“Well, aren’t you just overflowing with good advice.”
Harv grinned at him. “Did you know your ears turn red when you’re angry?”
“You know, I honestly didn’t.”
“Well, they do. Go take a look in the mirror and don’t break it, okay?”
“Cute, Harv.” Nathan walked into the bathroom and flipped the switch. He looked at himself in the newly replaced mirror, turning his head from side to side, getting a good look. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. He splashed some water on his face and rested his weight on the counter.
“Make sure you wet your ears,” Harv called from the other room. “I wouldn’t want you to burst a blood vessel. Those damned cauliflowers are ugly enough.”
Chapter 14
Three thousand miles away, Stone McBride replaced the handset into its cradle and shook his head. How the hell did the Bridgestones know Nathan was the shooter and why hadn’t Frank told him what they’d done to James? Stone wondered what else he hadn’t been told. What a mess.… As if his life and this Semtex business weren’t complicated enough already. He hit the intercom button. “Heidi, I need to speak to FBI Director Lansing again right away. I also need Kevin Ramsland on the line.”
It was obvious his son still held bitter feelings about what had happened in Nicaragua, and rightfully so, but Stone knew those feelings were misdirected. Despite what Nathan said, he had made a genuine effort to find him. During Nathan’s captivity, he’d called CIA Director Kallstrom dozens of times, asking for updates, asking if there was anything he could do that wasn’t already being done, and he’d received the same answer every time. Stone was essentially told the situation was
To some degree, he’d understood Kallstrom’s position. The presence of a covert CIA sniper team working in Nicaragua would’ve been a major scandal, and sending a SEAL team in involved considerable risk of exposing that scandal. Besides, no one knew where Nathan was being held. Containment could’ve been lost. So why hadn’t it become a scandal? They had Nathan. Surely they must have known he was CIA. They’d had three weeks to wring it out of him. And they had tortured him to the brink of death. He didn’t like thinking about it.
Stone shook his head, trying to clear his mind. Now wasn’t the time to rattle this cage. If his son wanted to blame him for what happened, so be it, there was nothing he could do about it, but for now, he had more important things to worry about. If Nathan pursued this reckless manhunt of the Bridgestones and broke laws in the process, he was on his own. Impatient, he hit the intercom button again. Heidi informed him she was still waiting for return calls from Lansing and Ramsland.
“I also need you to call Commissioner Robert Price. I want the security patrolling all the Senate and House buildings tripled. If he gives you a hard time about it, put him through to me. And needless to say, no one talks to the media. I’ll personally skin anyone who even looks at a reporter.”
“Yes, Senator. I’ll see to everything right away.”
On impulse, Stone picked up the phone and called Frank Ortega.
“Hello.”
“Frank, it’s Stone.”
No answer.
“You okay?”
“No, I’m not okay. Why would I be okay?”
Stone didn’t respond. All he heard was the chime of Frank’s regulator clock in the background.
Finally Frank spoke. “Why didn’t your people know about the tunnel?”
The question caught Stone by surprise and he was shocked at the accusatory tone. They weren’t his people, the FBI had conducted all aspects of the operation. Maybe it was better if he ended this call as soon as possible. “Look, I just wanted see how you were doing. We’ll talk later, okay?”
The line went dead. Frank Ortega had hung up without saying good-bye. Stone felt sucker punched. Frank Ortega, a man he’d known for forty years, had just sounded like a complete stranger. For the first time in his life, he felt like an intruder, not a close friend. Maybe he just needed time, Stone reasoned. This was the second tragedy in his family. First his daughter, now his grandson. It had to be tearing him up.
Stone pivoted back to the muted television and shook his head at the endless parade of talking heads analyzing the bombing from every conceivable angle. The nation’s first big terrorist attack since 911wasn’t from Al Qaeda. Domestic terrorism now occupied center stage and the negative political fallout was going to land on his shoulders, especially after his press conference trumpeting the seizure of a huge stockpile of illegal Semtex. To make matters worse, his Committee on Domestic Terrorism had been created to prevent this very thing. Why hadn’t he seen this coming? In his defense, everything he’d read in the file about the Bridgestones hadn’t led him to believe they were capable of such a cold-blooded act. So why had they done it?
Deep down, part of him hoped his son would find them before the FBI did. They had it coming.
Nathan had been on a Lear before and he felt a little underdressed in his blue jeans and white Polo shirt. The sixty-foot Learjet 60 XR was spacious, offering stand-up head room. Two rows of single tan leather seats lined both sides of the fuselage, half of them opposing one another. The rear third of the jet was set up like a small office with a table and two opposing seats facing it. Near the back, a small door opened into the head, a little cramped for a man his size, but manageable. The pilot and copilot introduced themselves as Special Agents Jenkins and Williamson respectively. Jenkins wore captain’s shoulder boards with four chevrons while Williamson, the first officer, wore three. Nathan guessed they were both trained military, Navy or Air Force. As they studied their new VIP’s face, they both betrayed surprise at what they saw.
“I lost an argument with a chainsaw,” Nathan said, easing the tension.
“That was some argument,” Jenkins said. “Where are we going?”
“The airfield at Fort Leavenworth, Kansas.”
The two pilots exchanged a quick glance.
“I’ll check it out,” Williamson said. He disappeared into the cockpit and returned twenty seconds later with a black binder. He started thumbing through the pages. “Here we are… Sherman Army Airfield. Looks like… it’s a joint-use military and civilian airfield. Runway’s fifty-nine-hundred feet. We’re good to go, gives us five-hundred feet to spare for our takeoff roll.” He smiled. “Shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Make yourselves comfortable.” Jenkins waved a hand around the interior. “As you can see, there’s no flight attendant so you’re on your own for beverage service. I trust you’ll be able to find what you need?”
“We’ll manage,” Nathan said. “What’s our flight time?”
“Around three hours, depending on the winds aloft.”
“Hell of a job you’ve got here,” Henning added.
“We like it. To be honest, it’s nice to ferry someone other than the director for a change.” He lowered his voice and looked around in fake secrecy. “He’s not real personable.”
“So I’ve heard,” Nathan said.
“We aren’t strict enforcers of seat-belt rules, but it’s best if you’re strapped in for takeoffs and landings.”
“Shouldn’t you at least brief us on emergency procedures?” Nathan asked. “You know, emergency exits, that kind of stuff?”
“Naw,” Jenkins said. “If we crash, there will be lots of exits.”
Nathan smiled. He liked these guys.
“Nathan’s a helicopter pilot,” Henning added. “He owns a Bell Jet Ranger.”
“No kidding?”
Nathan shrugged.
“I’ve always wanted to learn helicopters.”
“Is your father really Stone McBride?” Williamson asked.
Jenkins bumped him. “We aren’t supposed to know that.”
