eyes — 'what was it you wanted to discuss?'
Simon Whatley could barely force the words through his constricted throat.
'Wha… what in God's name…'
'You heard your boss,' Rustman cut him off. ''Whatever it takes.' Do you have a problem with that, Simon?' The brutally composed retired military officer deliberately looked over Whatley's left shoulder.
Even though he knew what he would see, the terrified political staffer turned… and discovered both of the hooded figures staring directly at him. His heart froze.
'No, I don't,' he whispered hoarsely.
'Fine.' Rustman smiled agreeably. 'Then let's go finish our business before that damned agent manages to cut himself loose.'
Chapter Two
Special Agent Henry Lightstone was stretched out beside the trunk of a thick ponderosa pine, staring across an open clearing at a gravel path leading to a small rustic log cabin, and considering some interesting possibilities, when he sensed, rather than heard, movement among the trees behind his back.
He tensed.
It was 6:35 in the morning. Nearly an hour before the much-anticipated exchange. Still a little early for any kind of adversarial sweep or reconnaissance. But that didn't necessarily mean anything, because the people on the other side didn't necessarily play by the rules.
Then a tiny dry branch cracked under pressure, and he distinctly heard a soft curse.
Henry Lightstone smiled.
'You're getting old, Paxton,' he whispered as the supervisor of Bravo Team — the most senior of the three covert agent teams assigned to Special Operations Branch, Division of Law Enforcement, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service — slid down beside him.
'Don't remind me,' Larry Paxton muttered, and then fell silent as both men surveyed the area, searching for any sign of movement or — worse — an active counter-surveillance.
But aside from an uneasy pair of geese, which wisely chose to abandon the sanctity of a nesting box under the cabin's back porch in favor of the security of the nearby water, and some unknown species of large snake leaving a visible wake in the tall grass, nothing moved. Or at least nothing that either agent could see through the patchy early-morning fog.
'They're being pretty damned trusting if you ask me,' Lightstone finally whispered.
Paxton nodded in agreement. 'Yeah, I don't like it either. You check on Woeshack?'
'Uh-huh.'
'You double-check his pistol?'
Lightstone smiled. 'Relax, Paxton, you're starting to sound like his mother. Woeshack's tucked in tight, loaded and locked, with proper rounds and three full mags in reserve. He's wearing his vest, he knows to keep his head down, and Stoner's keeping an eye on him. He'll be fine.'
'Easy for you to say. You're not his supervisor,' Paxton muttered darkly. 'Eskimos are supposed to be natural-born hunters.'
'Yeah, so?'
'So when's the last time you heard about a real honest-to-God Eskimo going out hunting for polar bears and forgetting to bring along any bullets?'
'Probably a self-correcting problem,' Lightstone acknowledged. 'Besides, I think we can count on Woeshack being an exception to just about any 'genuine Eskimo' definition you happen to run across.'
'You know,' Larry Paxton went on as if Lightstone hadn't spoken, 'only the federal government, in their infinite and mysterious wisdom, would hire a native kid fresh out of Soldotna who hunts polar bears with an empty rifle and is terrified every time he sets foot into a plane, turn him into a Special Agent and a pilot, and then make me responsible for his ass.'
'Never let it be said that the government lacks a sense of humor.'
'Yeah, right.'
Paxton fell silent again.
'So what do you think, Henry?' he finally asked.
Lightstone shrugged. 'I think it just might work.'
'Might?' Larry Paxton turned to face his fellow agent. 'Is that the best you can say about a plan that's just one step shy of brilliant, if I do say so myself?'
Lightstone smiled agreeably. 'Okay, Paxton, if it'll make you feel better, I definitely think it might work.'
The team leader grumbled something unintelligible.
'Hey, come on, man, lighten up. I'm just giving you a bad time,' Lightstone apologized softly as he continued to watch their surroundings. 'The plan's fine. We're going to catch them by surprise, take them down clean, and nobody's going to get hurt.'
'You sure about that?'
'Yeah, of course I'm sure,' Lightstone lied reassuringly, but then added, 'Just the same, I wouldn't mind having a couple more options to fall back on if we don't get that security team under control right off the bat.'
'You still worried about our boy with the big W tattooed across his chest?'
'Hell yes. Aren't you?'
'Nope, not my problem,' Paxton replied with forced cheerfulness. 'My job is to come up with a plan, divide the assignments up all fair and equitable like, and then demonstrate my superior leadership skills by handling the most sensitive issues personally while trusting my subordinates to handle all of the little side details.'
'Meaning you get the congressman and the bagman, and we get the goon squad and the little wildcat. You call that fair and equitable?'
'Nope. Fair and equitable would mean you guys getting to have all the fun while I stand back out of the way and keep an eye on things.. which ain't gonna happen, 'cause I ain't gonna be standing back watching my supervisory career go up in smoke when one of you guys suddenly get a notion to go ape-shit and blow a congressman's kneecap off.'
'You really think anybody'd get mad at us for doing something like that?' Lightstone teased.
Paxton nodded his head glumly. 'Shit, my luck, somebody in the DC office would get their shorts in an uproar, decide they want to make an example outta somebody… and there I'd be.'
'So what are you going to do — say, for example — if Woeshack suddenly goes into some kind of polar-bear- hunt flashback and starts capping off rounds? Throw yourself in front of the guy like a dedicated Secret Service agent?'
Larry Paxton turned his head and stared incredulously at his wildcard-agent partner. 'You think I've lost my goddamned mind?' he demanded.
'Just wondering.'
'Yeah, well, you can just keep on wondering too… and speaking of dumb-shit ideas, I don't want to hear about any of you guys getting careless and falling for some 'sweet-little-innocent-kid' bullshit neither. She may look like she's about fifteen, but that little gal is a wildcat, no doubt about it. You back her into a corner, she's liable to rip your nuts right off if you give her half a chance.'
Henry Lightstone observed his superior critically.
'Paxton,' he finally said, 'did anybody ever tell you that you've got a lousy bedside manner for a raid team leader?'
'All I want you guys to do is be careful, and don't do anything completely off-the-wall crazy,' the lanky supervising agent warned in a prayerful whisper. 'That's all I ask. Just be careful.'
Chapter Three
