killed the Jews? Where was He when the planes hit WTC one and two? In the genocide in Bosnia or Rwanda? Was mass rape a destiny? Or just fucking evil?
Jennifer had asked about the chances of us colliding, thinking that it was meant to be because the odds were astronomically against it, but I knew better. I had seen the truth. God, or fate, or destiny — whatever the hell you wanted to call it — had never crossed my path.
The thought sounded like a cracked bell as soon as it came into my head.
I didn’t like the thread I was working, didn’t want to stare too hard into the looking glass, because believing in one meant I had to believe in the other. That the loss of my family was for a reason, which was something I could never embrace.
I heard the shower stop, blessedly bringing me back to the present, or more precisely, my future. Kurt had offered me a job back at the Taskforce. A recall to active duty. The offer was compelling and conflicting at the same time. I could go back to being a rough man protecting our way of life, but the choice would mean losing Jennifer.
After all we had both been through together, I had become as close to her as any other teammate I had known. A part of me, I knew, wanted more than that. Another part, much more powerful, was repulsed by the notion. It would be a very, very long time before I could ever let go of Heather. Maybe never.
Even so, I wanted to continue working with her. She was as switched on as anyone I had operated with before, and we clicked as a team. I had toyed with an idea the whole flight home and now had the beginnings of a plan on how to make that happen. Jennifer held the key. She’d be graduating soon and looking for employment, but I knew she’d no longer be happy doing something boring. She’d tasted what it was like to work for something greater than personal gratification, and while she’d probably get the same satisfaction doing her anthropological work, she’d miss the thrill. The question was whether she’d admit that to herself. I couldn’t tell her what I had planned, because it was classified, not to mention she’d think it was nuts, but that was okay. I’d see if she was willing soon enough, and could get her the clearance if she was agreeable — later, after the groundwork was laid. All I needed was some start-up funds — and I had a good idea how to get those.
Minutes later Jennifer came out in a plush robe, smelling freshly scrubbed but looking puzzled.
She said, “Okay, I got it on Standish, but what about the other guy? The one in the trunk? He did the actual killing. What’s the Taskforce doing about him? Just let him go free?”
Truthfully, in the aftermath of the explosion and the exfiltration, I had forgotten about Lucas. “He’s in the same boat. He’ll get what’s coming to him.”
“So they found him?”
“What?”
“They found him after the bomb went off?” She could see the puzzlement on my face. “You didn’t know?”
“Know what? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Pike, Lucas wasn’t in the trunk when I switched cars. He got away.”
104
Thirty miles away, in the swank Chevy Chase section of Washington, D.C., a nondescript sedan pulled into the circular drive of the Honorable Harold Standish. Three men exited. They had already done their reconnaissance earlier and knew Standish was home alone. One manipulated the alarm system while the other two worked the lock on the door. All three entered. They moved directly to Standish’s study, finding him facedown on his desk, a spreading pool of blood beginning to leak onto the floor.
The team leader called directly to the Taskforce Ops Center on his secure cell phone. “Someone beat us to him. He’s already dead.”
“How?”
“Gunshot wound. This guy must have made quite a few enemies.”
“Can you still make it look like a suicide?”
The team leader studied the dead man for a few seconds. “Possibly. He’s been shot in the temple at close range, and there’s no exit wound, so it was a small-caliber weapon. That works.” He pulled out the.22 rim-fire handgun they’d taken from Standish’s bedroom earlier in the day. “The problem is that a ballistics check will show the bullet inside his head didn’t come from the gun I’m going to leave in his hand.”
“We can work that issue. Just make sure there aren’t any other anomalies that give them a reason to look.”
“Okay. I’ll have to build a bullet trap, then squeeze off a round in his hand to get gunshot residue on him, but that’s not an issue. He’ll just be missing a phone book.”
“Get it done.”
Eight minutes later the sedan pulled away, the alarm reset, no evidence at all of a break-in. Only a dead man and a suicide note.
I was awakened by Jennifer insistently poking me in the thigh.
“Pike, wake up! Look at the TV.”
I cracked my eyes open, seeing a breaking news story about someone committing suicide.
“It’s that National Security guy. He killed himself.”
Jennifer looked at me suspiciously. I thought she was going to say something, but she must have thought better of it.
She turned off the TV. “Well, what now? Are we headed home?”
“Kurt asked me to come back to the Taskforce,” I said.
I saw her face fall and felt the tension leave my body.
“That’s great,” she said, without a lot of conviction. “I know it means a lot to you. Are you going to do it?”
“I think I have a better idea. Go to my jeans and check the front right pocket.”
She did as I asked, pulling out a thumb drive.
“Is this the window-jumper’s drive?”
“Yeah. The Taskforce guys looked at it. Turns out it’s a physical key for a steganography program. You still have your uncle’s e-mail?”
She nodded.
“You want to go find a lost temple?”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First and foremost, this book is a work of fiction. There is no such thing as the Taskforce, the Oversight Council, or Omega operations, contrary to what Hollywood and some reporters want you to believe.
