by P A Duncan
A Perfect Hatred: Collateral Damage
Book Four
P. A. Duncan
A Perfect Hatred: Collateral Damage. Copyright © 2019 by P. A. Duncan, Phyllis A. Duncan. All rights reserved.
U. S. Copyright Office Registration No. TXu 2-178-336, February 3, 2020.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. For permission to use excerpts other than for review, contact the author at [email protected].
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, and some locations and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, places, or people, public figures notwithstanding, is coincidence.
Printed in the United States of America.
FIRST EDITION: April 2020
ISBN: 979-8623848697
Cover Art: SelfPubBookCovers.com/goodCoverDesign
Edited by Sylvan Echo Editing, www.sylvanechoedits.com
Published by Unexpected Paths Publishing, www.unexpectedpaths.com
Created with Vellum
Epigraphs
Our government is the potent, the omnipresent teacher. For good or for ill, it teaches the whole people by its example.
Justice Louis D. Brandeis, excerpted from his dissent in Olmstead v. United States
The object of terrorism is terrorism.
George Orwell, 1984
Dedication
To the survivors of terrorism, who live every day with fear
and the memory of those lost.
Contents
PROLOGUE
I. Warrior for the Cause
1. Homecoming
2. Limits of Friendship
3. After the Fact
4. Doing Better
5. Too Many Ifs
6. On the Road
7. Of Bars and Ukrainian Convents
8. Ghosts
9. An Easy Gig
10. Possible Futures
11. In Kind
12. Caveman Fantasy
13. Loose Ends
14. Murder of the Innocent
15. Alibis and Attributions
16. Full Circle
17. Routines
18. Homeward
19. Fellowship
20. Disillusionment
21. Bad Timing
22. Bombing
23. Patriot City Redux
24. Waiting Game
25. Waking Dreams
26. Probable Causes
27. Inevitability
28. The Coldest Blood of All
29. The Ides of March
II. Terror in the Heartland
30. Cruel to be Kind
31. Thus Bad Begins
32. Worse Remains Behind
33. Distractions
34. Strange New World
35. Epiphany
36. Warrior
37. Certainty
38. Inspiration
39. The Unexpected
40. Show Time
41. Encounters
42. So Shall You Reap
43. Don’t Look Back
44. Chaos
45. Escape
46. Pandemonium
47. Faith and Fear
48. Fear and Faith
49. Hell Has Victory
III. Casualties of War
50. Lost
51. Found
52. Family
53. Secrets
54. False Hope
55. Robin Hood
56. Madness
57. Favors
58. Indignities
59. Logistics
60. Judas
61. Beyond Hurt
62. Deceptive Appearance
63. The Gravity of Reality
64. Change of Scenery
65. In the Context of the Mission
66. Honors
67. Ideology and Weapons
68. Monsters
69. The Next Mission
70. Alt-Right
EPILOGUE
Afterword
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Author’s Social Media
Also by P. A. Duncan
Discussion Questions for
Don’t Forget the Review
PROLOGUE
A Choice Made
Unknown Location
January 1995
When Prophet went to the men’s room with a newspaper, John Carroll headed for the diner’s pay phone. Carroll closed the booth’s door, called a number from memory, and punched in his calling card code. After two rings, the answering machine picked up. His shoulders slumped in disappointment.
“You’ve reached Irish Charities. No one can take your call at the moment. Please leave a message.”
Siobhan’s voice. He closed his eyes and relished it. The tone sounded, and he talked fast.
“Siobhan, I’ve only got a few minutes. I need to know you’re okay. I know you said you left Boston, but I hope you’re back there and fixed things. Are you there? Pick up, please, Siobhan.”
He controlled his urge to pound on the phone.
“Siobhan, I came to the motel when I got back to Kingman. The manager didn’t know when you left. God, I was so scared. I shouldn’t have left you. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
No, he told himself, you knew what you were thinking about: a destiny that now seemed unsure. He checked to make certain Prophet hadn’t returned. “Look, Siobhan, I talked to, uh, you know who, about what happened. He and I fought, Siobhan. I mean, like a fist fight over what he did to you. I told him it was wrong, and we fought. Goddamn it, Siobhan, pick up the phone!”
He mentally kicked himself for shouting, thankful the ambient noise in the busy diner covered his loss of control.
“Siobhan, God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry about all of it. What he did to you… I’ve got… I’ve got something to do, something big. The personal has to wait. I can’t see you for a while. Not forever, please, not that. Things could get hot around me, and I don’t want you burned.”
A movement caught his eye. A frowning Prophet strode toward him. Carroll pressed the receiver to his chest and opened the door.
“Who are you talking to?” Prophet asked.
“My sister. If I don’t check in with my family, they’ll call the police or something.”
Prophet squinted at him, but the lie must have convinced him. “Hurry up. We need to keep moving.”
Carroll nodded and closed the door. Prophet stared hard before he headed for the diner’s exit.
How had Carroll come to this point in his life, always traveling, staying in cheap motels, separated from people who mattered to him?
The government. The stinking government.
In a few months, they would try to say he’d done it because of Killeen, because the FBI botched a raid on a religious cult and killed a bunch of men, women, and children. That was the simple approach, the easy answer. It was more than that.
No, it was the government screwing over farmers, foreclosing on their lands when they couldn’t repay government loans.
It was the government going after guns.
It was all the government rules and regulations keeping people from protecting themselves because the government wanted them dependent on it.
It was the government trying to make him into an assassin, trying to make him pay back the money it gave him by mistake.
And, fuck yes, it was Killeen, but it was also cumulative. All the injustices piled up, heaped on him, on people like him, and it was his job to bring it down, clear away the rubble, and make room for the new.
Action was what he’d wanted all along, from the moment he’d watched Calvary Locus burn on television. Right as he’d become convinced all that would happen after Killeen was a long string of useless words, he’d met the man who focused him and urged him and gave him this mission.
Carroll paused, realizing he’d said that all out loud, into Siobhan’s answering machine. No, that was all right. She needed to understand.
“Siobhan, I need you to be careful,” he continued. “I think they know I told you. They’re after me, but I’ll never, ever give you up to them. You know that, but you need to be careful, really, really careful. I know you can take care of yourself, but be careful. Okay?”
The hit of meth he’d taken before this midnight breakfast struck full force, and words rushed from him.
“Siobhan, I was so worried about you, about seeing you hurt. That hurt me more than you know, but I’m sorry. You have to understand. I have to put the personal aside. I have to focus on being a warrior. The time for talk is past. After everything cools down, I can see you again. I need to see you again. I need you. Please, please, please, don’t go all the way home. I’d have no way of knowing where you are.”
His throat tightened, and tears threatened to unman him. “Siobhan, please don’t think you don’t mean anything to me because you do. You understand me. The only one who does. I made a choice you don’t like, but it’ll work out. I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine. I promise.”
The meth narrowed his vision, making it seem as if the patrons of the diner were watching him. Panic rose up.
“I need to hang up in case you’re bugged. Siobhan, please be safe, and please remember to destroy my letters to you. It’s more important than ever. Siobhan, I… Goodbye. Siobhan, I… I love you.”
He slammed the receiver down and rested his forehead on the cool glass door of the booth. A sob built, but he fought it down.
As he walked from the diner, he didn’t notice the people who recoiled from his deadly glare.
I
Warrior for the Cause
1
Homecoming
International Arrivals
Dulles International Airport
January 1995
A commercial flight turned out to be the better option for Alexei’s and Natalia’s trip to Ukraine. For their return, they’d changed planes in Frankfurt and boarded a nonstop to Dulles. Mai and Olga awaited them as U.S. Customs cleared several overseas arrivals.
“I did excellent job with makeup,” Olga said. “No one is noticing.”
“Rather the way I prefer it,” Mai replied. She’d spent three days and nights in hospital for “observation.” Before Alexei and Natalia departed, the facial bruising had not faded enough to avoid an excuse for Natalia.
Mai and Alexei kept track of past excuses: muggings, car accidents, falls while jogging. Natalia must think she had the most accident-prone grandparents on earth. The excuse this time was a bad case of the flu. However, Alexei’s and Natalia’s trip to Ukraine meant extra days to heal enough for the fading bruises to be hidden beneath makeup. The cracked ribs still reminded her they were cracked.
Mai watched the reunions occurring around her, the couples embracing and kissing, parents greeting children. She looked away.
“Ah, I see malyishka,” Olga said.
Mai hid a smile. Olga had been close to bereft without her charge, and Mai found it comforting Olga cared for Natalia rather than thinking of her as a job.
“Mums!” Natalia squealed and ran headlong for her.
Natalia kissed both of Mai’s cheeks and hugged Mai fiercely. Mai’s ribs protested, but she pursed her lips and didn’t acknowledge the pain. Natalia dashed to Olga and repeated the hugging and kissing, the former KGB colonel stiff in the teenager’s arms.
“Where’s Popi?” Mai asked.
“He should be here soon. He was right behind me. Popi grew a beard. It’s gross.”
“Olga,” Mai said, “take Natalia to baggage claim. Alexei and I will be there shortly.”
The two headed away, Natalia chattering a mile a minute.
Alexei emerged from Customs, his passport and a carryon in hand. His eyes swept the area. He always did that, looking for danger. His shorn hair had grown back enough he could wear it combed back off his face. It had grown back gray, which he’d been before, but a shade or two darker, the color of steel. He wore a long, black cashmere coat, black dress trousers, and a black turtleneck sweater. The beard, a shade or so lighter than his hair, wasn’t gross; it was…attractive. Compelling. A whole new Alexei. Maybe that was what they needed.
He was a handsome man. That had quite often been the issue. He’d used those looks to his advantage, even on her. Yet, when she saw him now, something she’d buried months ago stirred in her. He’d been gone three weeks; it felt longer.
When he saw her, his narrowed eyes relaxed, and he smiled. When he reached her, though, he hesitated before he lay one hand on her shoulder and gave her a light kiss on each cheek.
“Olga did your makeup, I see,” he said, lips still in an uptick.
“According to her, she did an excellent job.”
“If I didn’t know about them, I wouldn’t notice the bruises.”
Not a subject she wanted to discuss.
“How is your mother?”
“According to my sister, she could die tomorrow if she wants or she could go on several more years. If she wants. She was thrilled to see Natalia. They spent hours riding horses together. She sent her regards.”
Mai nodded to acknowledge that.
“Where are Natalia and Olga?” he asked.
“I sent them to baggage claim.”
“Oh.”
What? Was he nervous about being alone with her?
“We might as well head there,” Mai said. “I like the beard.”
“Oh? I was going to shave it when I got home, mostly to silence Natalia’s carping about it.”
“Leave it for a while.”
That garnered a slight frown, but he fell into step beside her, close but not touching. “Any report from the operatives we sent to watch Carroll?” he murmured.
Mai sighed; now was as good a time as any. “It turns out Carroll didn’t show up in Enid, Oklahoma, nor has he returned to Arizona. Duval never left.”
“No sightings of him at all?”
“No. One team is staying in Arizona, watching the Duval residence, the other moved on to New York, to the father’s house. Don’t lecture. I know it means he lied to me.”
They walked in silence until reaching the baggage claim area. “Number six,” Alexei said. “Physically, how do you feel?”
“No more pissing blood. Ribs are better, at least until Natalia hugged me.”
“She missed you.” The hand came to rest on her shoulder again. “I missed you.”
Had she missed him? She’d hated being alone in the house, for all intents and purposes. Olga had stayed in her apartment, emerging to fix meals for Mai, which she left for her but didn’t eat with her. Mai believed Alexei and Natalia were the only two fellow human beings Olga tolerated.
“It’s good you’re home,” Mai said, not looking at him.
His hand left her shoulder.
Mount Vernon, Virginia
Sleep eluded Mai. During a mission, after a mission, she could sleep like a baby. Alexei was the one plagued with occasional insomnia, prone to walking the house or sitting alone in dark rooms.
Right now, he slept like the proverbial dead.
Was it irrational to think he slept better than she did on purpose, rather than because of jet lag?
Mai turned to her side, still a painful process, and stared at the LED numbers on the clock, hoping the steady flash of the seconds would lull her to sleep. Beside the clock on the night table, her pager’s message light blinked. Mai covered it with her hand, glancing over her shoulder to see if Alexei had seen it.
Grinding her teeth against the pain, she got out of bed and went downs
tairs to the office for privacy. Mai read the message and groaned. Edwin Terrell wanted to meet her at two in the morning. No call-back number, only a two-word message telling her where. She dressed from the stash of clothes in the office closet. No time for makeup to cover the worst of the lingering bruises. Darkness would hide them. Halfway to the garage, she stopped, went back, and left a note for Alexei.
Alexei lay on his back and listened to the faint noises from downstairs. The pager had awakened him, and he was annoyed, knowing who’d page her in the middle of the night. He could make it an issue, but he couldn’t throw stones at that glass house.
The garage door opened and closed, and Alexei crossed to the front of the house to watch Mai’s Four-Runner, lights off, go down the driveway. He headed downstairs to the office. On his desk in the circle of light from his lamp lay her note.
