Blaze of Glory (22 page)

J. J. took a seat and ordered a latte, then addressed Zinsser who sat at the end of the booth. “That was quite a lecture you gave the president.”

“It wasn’t a lecture, kid. I was just trying to correct a misconception. You know as well as I do that overconfidence kills.”

“Absolutely,” Rich said. “Still, you did lay it on a little thick.”

“My social filter was damaged in Somalia.”

“Yeah,” Rich said, “I guess we leave a little of ourselves behind with each mission.”

“So what now, Boss?” J. J. asked.

“Nothing. We’re out of our element here. This operation is in the hands of others. I’ve reported in and have been told to stay put. Since the meetings officially began this morning, the Secret Service has cut off all inbound and outbound traffic. No one walks in; no one walks out without an escort, and Agent Baker said he can’t spare the men.”

“He’s a cautious one, that Baker,” Rich said.

“He’s paid to be paranoid.” Moyer spoke with admiration.

“Okay, if I’m out of line here, just say so,” J. J. said. “But what happened back at the minibus? I never could figure out what you were saying, Zinsser.”

Moyer didn’t hesitate. “You’re out of line.”

“Understood, Boss.” J. J. noticed Zinsser direct his gaze into his coffee cup.

“I’m not used to staying out of the way,” Moyer said, pushing his coffee away. “Part of me hopes I’m wrong about El-Sayyed’s plan; part of me wants to be right.”

“This is a huge target,” Rich said. “We all agreed that this must be what he has in mind—well, all but our Italian friend.”

“He makes a good argument, but I think he’s wrong. Sure, blowing up historic Christian sites in Rome would get the world’s attention, but it doesn’t fit with the other bombings. Several of those sites were considered for the G-20 meeting. It’s as if El-Sayyed was herding the world leaders here.”

“Makes sense to me.” Rich yawned. “Well, I’m heading to my room to take care of all this coffee I’ve been drinking and to catch a little shut-eye. Someone will let me know before we bug out?”

“Maybe,” J. J. said.

“Cute. Don’t you have a Bible study to lead or something?”

“My brother is the chaplain, Shaq, not me. I’m just the plain, ordinary kind of Christian.” J. J. moved so Rich could slip from the booth.

“Plain is right. I don’t know what that beautiful fiancée sees in you.”

“She loves my wit and high intelligence.”

“Hang on, Rich. I’ll walk with you.”

J. J. watched the team leaders cross the restaurant and disappear into the lobby, then glanced at Zinsser, who was still gazing into his cup. “I’m sorry, man. I crossed the line with that question.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Like I said, I’m sorry.”

Zinsser looked up. To J. J., he looked like a man who hadn’t slept in a month. “Don’t sweat it. I’m sure Moyer will spill the beans after the mission.”

“Sounds like you’re going somewhere.”

“Maybe. Who knows?”

J. J. studied the man. He had seen stressed out soldiers before and, at the moment, Zinsser could be their poster boy. “Okay, fair warning. I’m going to cross the line again so get prepared to tell me to shut up and mind my own business.”

Zinsser gave a mirthless chuckle. “I’m always ready to do that.”

“You look like a man who’s carrying more than his fair share of guilt.”

“Is this where you whip out a Bible and give me an unwanted sermon?”

“Bible? Oh, you’re talking about Rich’s dig about me being a Christian. Well, I’m guilty as charged.”

“And proud of it.”

J. J. shook his head. “I’m not ashamed, but proud is the wrong word. As far as a Bible goes, I have one—in my vest. I’ll talk with you all day about my faith and the Bible, but you can relax. I don’t do sermons and I don’t force things down anyone’s throat. I’ll leave you alone if you want.”

“Nah, I’m just . . . I’m just being me. Sorry.” He paused. “What’s a Christian like you doing in an Army like this? I’ve known other Christian soldiers but I never understood them. I mean, aren’t they like polar opposites?”

“It sure seems like it at times.”

“Not only are you Army, but you’re spec ops—and the chief weapons and demo guy.”

“I’ve asked that question of myself a million times, but it’s clear I’m right where God wants me to be.”

“Killing people?”

“The only people I kill are trying to kill me or the innocent . . .” J. J. broke eye contact and his heart seemed to labor.

“What? I know that look. I see it in the mirror every day. You regret something.”

J. J. nodded. “Yeah, in a way.”

“It’s none of my business.”

“Sure it is, Zinsser. You need to know who’s fighting by your side.”

“If you insist. I’ve got the time.”

J. J. sipped his coffee. “We were doing a surveillance op in Afghanistan—I guess it was about a year and a half ago. We did a HALO drop and speed marched up one of the mountains and tried to get a bead on an insurgent camp. We were dug in when one of those stupid things happened. We had a team member. His name was Caraway.”

“The guy I replaced.”

“Yeah, he died on an op in Venezuela.”

“A good soldier?”

“Yeah, but a lousy person. He hated me. Mostly because of my faith.”

“And you seem so lovable.” Apparently Zinsser was relaxing some.

“Somehow, Caraway’s rucksack developed a tear. Probably from the rough landing on the parachute jump. Anyway, he liked to pack trail mix on missions. It was his superstition. A few half-starved goats got wind of the trail mix and gave away our position. We tried to lay low but two men appeared a short distance away. Both carried AK-47s, but you know how it is in Afghanistan: every adult male carries an automatic weapon. They pointed our way. We assumed they might be a Taliban patrol.”

“So you popped them.”

“Yeah. Several of us fired, but I’m sure I got my rounds off first.”

“Let me guess, you killed a couple of shepherds.”

J. J. answered with a nod. “I doubt they had anything to do with the Taliban camp.”

“Did they give you away?”

J. J. shrugged. “In a way. The shock of being shot made one of the men yank the trigger of his weapon. The noise brought bad guys running up the hill by the dozens.”

“How did you get out?”

“We called for close-air support. It was a danger-close mission—”

Zinsser straightened. “You let a bunch of jet jockeys drop bombs on your position?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. We were dug in and the Taliban had a hundred or so men coming our way.”

“You know I gotta ask—”

“Two times ICM, five meters.”

“They dropped bombs over your position set to explode at fifteen feet above ground level. Man, that must have hurt.”

“It was hard to overlook.”

“And that did the job?”

“We’re here, aren’t we?”

Zinsser laughed. It was the first time J. J. had seen the man do so. J. J. joined him for a moment. He had relived those moments a thousand times, and this was the first time he felt he released some of the pent-up tension with laughter.

“Another guess: Those shepherds haunt you, don’t they?”

J. J. saw a moment of concern in Zinsser’s eyes. “Yeah, some. Every once in awhile it bothers me a lot.”

“How do you deal with it?”

“Prayer mostly.”

“You did what you had to do. No one is going to blame you for that.”

J. J. pursed his lips. “It isn’t what other people think that bothers me. It’s that I killed, or at the very least helped kill, two men whose only crime was trying to find wayward goats.”

“And if you hadn’t, they might have ratted you out to Taliban fighters.”

“I know that.”

Zinsser looked to a distant horizon only he could see. “Does the prayer help?”

“A lot. I won’t say I don’t have my moments, but when I do, I have someone to talk it over with.”

“God?”

“Yes. Does that sound strange to you?”

Zinsser looked back at his now empty coffee cup. “I don’t believe in God. I stopped believing in Him when I lost my whole team.”

J. J. lowered his voice. “Didn’t someone else make it? I thought two of you made it out alive.”

“Brian . . . Brian Taylor. I guess it depends how you define
alive.
”

J. J. leaned over the table. “You guys were close?”

“You know how it is. I don’t get close to people, but Brian was always good to me. I visit him when I can. He’s a good man—a better man.”

Thoughts tumbled in J. J.’s mind. Soldiers were a different breed of men, especially career warriors. They were complex beings that hid more than they revealed. There existed an unwritten code: never pry, never invade, and never go further than a man allowed.

“This is a crazy business we got ourselves into. Still, I can’t see myself selling insurance.” J. J. grinned.

“Just keep an M4 on your desk. People will buy whatever you’re selling.” Zinsser paused. “The prayer really works?”

“It always has. I grew up in the church, but that’s not why I’m a believer. I’m a believer because I’ve seen the difference Jesus makes in a man’s life.”

“Here comes the sermon.”

“No worries, man. I preached one sermon in my life and the congregation was very kind—then asked me not to do it again.”

“That bad.”

“It was pretty bad. I think it’s best if I live my sermon and share with those who want to listen.”

“Is it true God forgives?”

Zinsser’s words were so soft J. J. had to process them twice to make sense of them. “Yeah, He does. That’s the thing about faith; it’s a place for busted up people. Jesus’ whole ministry was about bringing forgiveness to whoever asks.”

“People like me are too far gone for forgiveness.”

“You bigger than God now?”

Zinsser’s jaw clenched. “What?”

“I asked if you’re bigger than God.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“No one is too far gone for forgiveness. God is the same distance from every individual. You just have to decide if you’re willing to talk to Him.”

“I wouldn’t know how.”

“It’s not calculus. You talk to God the way you talk to anyone. Just remember who He is and who you are.”

“And light falls from heaven?”

“Cool as that would be, it doesn’t happen that way. One of my favorite verses goes like this: ‘But now in Christ Jesus you who once were far away have been brought near through the blood of Christ.’”

“And that means what?”

“That Jesus gave His all so we can be close to Him and Him to us.”

Zinsser didn’t respond, and J. J. couldn’t read his expression.

“Do you know who the apostle Paul was?”

“I’ve heard the name.”

“He was one of the first persecutors of the church. He hunted down believers and had them jailed. By his own admission he persecuted the church to the death—until he had an encounter with Christ. Half of the books in the New Testament came through him. He often referred to Christians as soldiers . . .” J. J. saw Zinsser’s attention switch to someone approaching the booth. He turned and saw Moyer.

“Uh oh,” Zinsser said. “This doesn’t look good.”

Moyer stopped a foot from the booth and fixed his gaze on Zinsser. “There’s no good way to do this, Zinsser.”

“What’s happened?”

“I was just on the horn with Command. Brian Taylor died an hour ago. Complications from a surgery.”

Zinsser closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

J. J. searched for words to say, but none of them made sense. He looked at Moyer. “We were just talking about him.” He hesitated. “Hey look, Zinsser, if there’s—”

Zinsser raised a hand. “Keep it, J. J.” He scooted out from the booth then looked at Moyer. “Thanks for giving it to me straight, Boss.”

“I wish I didn’t have to.”

Zinsser made eye contact with J. J. “That’s some sense of humor your God has.”

He walked away.

CHAPTER 25

HELEN BROWN WALKED WITH President Huffington as he left his suite. Agent Mitchell Baker led a small procession of agents—two in front of the president and two behind. They paused at the elevator. Helen and the president waited at the edge of the elevator lobby until agents cleared the cab.

“I see you’re wearing your ‘I’m invincible’ tie.” Huffington had hundreds of ties, many of them gifts from supporters and well-wishers. The solid silk tie was a little out of date, but its maroon color and diagonal pinstripe looked sharp. It was the tie he had worn when he accepted the Republican nomination for president five years earlier. He wore it again at his first and second inaugurations.

“I thought the meeting went well.” Pride suffused Helen’s tone. “You and the Canadian prime minister made headway with the Mexican president.”

“President Gomez is a proud man. Our insistence on a border fence between the U.S. and Mexico while not insisting on the same thing with Canada smacks of racial prejudice.”

“Which is nonsense. Our biggest immigration and drug problem is with Mexico, not the Canadians.”

“He knows that, but he’s a politician and concerned with appearances. To his people it looks like we’re hanging out the unwelcome sign.”

“Well—”

“Don’t go there, Brownie. The Mexicans have a rich history and are an honorable people. It’s their weak economy that drives the immigration problem. It wasn’t that long ago when I thought Americans might start crossing the border into Mexico. Our economy is on the upswing now, but the world was betting against us just a year ago.”

“Economic stress is one thing, Mr. President. Being a channel for drugs is another.”

“Let’s not forget that the only reason drugs cross the border from Mexico is because the drug lords have buyers over here. Cutting off the supply is only one of the steps we need to take. We need comprehensive medical treatment for anyone willing to kick the habit.”

“We have to convince six more senators before we have a prayer of that happening, and you know what they’re contending with.”

“Yes. If we help Americans addicted to illegal drugs, we should also help Americans addicted to cigarettes . . .”

“And alcohol and every other substance considered addictive.”