There has never been a greater threat to this country from terrorism and our work has never been more in demand or more on the button – but the Task Force is to go. Go figure!'
Fitzduane was momentarily speechless. The entire Mexican operation was being driven through the Task Force. Kathleen! The implications were horrendous.
'What about the Tecuno mission, Lee?'
A vein throbbed in Cochrane's forehead. 'I seem to recall a recent time when you weren't too keen on going to Mexico, Hugo,' said Cochrane, sarcasm and anger heavy in his voice. His whole body was tense with rage. The chief of staff had a short fuse and liked to crack the whip, but Fitzduane had never seen him like this before.
He tried to defuse the situation. 'Lee, you're tired and quite reasonably pissed off with what is being done to the Task Force. But maybe it is not such a good idea to take it out on me. You know exactly why I changed my mind.'
'Fuck you, you damned Irishman,' exploded Cochrane. 'I care about this country. I fight for the United States. I fight for a cause. All you seem to care about is some damned woman. There are bigger issues, and you don't seem to give a shit about them. You're nothing but a fucking mercenary!'
Fitzduane could feel his own anger boiling up, which would accomplish precisely nothing. He fought for control. He had a tremendous desire to hit the man. He took his time answering.
'Causes are about people, Lee,' he said quietly, 'and you know that better than most, which is why you do what you do. And Kathleen is rather more than ‘some damned woman.’ Further, she is being held by people who threaten the well-being of this country. We're on the same side on this thing. So swear away at me if it will advance our cause. Better yet, get some sleep.'
Cochrane slumped back into his seat. 'Goddamn you, Fitzduane,' he said wearily. 'Why don't you lose it like a normal human being? It's fucking frustrating to talk to someone who is being calm and reasonable when all you want is to let fly. Hell man, have you no understanding? I thought all you Irish flared up at the slightest provocation.'
Fitzduane smiled grimly. 'I can't afford to, Lee,' he said. 'Too much is at stake.'
Cochrane rubbed his forehead. The outburst was over. He suddenly looked incredibly tired. 'I'm sorry,' he said.
'Let's focus,' said Fitzduane.
'There is a wind-down period for the Task Force,' said Cochrane. 'And no one likes losers on the Hill, so our effectiveness will be cut in half. We'll be lame ducks flapping our wings and going nowhere except into somebody's cooking pot. But the mission will proceed as planned. There is more than the Task Force behind this thing now. But you know that, Hugo, don't you?'
Fitzduane nodded. 'I know we've got friends,' he said. 'But I haven't put much time into finding out who and why. There are other priorities. But I know the Task Force is the mainspring of this thing, and I appreciate it. And I appreciate what you stand for.'
Cochrane stared at the table for a few moments. Then he looked up. 'Enough to do something for me?' he said.
'Maybe,' said Fitzduane. 'But only after you get some sleep. Crisp white shirts will get you just so far.'
'I want to go with you,' said Cochrane.
Fitzduane's eyebrows shot up. 'You're shitting me, Lee!' he said. 'Look, the Hill is your battleground.'
'I've spent fifteen years pushing the Task Force,' said Cochrane, 'and now it's going to be wiped. I want to go out in style. I'm owed that. And I can do what has to be done. I'm a trained soldier and I'm fit. I can hack it.'
'This is a special-forces mission,' said Fitzduane, 'and the word ‘special’ is no accident.'
'I can do it,' said Cochrane stubbornly. He looked straight at Fitzduane again. 'Do you want an apology?'
Fitzduane smiled. 'I'll settle for you telling me why I had to get back here ASAP.'
Cochrane leapt to his feet. 'Shit! I was forgetting all about Jaeger.'
'Who is Jaeger?' said Fitzduane.
'‘Doctor’ Jaeger,' said Cochrane. 'Maury tracked him down. He's from Livermore.'
'Livermore as in the Lawrence Livermore Laboratory where they do nuclear and other weapons research?' said Fitzduane.
'The very same,' said Cochrane. 'Ten thousand mad scientists all working on Doomsday. We're trying to get there before the Russians, or whoever are the bad guys these days. The word is that we're doing pretty well. The Japanese may have consumer electronics sewn up, but when Earth is blown into smithereens, the device that does it will have ‘Made in the USA’ stamped on it. There will probably be a subtext: ‘Researched at the Lawrence Livermore Laboratories.’'
'That thought may bring a lump to your throat when you salute the flag, Lee,' said Fitzduane, 'but what has Dr. Jaeger of Livermore got to do with the mission?'
'You don't want to know,' said Cochrane. He smiled. He looked less tired. Here was a man who thrived on action. 'But you're going to have to.'
'I have not said you can go,' warned Fitzduane. 'But you can train, and then we'll see.'
'I may surprise you,' said Cochrane.
'I will be surprised if you don't, Lee,' said Fitzduane. 'So bring on Jaeger.'
'Maury will lead off,' said Cochrane. 'This is really his jigsaw. He is good at jigsaws, and this is one of his best. It just shows what the Task Force can do- and should continue to do.'
'Everyone around here walks on water,' said Fitzduane pleasantly. 'In Ireland, we're more used to it descending on us from a height.'
'The Task Force runs on it,' said Cochrane.
The footsteps sounded different.
Permanently blindfolded as she was, Kathleen was becoming quite proficient at recognizing sounds and building up a mental model of her surroundings. The guards, wearing boots and doubtless armed and laden down with military equipment, walked heavily and talked loudly. Doors were slammed. Jokes were made. Coarse laughter echoed from the concrete walls. Shouts were exchanged.
The Voice had a distinctive walk. There was a liquidity about her movements that suggested a lithe, supple body, but there was also arrogance. This new arrival was not her tormentor. In fact, The Voice now visited less frequently. The novelty had worn off. She was becoming bored, and had indeed said as much. Kathleen's chosen strategy of not reacting had worked. A defiant prisoner would have provided entertainment. An immobile slumped body quickly palled.
These sounds were a break from the normal pattern. The cell door was closed quietly. The footfalls sounded more like civilian shoes. She could hear a faint squeak of leather, and the soles, she thought, were made from softer rubber.
She could just detect the sound of breathing. Her visitor was close and was at her level, which meant he or she had bent down. She was being examined. She could smell soap and an aftershave, and there was no smell of stale sweat. This person was freshly groomed.
Her hand throbbed, but the pain had been her salvation. The shock of her kidnapping and the drugs and then the horror of what she was going through had temporarily driven her over the edge.
Then had come the first dismemberment.
As the machete had cut into her hand and had removed her finger, such a powerful anger had surged through her that she had suddenly realized she could win. No matter how hopeless her position looked, she could and would triumph. She was strong. Her spirit, the essence of her being, was extraordinarily strong. They might desecrate her body, but no matter what they did, she would win. As the pain coursed through her, she knew that she was going to make it. Her baby would make it.
I am strong, she said silently over and over again. I am strong and they cannot break me. They cannot break me because I will not break. I am strong. I am strong. I am strong… My body may be weak and in pain, but I am strong. I am strong. I am strong…
