at this point, but if the mastermind behind this plan, the man who knew Mason so well, lived or didn’t at least go to jail, then her life was one spent counting down the seconds before her next capture.
“I always hated the way you just seemed to do whatever you wanted in battle,” Luke said. “And yet, somehow, it got it done. I guess I’ll take a page out of your book. I’ll call you back in five.”
“Two.”
Mason then hung up before Luke could protest. He checked his gun, seeing he had about two bullets left. If all went to plan, it was one more than he needed.
He only had one person he needed to kill to end this chain of events. He only needed one bullet to do it. And he would only get one shot, he knew.
But first, he just needed to have the chance to line up that shot.
When he arrived at the White House, it did not surprise him to see the place on lockdown. Snipers patrolled the roof, military guards huddled around, and a variety of other “civilians” whom Mason saw packing underneath their t-shirts seemed to meander around the area. To try and break in was an instant death wish. He made a point of continuing to run by, as if the location of the White House didn’t matter, but he knew that about a half-dozen men probably already had scopes on him, just waiting for the authority to fire that could come at any second.
And if Luke didn’t hurry up, that authority was going to come from the man inside the White House walls within minutes, if not seconds. The clock was ticking.
The clock on Mason’s life. The clock on war breaking out. The clock on taking out the mastermind of the whole ordeal.
The clock on the fate of the world.
Damnit, Luke, please hurry—
And that’s when the phone rang.
“Mason, head to the East Wing of the White House,” Luke said. “An agent will meet you there and get you inside. I’ve managed to make him believe you’re there to provide extra security detail for the President against anyone currently touring the building. You better not screw this up, Mace.”
“I understand, thanks, Luke,” Mason said.
“Thank me by not getting thrown in jail.”
With that, the line went dead. At this point, Mason had no time to contemplate if Luke had just sent him to his death or if his plan would get compromised before Mason got there. He still knew that many troops had their guns on him, and Mason had to trust that this would work. He had no choice.
If he died, at least he died knowing Clara would soon be freed, if only temporarily.
He headed toward the East Wing, with an iron gate, and saw an agent there he hadn’t seen before. He gulped, stepped forward, and nodded to the man.
“Mason Walker,” he said.
Mason nodded.
“Come with me.”
The man barely let the gate open, just enough to let Mason slip in, and Mason and the man jogged forward, the urgency of the situation having very different meanings for the two of them. The man opened the door and Mason followed, but his eyes went everywhere. He saw conference rooms, bedrooms, offices, and even libraries, but not the room he was looking for. Time was of the essence, and he could not wait any longer.
Then he saw it.
He let the first agent walk about four feet in front before Mason quickly opened the door, stepped inside, and slammed it behind.
He turned to face the man behind the entire operation, the man responsible for not just the potential start of the third world war, but for the capture of his daughter. The man whom Mason had once trusted unequivocally, but would now need to see killed or put out of commission for what he had done.
“Found you,” Mason growled.
General Jack Jones, Mason’s former commanding officer in the Navy SEALs.
32
“Mason Walker?” the general said with surprise on his face. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
It was surprise meant to be for the fact that an old SEAL comrade had shown up, but Mason knew that the surprise came because he’d actually been uncovered. One quick glance at his hand confirmed it—it was the same wrinkled skin and the same arc tattoo that everyone with years of experience in the SEALs had.
The same as the one on the video.
“Don’t bother,” Mason said, flashing his gun. “I know what you’re doing. I know that you’ve been playing me all along; playing both sides of the fence. I know—”
“Mason,” General Jones said with a long sigh.
What the fresh hell is this? You’re going to play coy? Fine. I’ll let you ramble before I kill you.
“You, of all people, should know this is about the worst damn time you could have picked for me to have to play babysitter with you for your nutty conspiracy theories. Get the hell out of my office so—”
“So what?” Mason said, making the general’s face all but blood red. “You can continue to try and incite war between the US and Saudi Arabia? So you can start World War Three? So you can launder more money from the Saudi government to boost some families in Ohio?”
“Son,” the general said, rising, his body stiffening. “The only reason I haven’t shot your sorry tail is because I know what good you did for us in the Middle East. But that goodwill has run out. Get out. Or I will say—”
“What, that I had PTSD?”
The general’s face flashed briefly in recognition. Mason had him on his heels. It was time to confront him with everything.
“I know what you are doing. You are the voice behind all of this.”
“Behind what?” the general said, but it was obvious from his tone of voice that he was fearful and afraid, that his plot had been unraveled. It was now just a matter of time before Mason had him pinned and in jail—or dead.
“Show me your hand.”
“What?”
But the general did so unwittingly, revealing the full arc tattoo.
“Just as I thought,” Mason said. “You should’ve known that sending me the live feed was a mistake. Your boys didn’t cover up the details as well as they had before. If you haven’t killed Clara already, you’re too late. I’m going to see her again”
The general just sighed, eyes wide.
“That door’s shut?”
Mason pulled out his gun, keeping it hidden from anyone walking by but obvious to the general. Carefully, he stepped back, stuck out his foot, and fully shut the door behind him.
“You better make what you’re saying quick,” Mason said. “My guess would be the SEAL captors are about to rat you out.”
“Do you know how goddamn long the Middle East has been a thorn in our side?” the general scowled, ignoring what Mason said. “Ever since I was a mere grunt when 9/11 first happened, I’ve sought to destroy that place. It’s like a bee that doesn’t die when it stings—it’ll never kill you, but it’s so aggravating, you want a solution to wipe out the entire colony. I had the perfect plan, Mason. The one supposed ally we had would get drawn into war, and with no pretense for creating peace, we’d conquer the whole region and make it our own. That and public policy have been the only things in our way—but you get a school bombed by a bunch of Arabs, and guess what happens? War! The end of the Middle East!”
“Sounds like you have conflicting motives with Mr. Abdi,” Mason said. “Said he wanted to get rich.”
“What’s a few hundred million dollars to a few men when you get to eliminate the greatest threat to America?!” the general said, straining to keep his voice down. “Unlike you, Mason, I am a true patriot of this country. I want to see America become the dominant force I grew up with! Not let it slink into some pathetic, apologetic stance when it has nothing to apologize for!”
“Unlike me?” Mason said, a sarcastic laugh designed to hide anger coming. “Unlike me, huh? The man who ran multiple missions for you? The man who put his life on the line while you sat in a cozy command
center—sort of like—”
“Don’t you dare,” the general said. “Who do you think deployed to Afghanistan, huh? Who do you think was part of the first group to get the Taliban out? Or was your scrawny tail too young to remember anything from back then?”
Mason snorted as he sought to avoid shooting the general too quickly—by now, he had to have imagined that his allies had rescued his daughter, but he couldn’t say for sure, and if he killed the general now, even if he was exonerated by the truth, the PR battle wouldn’t let the country exonerate him as it should.
“Why me, then?” Mason said. “Why would you have me go on these errands for you? Seems to me a lot of this could have been done by someone a lot more loyal and faithful to you.”
“Because no one can work magic like you, Mason Walker,” the general said. “And with that magic, you chose to leave us so quickly. It was like we were nothing to you. Nothing more than a speck of dirt to be brushed off. Don’t think I don’t know how you told everyone you were happy to be out. Those aren’t the words of a true patriot. Those are the words of a coward, of a selfish bastard who believes only in himself.”
Mason couldn’t believe it.
Of all the things that would have driven the former general to do this… of all the reasons he could have had for enlisting him… he did it out of spite? Out of a personal vendetta for not having the same level of service? A man this high up on the chain, who had been in war for so long… had done this out of pettiness? Mason shook his head and yelled in outrage at Jack Jones.
“I trusted you! You were my friend! My leader! I trusted you and you betrayed me!”
“What have I always told you, Mason? Be prepared for any outcome. You weren’t, and here you are. In any case, you’re too late for Clara,” General Jones said. “I’m sorry, Mason, but with this.”
He pressed a button under his desk, not bothering to hide the overt nature of his action.
“We have orders to kill Clara. We can watch together. You’ll see.”
You better have shown up on time, guys. Don’t disappoint.
The general pulled up the live feed of the torture room, only for his hands to start shaking as Mason peered over his shoulder.
“Seems to be that I was right,” Mason said with smug satisfaction. “You were the one who was too late.”
Clara was being comforted and given water by two men in SWAT uniforms. All around him, former SEALs, perhaps current ones, were being arrested by the SWAT team. Thank God. Thank God! She’s alive! She’s safe!
“Damnit!” the general roared
The general turned suddenly, reaching for Mason’s gun. He got a hold of it and brought it to Mason’s head.
But using his training—for once, feeling grateful that he had it—Mason spun out of firing range just a half second before the general pulled the trigger, got control of the general’s arm, and broke it while prying away the gun. He pointed the gun at the general, prepared to fire the trigger and the final bullet, when someone broke the door down.
“Get down! Both of you! Get down!”
Mason kept his hand pointed toward his former commanding officer as they both dropped to their knees, the message clear—run or disobey him, and I’ll shoot you in front of all of America right now.
“General Jones!” a man yelled. “You are under arrest for treason to the United States! Anything you say can and will be held against you!”
Mason backed up as the general grunted in pain, his broken arm being moved without regard for his pain level. The general spat at Mason, which led to Mason driving a strong right cross into the general’s face.
“That’s for Clara!” he roared, but some Secret Service agents quickly shoved him against the war.
“Let him go!” a familiar voice shouted over the din. “We have this man to thank for saving this country.”
Of all the people to show up at that moment, Mason had never expected Luke Simon to show up.
But, just like Tessa—when she wasn’t brainwashed—he always seemed to come through when it was most needed.
“Got here mighty quick,” Mason said.
“Figured something was up if you needed me that bad,” he said. “I actually got here this morning and have been here in the White House. When you messaged me, my worst fears came true. I’m the one that sent that agent out. I didn’t know what you were going to do, but I know you, Mason. You’re not an idiot. You did this for a reason—a reason that, thanks to everything you got him to say in the last five minutes, will now get prosecuted fully under a military tribunal.”
“Good,” Mason said as the mass of agents and security pulled the general out of sight, taking him somewhere all while the general yelled about needing medical attention. “I can’t lie, I would like him dead right now. He did almost start the third world war.”
“Trust me, I can’t believe it was the general who had this whole thing plotted. When I told the President, he was left more than a little stunned. But we’re working right now on communicating everything with Saudi Arabia.”
“Think it’ll get taken care of?”
Luke sighed.
“It’s not like we’ll go back to being what we were, tensions will be strained just a bit,” he said. “But I think the worst case scenario is averted for now. We can all breathe easy for at least a few days.”
“Well, after the past 24 hours or so, I’ll take that deal,” Mason said, feeling very exhausted. “I just need one more thing.”
Luke smiled, knowing the question before Mason even asked it.
“Where is my daughter?”
33
Luke led Mason out to the front yard of the White House lawn. All of the exhaustion of the day and the surreal nature of it all was beginning to catch up to him, and if not for the imminent arrival of his daughter, Mason would have already collapsed by now.
It was still an uncertain question in his mind how he felt about having been a SEAL. Could he have avoided this situation if he had just stayed away from it all? But if he hadn’t, and something like this had happened, albeit probably on a much smaller scale… could he have defended her fully?
It was something of a moot question, Mason realized. He would have a lot of self-evaluation to do in the coming days and weeks, especially when it came to maintaining emotional equilibrium. He had let himself nearly compromise his overall mission multiple times by becoming weak, and while it might have been excusable with his daughter, what would happen if something like this came up again?
There was a bit of a disturbing truth to his thoughts in that he knew he wasn’t going to just brush off what had happened and walk away. He was realizing that the likelihood that his skills would get called upon would continue, especially since it wasn’t like the drama on an international level could just be brushed off. The money would still have to be returned, the citizens who suddenly had their bank accounts swollen would need to be compensated or talked to in some fashion, and there would be questions about who Harnad Abdi actually was. The news networks would have a field day answering those questions, and though Mason would probably get some level of anonymity from the government, he couldn’t hide forever.
But, for now, he just wanted his daughter. This trip had only confirmed his disdain for politics, and the games of diplomacy and rebuilding relationships with the Saudis could come from the President and his crew. Mason, for his part, just wanted to get to the Alps with his daughter for that much needed trip.
Afterward, when he came back to the States, he could do all of the reflection, therapy, and self-evaluation he needed to do.
“What’s the word?” he said to Luke as he exited. “Clara coming here?”
“The SWAT team has her en route.”
“Good,” Mason said.
“She’s a little bit frazzled and has some bruises and cuts, but no major injuries otherwise. No sign of anything traumatic, although you should probably take her to a therapist.”
“Her and I both,” Mason said.
“And Tessa?”
“In the hospital for a broken leg,” Luke said. “Do you know what happened? Did she double-cross you?”
“How did you know?” Mason said.
“I have access to the same things General Jones did,” Luke said. “I have to request access, but it’s usually given to me. I saw what happened at that intersection, albeit only the video version, no audio.”
Mason bit his lip. What had happened to Tessa? That, like many other parts of this mission, seemed like a question not so easily answered. He’d have to ask her herself, and perhaps she wouldn’t even know the answer.
“My guess would be she got brainwashed somehow,” Mason said with a half-hearted shrug. “I’ve known that woman since our time overseas. I know how much she did for me to make this all happen. And I heard her when she got me. That wasn’t her.”
“Hopefully the folks at the hospital would figure it out,” Luke said. “In the meantime…”
Mason followed his line of sight.
And then he saw her.
Clara.
Alive.
Dirty and bruised.
But alive.
“Clara!” he shouted. “Clara, baby!”
His daughter looked up at him, burst into tears, and ran up to him. The two embraced tightly, Mason wanting to hold her as if he would never let her go. After everything that had transpired, he knew that he might never literally let her go.
The last of the Walkers was alive, perhaps changed in some way Mason could not predict, but alive all the same. Luke was right—years of therapy would be needed for this, and, in some ways, he feared that she would now forever be dragged into this life that he had tried so hard to keep her away from. There was so much in the road ahead he’d have to account for.
But, for now, he could give thanks that she was alive.
“Clara,” he said, tears streaming down his eyes. “I’m so sorry, I should never have let this happen to you.”
“Daddy, it’s ok,” she said, also crying. “I love you. Thank you for being here. Thank you for helping.”
