Political Suicide (35 page)

“Dr. Welcome, how nice to see you again,” he said. “I guess you’ve come to say your good-byes to our troops. I know the traitor next to you, who likes to blow things up, but this gentleman is new to me.”

The three remained silent.

“It’s over, Brody,” Lou said finally. “We know who you are and what you’ve done, and soon these men will know, too. Operation Talon has to be stopped.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Brody said. “I didn’t realize you were now in charge of matters of national security. I’ll just let these guys know that rather than fight, they should just pack up and head on home. Or better still, how about I have them shoot you and your friends, here, for treason and for attempting to intervene with a military operation. Gentlemen, ready your weapons.”

In an instant, twenty safety mechanisms were released. Lou raised his hands above his head. Cap and Papa Steve did the same, dropping their pistols onto the tarmac.

“We’re unarmed,” Lou said. “I’m a doctor. Cap, here, is a fighter who teaches inner city kids how to box. Papa Steve you know. Kill us, and you’re killing Americans—you’re killing what you all stand for.”

“Enough!” Brody ordered. “Did you think mentioning Manolo’s name would get you a free pass? I brought you in here so these men can see why they have accepted this mission—the forces that are constantly trying to stop us. Men, Manolo is in charge of making the drink we all share every day. The composition of that drink is a complex one, but he does a rather good job at it, don’t you think? We pay him in cash and sometimes, when necessary, in weapons. Does that knowledge make a difference to any of you?”

“It should make a difference,” Lou said. “You’re being manipulated by this man like guinea pigs, being asked to sacrifice your lives so that he can prove a point. I’ve read his research. I know.”

The soldiers remained in position.

“Game, set, and match, Welcome,” Brody sang.

“Whatever it takes!” one of the men shouted.

The rest of Mantis Company echoed their battle cry.

“Whatever it takes!”

“No!” Lou pleaded. “Not whatever it takes. You are warriors. You do your best. You do what’s right. You act with valor. But you don’t knowingly and willingly enter a situation planning to take your own lives. That is above and beyond the call of duty. This mission must be stopped.”

“Fire!” Brody cried. “Take them out! These men are a threat to our national security.”

Papa Steve stepped in front of Lou. “Don’t do it! Stand down, guys. Don’t shoot!”

Brody pulled a pistol from a holster hidden underneath his parka. He aimed the weapon at Papa Steve. “I will shoot them myself if you men don’t follow this order. Now, fire your weapons, dammit.”

With feline grace and speed, Cap rushed Brody and, in virtually the same motion, landed a vicious right hook to the side of his nose, dropping the Mantis commander onto his butt.

Cap’n Crunch.

Brody’s pistol skidded away. Blood spurted from both his nostrils. His eyes glazed. Lou tensed himself for the hail of bullets that would end his best friend’s life. Instead, at that moment, there was only a loud pop. Cap went down like a flour sack, facedown on the cold asphalt, twitching and bucking.

“Coon, you stupid bastard!” Papa Steve shouted.

Lou kicked away the two filament wires attached to the Taser gun in Coon’s outstretched hand and knelt beside Cap. The powerful darts had paralyzed him through his parka. Lou had treated enough Taser wounds to know quickly that Cap’s situation was horribly unpleasant, but also temporary.

A click.

Lou heard a gun chamber loading and closed his eyes, bracing for the sting of steel and wondering how long he would feel the pain. A momentary flash, or would it be a lingering agony? His mind’s eye saw blood, gallons of it, spewing out from holes in his chest. He pined for Emily in those final seconds, anticipating a sensation that never materialized. When he opened his eyes, one of the Mantis soldiers had stepped forward with his weapon pointed not at the three intruders, but at Brody, who was shakily on his feet, teeth bared, eyes still watering, clamping his bleeding nostrils shut with the fabric of his cap.

“We’re not afraid to die, sir,” the soldier said. “None of us. But that doesn’t mean we murder innocent Americans. Don’t touch your pistol, Major Coon.”

Lou tried to rouse Cap, who was coming around but was still too dazed to stand.

“Staff Sergeant Morales, you’d best point that weapon where it’s supposed to be pointed,” Brody rasped.

“Morales is right,” another man said, stepping out of line to aim his weapon at Coon. “We’re not stupid. We know what you felt the ruby drink was doing to us, but not many of us believed it, or cared. We’ve always been ready to die for our country and our commanders.”

Papa Steve stepped forward and faced them. “Your commander,” he said, “this man who is ordering you to kill my friends and me, is a murderer himself. He shot Elias Colston, Mark’s father, in cold blood, because Colston knew the truth about Mantis. He didn’t believe his son would have ever had the courage to act in battle the way he did unless he was acting under the influence of chemicals that altered his ability to experience fear.”

“That’s not so,” Morales said.

“Ask Brody,” Lou said. “I read his Ph.D. thesis cover to cover. Ask him if he thinks you men would undertake this mission if not for the drug combination he developed and fed you every day. Fear is a part of war, but Brody wanted to eliminate that factor, to bring you equal with the terrorists we are fighting. You men are true soldiers. Maybe you’ll be killed in the line of duty. That’s a risk every solider takes. But let it be a risk and not the goal. Let it be something that happens to you and not something that you seek out.”

Staff Sergeant Morales turned to Lou. “Doc, we appreciate what you’re saying. But like it or not, we are going on our mission. Like you said, we’re soldiers, Mantis marines, and we’re trained to follow orders. No questions asked. No options accepted.”

“You just chose not to commit the cold-blooded murder of innocent American civilians,” Papa Steve said. “That’s not following orders.”

“Well, I guess you found the one line we’re not willing to cross.”

Brody had staunched the bleeding from his nose, and lowered his cap. Lou caught the sliver of a smile as it creased the corners of the commander’s mouth. Fenton Morales lowered his gun, and the others did the same.

“Colonel Brody, sir, Major Coon,” Morales said, “I believe I am speaking for the group of us. Once these men have been taken into military custody, we are prepared to board the transport and complete our mission as ordered.”

Lou read Wyatt Brody’s eyes:
You’re dead, Welcome.

“I’ll radio for the MPs,” Brody said earnestly. “You men can watch from the transport as these three are escorted away. I’ll even make certain this coward who sucker-punched me receives medical attention. Major Coon, supervise the securing of these men.”

“Sir, yes, sir!” Coon said, saluting.

“Now, men, on that plane. You’ll be airborne in fifteen minutes. First, though, let’s take a minute together.”

“Crimson is the color of courage, the color of blood spilled in battle, the color of valor. To justice. To country. To God. To Mantis.”

“Whatever it takes!”

CHAPTER 48

The lights of an approaching sedan flashed several times. Sarah was driving at walking speed along an empty road inside the Dover air base. Two armed guards dressed for the cold flanked her car. The defogger was blasting on high, but the windshield kept misting up, giving her just a small porthole into the world outside.

The headlights flashed again and Sarah stopped. Twenty yards apart, the cars faced each other like a pair of jousters readying for a charge. Then the sedan’s driver’s-side door opened and Spencer Hogarth stepped out. He wore a long trench coat with the belt undone and dangling. The silver of his hair shone like snow under the glow of an isolated streetlight. He spoke to the guards, who checked his ID before heading back toward the gate. Then he rapped twice on Sarah’s roof.

She lowered her window and studied the secretary of defense’s hard-bitten face. In just over a day, his worry lines seemed to have deepened, the bags under his eyes become fuller.

Has the stress of ordering our murders taken such a big toll?
she wanted to ask.

She imagined what Hogarth was thinking,
How are you alive? What in the hell happened to Bryzinski?

“Follow me,” he said.

“Where are we going?”

“Someplace I know where it’s safe to talk.”

Or someplace where it’s easy to have us killed,
Sarah thought.

Again, fear gripped her. She had her cards ready to play, and Edith’s derringer loaded in her pocket for contingency, but this was a remorseless, power-hungry megalomaniac they were dealing with. There were probably countless ways for a man of his power and connections to get their bodies out of Dover undetected. The guards were out of sight now, leaving her and Edith alone. Timing was going to be everything. Her heart pounding, Sarah nodded that she would follow the man who was prepared to murder them both. The target for success was Hogarth’s massive ego and belief that he could survive any situation.

As Hogarth headed back to his Cadillac, Sarah heard a loud thump from behind her.

Bryzinski!

Had his weight shifted? Were his hands now free? Could he hear what was going on outside the car?

Sarah’s throat tightened as Hogarth stopped and turned slowly in the direction of the noise. He was focused on the trunk of the Mercedes, or so Sarah believed. She wrapped her hand around the derringer and waited for another rap. Maybe he was having a seizure of some sort?

“We don’t have much time,” Edith said to Hogarth, her voice brimming with anger and, Sarah felt, with confidence.

The outburst was enough to refocus Hogarth’s attention.
Smart, smart girl,
Sarah was thinking.

“We get this over now, or we drive away,” Edith added.

“Follow me,” Hogarth said, turning back to his car.

When they were back in the Mercedes, Sarah put her hand on Edith’s. “Nicely done.”

“I hate that man so much. I’ll do anything to make this work.”

They followed Hogarth along a warren of empty streets that took them some distance from the gate. The Cadillac stopped in front of a closed hangar. Sarah parked as far away as she dared, and the two women quickly got out and moved toward where Hogarth was standing. There was no sound from the trunk. Sarah and Edith exhaled in unison.

One ominous sign: Hogarth hadn’t checked either of them for a wire. He would do that after they were dead.

The trio stood six feet apart, tucked away in a quiet and seemingly abandoned section of the air base. Hogarth said nothing for a few tense seconds, then reached into his coat pocket. Instinctively, Sarah grasped the derringer but made no move to extract it.

“Okay, it’s safe to talk here,” Hogarth said. “What do you want from me?”

“Nothing has changed from the restaurant,” Sarah said, her grip still on the gun. “We have enough information to bury your career if it becomes public.”

Hogarth eyed her coldly. She was certain he had tried to reach Bryzinski, but he wasn’t giving anything away.

“So, what are we doing here?” he asked. “I thought you had a new deal to offer.”

“I do,” Sarah said. “We bury Reddy Creek, for good and forever, we’ll sign papers, whatever you need to feel confident that Reddy Creek and the other armory robberies never come to the surface.”

“In exchange for Brody’s confession to murder? I thought you said we had a new deal. That’s the old one.”

“No, we got Brody dead to rights on murder one,” Sarah said. “We’ve got an alibi with Swiss cheese–sized holes in it, a compelling motive, and the weapon used to kill Elias Colston—a weapon that just happens to have come from Brody’s gun collection.”

For the first time, Hogarth’s expression revealed his surprise. “How did that come to be?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Sarah said. “What matters is we’ve got the weapon.”

“So what do you want from me? A confession for this woman’s tragedy? That isn’t going to happen, because I had nothing to do with it.”

Hogarth withdrew his hand from his coat pocket. Sarah was about to pull out the derringer, or even shoot through her coat pocket, but something made her stop. The secretary’s gloved hand came out empty.

“Nothing you can do will ever compensate me for my loss,” Edith said.

“Then make your offer or I walk away.”

“Okay. You need to put a stop to Operation Talon.”

Hogarth’s jaw came unhinged. “What?”

“We know,” Sarah said. “We know all about Talon and your use of a psychotropic drug mixture to block out your soldiers’ fear of death. We know these men are on nothing more than a massive suicide mission. Our terrorists versus their terrorists.”

“Nothing doing. Even if unsubstantiated word got out, the American people will stand behind our troops.”

That was it. Hogarth was almost certainly right, and he knew it.

It was time for the final card.

“We have Bryzinski,” Sarah said simply.

“What?”

“The killer you hired made it as far as my condo, and we shot him.”

Sarah passed over a plastic Baggie with the cop’s silencer in it. If Hogarth put together this revelation and the noise that had come from the trunk, they were finished.

“That’s bullshit!”

“Suit yourself. We have a recorded confession, including who paid him. I’ve left separate instructions with two of my partners as to how they can find both him and the recording.”

Hogarth digested the revelation. At that instant, Sarah felt certain she heard more pounding from the trunk. It was all she could do to keep from looking back in that direction, or at Edith.

“I want proof he’s alive,” Hogarth said finally.

The bluff was running out of time.

“The proof is we’re going to count to five,” Sarah said with renewed force. “You agree to call Talon off and we’ll tell you where your pudgy buddy can be found. If I get to zero, we leave. Killing us won’t do you any good now. By morning, the police and the media will have all they need to put you out of business and in prison.”