stolen Russian nuclear weapons into the U.S. itself. That had generated a whole week’s worth of mile-high headlines and hour-long TV news specials. Now the other shoes were starting to drop one right after another.
There were questions about Caraco’s involvement in domestic American politics, questions about Ibrahim’s close ties to the administration, and questions about the roles senior officials had played in trying to shut down investigations into Caraco’s secret arms smuggling.
So far he had dodged the press, but he was just about out of excuses and running room. Especially now that Congress was getting its act in gear. Both the House and the Senate were talking loudly about forming special committees to investigate the administration’s recent conduct.
One of the people they were zeroing in on was Richard Garrett — Ibrahim’s former chief lobbyist.
There were also stories that the IRS was focusing its attention on the ex-Commerce Secretary — pursuing evidence that he’d avoided paying taxes on large unreported bonuses paid by the Saudi prince.
Perhaps even more intriguing, Thorn had heard of new developments from his contacts in the intelligence community — developments that were starting to shed some light on Ibrahim al Saud’s motives for trying to destroy the United States as a world power. Investigators combing through his estate in Middleburg and through his private files in Caraco’s various headquarters kept stumbling across intriguing proof that Ibrahim had been a major player in world terrorism — maybe even the major player.
There were dozens of highly complex bank transactions that led to virtually every terrorist cell operating against the United States.
Farrell whistled when Thorn told him that. “Now there’s a golden opportunity to do some good, Pete!”
Thorn nodded. “Our guys are going to have a field day ripping out the financial roots that armed and paid people like Reichardt.”
“Reichardt?” Farrell asked.
“An ex-Stasi officer. Aka the late Heinrich Wolf,” Thorn said with grim satisfaction.
Facing charges that included terrorism and conspiracy to commit mass murder, the dead Stasi officer’s underlings had been only too happy to come clean in the hopes of receiving a life prison sentence instead of death by lethal injection.
He looked up to find Sam Farrell eyeing him closely.
“So, what are your plans these days?” the general asked. Thorn detected the long arm of Louisa Farrell in that question.
The general’s wife had always taken too pronounced an interest in his private life. He decided to play dumb. “Oh, the debriefers are still keeping me pretty busy. I’ve run backward and forward over everything we learned so many times that I’m dreaming about it now.”
Farrell snorted. “I mean, what are you and Helen up to? You see much of her these days?”
Thorn hesitated, then shrugged nonchalantly. “Not as much as I’d like.
She’s pretty hot stuff where the FBI is concerned.
They’re parading her in front of every news organization and congressional staffer they can find — touting her as the agent who almost single-handedly put an end to one of the greatest national security threats this country has ever faced.”
Farrell nodded. “Smart move on the Director’s part. I assume she’s off the hook for Mcdowell’s death, then?”
“Hell, she may even get a medal for it,” Thorn said, smiling broadly.
“The Bureau’s higher-ups are practically kissing her feet.
After all, she got rid of the highest-ranking traitor the FBI’s ever found in its own ranks. Mcdowell alive and going to trial for treason would have been acutely embarrassing. Mcdowell dead is a story that will soon blow over especially with all the other stuff that’s swirling around out there right now.”
“Uh-huh.” Farrell folded his hands together over his stomach and rocked back in his chair. “Pretty slick, Pete. But it won’t wash.”
Damn. Thorn kept his face immobile. “What won’t wash?”
“Trying to lure me off the subject.” Farrell leaned forward.
“Which is, what’s going on between you and Helen personally?”
Thorn hurriedly checked his watch. “Sorry, gotta run, Sam. I’m late for another skull session over at Langley.”
“Pete!” Farrell said in mock desperation. “You’ve got to give me something. Helen’s not talking to Louisa either. And if I don’t get some news out of you, I’m liable to be eating Burger King tonight instead of that fat juicy steak I’ve been promised!”
Thorn relented slightly. Farrell did have a right to know part of what was going on. “Okay, Sam. The truth is that Helen and I have both scheduled some leave together in a couple of weeks. We’ve got some serious things to discuss.”
In the Rocky Mountains, Colorado Peter Thorn turned and helped Helen up over an outcropping of rock and onto a wide, open ledge. He waited until she’d shrugged off her backpack before asking, “Well, what do you think?”
She turned to face the view and caught her breath. “My God, Peter.
It’s beautiful. Absolutely stunning.”
Thorn nodded. They were several thousand feet up the side of a mountain high on an isolated spur overlooking a green, forestcovered valley. “My dad and I used to climb up here when I was just a kid.”
Oddly enough, mentioning his father didn’t hurt as much as it once would have: His dad’s death had hit him hard three years before-especially since his mother had abandoned them both when he was just a teenager. When his father had finally lost his battle against cancer, Thorn had been left all alone in the world — until he met Helen.
She smiled at him. “So this is a special place?”
“A very special place,” Thorn confirmed: He saw her take a deep breath.
Now. The time is now, Thorn told himself. All the doubts that had always lingered somewhere far in the back of his mind withered and vanished — replace by a rock-solid certainty. He slipped his hand into his pocket, brought out a small case, and dropped to one knee.
Helen looked down at him, her eyes open wide in surprise and wonder.
“Peter? What on earth are you doing?”
“I’m proposing,” he said simply, opening the case to show her the diamond ring inside. “Will you marry me, Helen?”
“But what about the Army …” she started to say.
Thorn shook his head. They’d gone over this ground a dozen times before. Helen had often worried that they would be torn apart by the demands of their respective careers. But now he had an answer for that. “I’m leaving the Army. I signed the papers last week. As of December 1, I plan to hang up my uniform for good.”
“Oh, Peter,” she whispered. “You love being a soldier.” Thorn nodded simply. “Yes, I do.” Then he took her hand.
“But I love you more, Helen. I love you with all my heart and soul.
And I want to spend the rest of my life with you — wherever you go, and whatever you do.”
He meant every word, he realized suddenly. He knew he would miss the Army — the camaraderie, the pride, the traditions, all the emotions bound up in the time-honored phrase “Duty, Honor, Country” that had been drummed into him first as a boy and then as a young man. But the turmoil and heartache of the last few weeks had forced him to confront a deeper and even more basic truth: Helen was more important to him than anything and anyone else in the world. And he was prepared to sacrifice everything to win her heart and to stand by her side.
Still kneeling beneath a cloudless blue sky, Thorn looked up into her bright, tear-filled eyes, waiting for the answer that would change his life forever.
World News Roundup “Dateline — Riyadh, Saudi Arabia:
“Ibrahim al Saud, once a scion of this desert kingdom’s vast ruling family, was put to death this afternoon.
