immunity while on our mission. Which includes unlawful deaths.”
“What?” Tommy blurted. He looked at Matt. “Is that even possible?”
Matt took a breath and exchanged glances with Steele. They both knew how these private forces worked. If it were a Black Budget Contract, Buck’s team could shoot anyone they wanted, whenever they wanted, without any ramifications.
“Yeah,” Matt said to Tommy. “It’s possible.”
Tommy pulled out his cell phone and glanced at the time, then shoved it back into his pocket. He looked at Buck. “Listen, you’re a real pisser to chat with, but we’ve got a terrorist to catch.”
“He’s right,” Matt said. “We have a live target around here.”
“Yeah,” Buck said. “That’s our target.”
“Well then let’s all get it done,” Tommy said.
Matt chewed on his lower lip, searching for a way to make it work. They might be able to combine forces, but there could be only one leader.
It seemed Buck had sensed the same predicament. “All right,” he said, “let’s join forces and find these guys, but,” the experienced soldier glared at Matt, “I’m the one giving the orders here.”
Matt shook his head. “I can’t do that.”
“Tell me,” Buck said.
Matt apprised the group of mercenaries who watched intently. “You guys are good, no question.”
“The best,” Buck said.
“And your equipment is superior.”
Buck nodded in agreement.
“But when it comes to terrorists you forget to ask the most important question. Why.”
“Who gives a crap why?” Buck snorted. “Let the man upstairs figure that one out for them.”
“But you don’t track a terrorist the same way you track a drug dealer, or a serial killer.”
“Sure you do,” Buck said, looking over his men for a moment. “Bad guys are bad guys. You think you’re something special just because you and your partner took care of Kemel Kharrazi?”
“No,” Matt said. “We just have more experience with this organization.”
Buck stretched out his thick neck and sneered. “You think I’m some dumb hick who doesn’t understand his adversary?”
Tommy pulled the toothpick from his mouth and pointed it at Buck. “Yeah, I think you’re on to something there, killer.”
Matt shot Tommy a look and watched him shrug.
“For your information, I happen to know quite a bit about these KSF turds,” Buck said. “I know they’re tunnel-diggers. I know they don’t follow any particular religious sect. And I know they’re a little lost ever since your partner won a game of chicken with their leader a few months back.”
“That’s good,” Matt said, moving left toward a particularly thick pine. “Did you know they don’t send out scouts with guns?”
“What?” Buck said, looking confused.
“I mean they send their lookouts with knives so they aren’t tempted to fire a weapon in the open theatre and give away their position,” Matt said, looking straight up the wide pine tree. “Isn’t that right, Semir?”
With choreographed speed, Buck’s team swarmed the tree where Matt stood and took military positions, their machine guns clattered as they flanked their target, pointing straight up the tree trunk.
There was a small man at the top of the tree with green fatigues and green-face, effortlessly blending into the scenery. His legs were wrapped around the pine like it might blast off without him. He looked resigned to his fate as he faced the squad of trained soldiers.
Matt smiled at Buck and said, “Tell me more about these tunnel-diggers.”
Chapter 6
President John Merrick sat on the couch reading the daily CIA report on his tablet computer when the door to the Oval Office opened. There was only one person who would enter the office without knocking.
“Hey, Sam,” Merrick said while scrolling the page with his finger.
Secretary of State Samuel Fisk sat on the black leather couch across from him. The two couches faced each other with a rosewood coffee table between them. On the table was a pot of coffee, crackers and a plate of fresh fruit.
Merrick held out his hand and rubbed his fingers together. A moment later he felt a crumpled up five dollar bill in his palm.
“Asshole,” Fisk murmured.
“I told you that point guard was underrated,” the President said with a smirk.
Fisk filled a small plate with melon chunks and used a toothpick to pick them off the plate like he was spear fishing.
Merrick kept rummaging through the report. “You’re going to eat five dollars worth of my food, aren’t you?”
“What else would I do?”
Merrick saw Arizona mentioned in the report and it reminded him why Fisk was there.
“So, how’s Nick?” Merrick said, listening to Fisk stuff his mouth with cantaloupe.
“He’s okay,” Fisk said, chewing. “There was minimal structural damage to the shoulder. Should be out of the hospital by tomorrow.”
Merrick sighed with relief. He scanned the screen while maintaining his thoughts. “How much support can the Bureau offer him?”
“Not much,” Fisk said. “With this airport stuff going on, they need to be proactive.”
“Does Nick know about LAX?”
“No, but Walt’s on his way there right now to fill him in.”
Merrick examined the report, searching for anything which could confirm or deny accusations the Kurdish Security Force was on the verge of detonating a bomb at the Los Angeles Airport.
Without looking up, Merrick added, “We need to get Nick whatever he needs. I can’t have these guys getting personal with our FBI agents. Especially not those two.”
Fisk poured himself a cup of coffee.
“What about Dave Tanner?” Merrick asked.
“Professional. Two shots to the back of the head.”
Merrick winced at the notion. “So Barzani sends his nephew to go after Nick, but Tanner is a killed by a pro here in D.C.? Any leads yet?”
“Nothing.”
“Any doubt Barzani had Tanner killed?”
“No.”
Merrick looked up at Fisk. “I spoke with Tanner’s wife.” He shook his head. “I’ve been making too many phone calls like that, Sam.”
“We need help from our allies,” Fisk said. “They need to step up.”
Merrick thought about the man waiting in the lobby. As President, Merrick had learned to be the ultimate multi-tasker. Instead of dental visits and basketball practice, however, he had to console FBI agent’s widows while keeping an eye on the senate majority leader’s budget proposal.
Merrick looked over Fisk’s shoulder and gestured with his head. “How far can I push this guy?”
Fisk took a sip of coffee, then placed the cup on the table and stared intently at Merrick. “We’re not reducing our troops in Turkey, right?”
“No.”
“Because it would send a terrible message-”
“No,” Merrick held up his hand. “I’m not bending here, Sam, so just relax.”
