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training in and around the bay during every possible weather condition both day and night. Coleman opened the metal trunk and grabbed a flashlight and black tactical hood.
He studied the hood for a moment and decided that for theatrical reasons it would be needed. He pulled the hood over his head and adjusted it so a one-inch slit was around his eyes. Next he grabbed his 9mm Glock and stuck the gun in the back of his pants. He leaned against the center fiberglass console and waited.
Several minutes later he heard the familiar sound of a helicopter chopping its way through the air. Not long after that he spotted its blinking running lights. Coleman turned on the flashlight and pointed it in the direction of the helicopter. He waved it back and forth several times, then pointed the light at the crest of the sandbar. The helicopter looped around to the south and came in for a landing without the assistance of its powerful floodlight. Sand was whipped into the air as the spinning rotors displaced the air beneath. Coleman shielded his eyes but did not turn his back. The retractable landing gear extended into the locked position and touched down softly on the sand.
The whine of the turbine engines slowed immediately and with it the speed of the blades. The fury of flying sand died, and the calm, quiet night returned. Coleman stepped out of the boat and his foot splashed into several inches of water. He stayed next to the boat and eyed the helicopter. From his vantage point, the only person he could see was the pilot. One of the side doors opened and three men stepped down onto the sandbar.
Coleman recognized all of them. Shoving the flashlight into one of his pockets, he moved forward to meet them. His boots sloshed through the water for his first several steps until he made it onto the drier portion of the tiny island. The four men stopped several strides away from one another. Nance stood in the middle, and O’Rourke and Stansfield stood on either side. Coleman looked at his friend’s battered face and said, “Michael, I apologize for getting you involved in this.” The former SEAL hesitated before proceeding with the next part of his plan.
It was a gamble, but if he had gauged Stansfield’s character correctly, one that should work. Coleman pulled off the black hood and addressed Director Stansfield. “Sir, I am
Scott Coleman, United States Navy retired. Congressman O’Rourke knew nothing about what was going on until this morning. The recent political assassinations were conducted by myself and a network of men that shall remain unknown. Congressman O’Rourke was brought in after my people interrogated Mr. Higgins and found out that he and this idiot here”-Coleman pointed at Nance—“were behind the killing of Senator Olson and
Congressman Turnquist.
“Congressman O’Rourke was a close friend of my deceased brother. We needed someone we could trust, so I contacted Michael this morning and gave him Arthur’s confession along with a list of our demands. I failed to foresee the possibility that Mr.
Nance would try something so desperate.” Coleman looked from Stansfield to O’Rourke.
“Michael, I can’t apologize enough for pulling you into this.” Michael stood in silence, completely dumbfounded that Coleman had revealed his identity.
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Coleman paused for a moment and then glared at Nance. Through clenched teeth he asked, “You just couldn’t walk away, could you?” Nance shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Mr. Coleman, the issue of America’s national security is my responsibility, and one that I have always taken very seriously. When someone blackmails the President, they are threatening the national security of this country.
Did you honestly expect me to do nothing?” Coleman frowned. “Wait a minute. I
think you’ve left something out. How does killing Senator Olson and Congressman
Turnquist fit into your idealistic and noble protection of America’s national security?”
“In hindsight that may not have been the best decision, but we felt we had to do something to slow you down. Your actions were very destabilizing to our political system and-” Coleman interrupted, “In hindsight? You are so full of shit. Don’t insult me with your blabbering. You didn’t kill Olson and Turnquist to protect America’s national security. You killed them for your own perverted, selfish interests.” Nance shrugged his shoulders. “And you didn’t kill Senator Fitzgerald and the others for your own selfish interests?”
Coleman stepped back and crossed his arms. He studied the reptile in front of him for a moment. “I killed those other men because they were a prime example of what is wrong with our political system. Year after year they promised to do the right thing, but in the end, all they were concerned about was winning and holding on to power. They were running this country into the ground. They were, in your language, ‘a direct threat to the national security of this country.”” Coleman hesitated for a second. “For most of my adult life I’ve been flying all over this damn planet killing people that were a threat to our national security. I finally realized that assholes like you”- Coleman reached out and jabbed his finger into Nance’s sternum”and all of your egomaniac political friends were doing more damage to America than any of the terrorists and dictators you’d sent me to kill. Politicians like Fitzgerald and Basset spent all their time dividing our country.
They pitted the right against the left, the wealthy against the poor, and they didn’t believe half of what they said.” Coleman jabbed his finger a little harder this time. “I put my ass on the line for jerk-offs like you. I’ve seen my men get killed because people like
Fitzgerald didn’t know how to keep their mouth shut. You sit in the White House and it’s all one big fucking game. You decide you want someone killed, you pick up the phone, make a call, and twenty-four hours later the person is dead. Have you ever been in the field? Have you ever killed anyone? Have you ever seen eight of your closest friends blown out of the sky because some drunk Senator doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut?” Coleman stared at Nance and waited for an answer he knew he’d never get. “Of course you haven’t.
You’ve walked around your whole life with a silver spoon shoved up your ass! Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow your fucking head off.” Nance took a half a step backward and held his chin high. “I can see when I’m beat. I will agree to your
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demands and quietly withdraw from public life.” Coleman scoffed, “Do you think I trust you?”
“Mr. Coleman, I understand your animosity towards people like myself and Director
Stansfield. I don’t agree with it, but I understand it.”
