One Rough Man

The president spoke. “No, not at all. The bomb killed close to fifty people, but the team forced the terrorist to set it off far enough away from the ceremony that the representatives attending were able to escape before they were contaminated. Because of our unique security relationship with Bosnia, we were immediately asked for help. Most of the deaths were caused by the spores, but we were able to alleviate any concerns of a WMD rapidly, taking the emotion out of the attack. There’ll be conspiracy theories for years about it, but the majority of the world thinks it was a conventional attack.”

Kurt interjected, “Mainly because the terrorist put all his faith in the spores and didn’t embed any shrapnel in the explosive. He also knew what he was doing. He kept the explosive power low to prevent burning up the WMD material, which worked in our favor, especially when his own body lessened the blast radius. If he had set off a conventional bomb with higher explosives and shrapnel, we probably would have had the same amount of casualties, so the story’s plausible.”

The president continued. “If he had made it to Israel, and had been able to implicate the Iranians, it would have caused immediate retaliation. He would’ve killed hundreds, and Israel would have feared a second strike. Unlike Bosnia, they wouldn’t have asked for our help or listened to any pleadings of restraint. Trust me, the WMD was real. Real enough to get us into World War Three.”

“Okay… I guess that’s good news…. Wait, that didn’t come out right. I mean I’m glad the effort was worth it. I couldn’t live with Ethan’s death on my conscience if this was all for nothing.”

She squeezed my hands, her face now alive, the broken look gone. “Ahh… this is a bit much to take in all at once. I’m not sure why I’m here. What do you need from me?”

The president spoke again. “Nothing. We were meeting here to discuss the repercussions of the whole affair when you landed. I asked for you to come here simply to thank you. You have immeasurably helped the country, and quite possibly the world. Your perseverance deserves my thanks as the representative of the American people.” He gave his winning campaign smile. “That’s all I wanted to say. If there’s any way I can help you, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Jennifer winked at me, then smiled at the president with all the charm she could muster — which was substantial. Uh-oh.

“Well, sir, I appreciate it. I really do. Unfortunately, I promised Pike I was going to kick someone’s ass in the U.S. government for leaving us hanging out there. I suppose I should start with you. Can you help with that?”

I closed my eyes. I cannot believe she just said that. When I opened them again I saw a roomful of the most powerful people on earth looking anywhere but at her. I could tell she was enjoying this immensely. She continued. “Then again, you guys did do the right thing in the end, so maybe I’ll let it go. I guess all’s well that ends well.”

I squeezed her arm a little harder than was necessary, trying to shut her up before she did some real damage.

“Hey, guess what?” I said. “The folks you want to beat up took care of our little problem in Charleston. We don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

I thought she was going to rip into the rest of the group just for the enjoyment, and prayed she wouldn’t. She grinned at me and said, “Okay, then, how about a nice hotel room?”

The room broke into relieved laughter. The president said, “I think I can manage that.”

He grew serious again. “Ladies and gentlemen, I appreciate your time, but I have a press conference in an hour. I can’t thank you enough for your service.”

The meeting broke up with people shaking hands and saying good-bye. Shortly we found ourselves outside, me hobbling along on my broken ankle with Jennifer trying unsuccessfully to help. Eventually, everyone was gone and it was just us. She looked around, noticing we were alone.

“Where are we going? Better yet, how are we getting there?”

I said, “I guess we go hail a cab.”

“Wow,” she said, “that thank-you didn’t last very long.”

Jennifer began walking toward the gate with me hobbling along beside her, when someone shouted behind us.

“Jennifer… Pike?”

“Yes.”

“The president asked me to give you guys a ride to the Hay-Adams Hotel here in D.C. You have the Presidential Suite, compliments of the White House.”

“All right,” she said. “That’s more like it.”

* * *

Thirty minutes later Jennifer was admiring the view from the living room of our suite, the White House majestic in the last glimmers of twilight. Now that we were alone, she brought out the questions she knew nobody but me would answer.

“Hey, what happened to all the bullshit threats about the Taskforce bringing down the administration? Everyone kept saying we had to do all the work because using it was too risky. Why isn’t there the big disaster everyone talked about?”

I knew what she was asking was highly classified, but it never crossed my mind to tell her a story. More than anyone else, she had earned the truth.

“It turns out that Dr. Evil is a guy in the National Security Council. He hired all of the trained killers. Their attempts in Bosnia gave the Taskforce a way out. We’ve blamed the whole thing on them, saying that a Lone Ranger hired a bunch of mercenaries to stop a terrorist. He’s going to be indicted as a reluctant hero.”

“That’s the guy I saw on the news? Standish something-or-other?”

“Yeah. With all the press talk of the U.S. outsourcing combat power to independent contractors, it’s plausible. The Taskforce is good to go.”

She bristled. “Good to go? Are you kidding? What’s going to happen to him? He tortured and killed a whole family. He tried to kill us. He should be strung up from the nearest tree. Now he’s going down in history as ‘helping America’? How’s that justice?”

I didn’t want to go there. I wanted to leave all of this behind for others to sort out. I tried to soothe her. “He’ll get what’s coming to him.”

Jennifer squinted at me, her expression alone telling me she didn’t think that was good enough. After what she had said to me on the hillside in Bosnia, I wasn’t going to elaborate on what that meant. She wanted justice for the man’s actions but probably couldn’t stomach the Taskforce version. Luckily, she let it go.

“Okay. I guess in Washington getting indicted and suffering humiliation is what constitutes the worst that can happen.”

I crawled onto the bed, trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t rub my burns. “Why don’t you get cleaned up? Maybe we can go get a bite to eat at a real restaurant for a change.”

For the first time, Jennifer seemed to realize she was wearing the same peasant clothes she had worn for days. She ran a hand through her greasy, black-dyed hair.

“Yeah, that sounds good. Great, actually. What am I going to do about clothes?”

“We can go shopping first. Maybe put it on the president’s tab.”

“Even better. He owes me more than a hotel room. Give me thirty minutes.”

She went inside the bathroom and I heard the sink start to run.

Jennifer hadn’t asked the obvious question of why on earth Standish had wanted a bomb to go off in the first place. I had seen his initial FBI interrogation and it had made me sick to my stomach. Made me want to jump through the two-way mirror and slice him open with the broken shards. Of course, the Taskforce would have frowned on that. Not because I had killed him, but because I had done it in front of everyone. Bad form. I’d have to be satisfied with someone else delivering justice.

Standish had been completely unrepentant, shouting at the interrogators that his actions were necessary to protect American lives. He seemed to firmly believe that his efforts were not only legitimate, but good for the nation. The thought disgusted me. He sounded just like all of the terrorists I had ever chased. The only thing missing was him shouting, “It’s God’s will!” Like every other psychopath who justified his actions as nothing more than destiny.

I knew there was no such thing. “Destiny” was a tool used by the vicious or weak to explain a tragedy — nothing more. If God controlled our destiny, then wouldn’t the good guy always win? Where was God when Hitler