The King of Plagues

Bunny and Top had been with me since I joined Echo Team. We’d saved each other’s lives a dozen times over. They were brothers to me.

On the other hand, Bunny had four sisters and lots of nieces and nephews. He had parents. That gave the Kings a lot of dials they could turn. Same with Top. His daughter, Monique, lost both her legs in Baghdad two Christmases ago. A Taliban mine blew up under her Bradley. Top was divorced; his ex-wife was a nurse. I knew Top still cared for her, maybe even still loved her, and he certainly loved his daughter. If Santoro threatened them, especially Top’s wheelchair-bound daughter, was there anything he wouldn’t do to protect them?

That was a hard call. I’d like to think that both men would come to me, or to Church, with it. Of course … I’d been away, out of touch and out of reach.

What would I do if one of them had been turned by the Kings?

I’d try to save them if I could. Them and theirs. And if I couldn’t? If they came at me? Shit. I knew what I would do, and I could hear the Warrior grunt his dark approval.

That left Khalid, DeeDee, and John Smith. I knew them, but I didn’t really know them. We had less history. Smith was a closed book that nobody could read. Maybe Church, maybe Rudy. No one else.

DeeDee? She had no family, no close friends. If she was a rotten apple, it would be more likely in the role of a spy rather than a coerced victim.

Khalid? The doctor and scholar who was also a first-class shooter. I liked him and I knew that I trusted him. But it occurred to me that I didn’t know much about his family. He had a brother here in the States, but the rest of his family lived in the Middle East. Iran, Egypt, and some in Saudi Arabia.

I realized that I was not adding Church to my list. If he was a bad guy, then we were all totally fucked. I’m pretty dangerous, but he scares me. He scares everyone. You simply cannot imagine him losing a fight, and I doubt he ever has. He’s brilliant, cold, vicious, detail oriented, and largely a mystery. If it came down to a fight between us, I didn’t like my odds.

I flipped open my phone and called him. He picked up on the third ring. I told him everything Toys had said.

Church listened without comment and the silence continued after I was done.

Finally, he said, “What’s your ETA?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“Talk to no one about this,” he said. “No one.”

I began to ask him a question, but Church hung up on me.

I settled back against the wall, my jacket open and the butt of my Beretta within easy reach, and stared into the middle distance all the way to Brooklyn.

Chapter Sixty-one

The Hangar

Floyd Bennett Field, Brooklyn

December 19, 7:57 P.M. EST

Mr. Church’s phone rang as he entered his office. He looked at the screen display. He frowned and let it ring twice more before he flipped it open.

“Deacon? You there?” said the gruff voice. “You got a minute?”

“Half a minute, Hugo. What do you need?”

“I’ve been hearing some scary stuff. Is Circe okay?”

“You heard about Starbucks? Yes, she wasn’t hurt.”

“Did I hear right that she popped someone?”

“Yes.”

“Her first time. Poor kid. I was kind of hoping she’d skip that milestone.”

“Life’s hard for a lot of people, Hugo.”

“I know … . I heard about Marty, too.”

Church said nothing.

“He deserved better than getting gunned down like a dog,” Vox continued. “Ledger’s a lucky bastard.”

“He might disagree. People keep trying to kill him.”

“He keeps not getting killed, though, Deac’. From what I heard about Starbucks, he’s the luckiest son of a bitch on two legs.”

Church said nothing.

“Did Ledger get any useful intel from the surviving shooter?”

“No,” said Church. “The man is critically wounded and we don’t expect him to recover. It’s unlikely we’ll get anything out of him.”

There was a pause at the other end. “Really? I heard that he was talking and—”

“You’ve been misinformed, Hugo. We’re getting nowhere with this. Now, I hate to break this off, but I have a meeting. I’ll be in touch when I have something fresh.”

Mr. Church disconnected and placed his phone on the desk. He walked around and sat in the leather chair. There was an open pack of vanilla wafers in the top drawer. He removed them, selected a cookie, and ate it slowly while staring at the silent phone.

Chapter Sixty-two

The Hangar

Floyd Bennett Field, Brooklyn

December 19, 8:19 P.M. EST

We came in low past the Gil Hodges Bridge and landed in a fenced-off compound near the Rockaway Inlet, just outside of Hangar Row in Floyd Bennett Field. There were six black unmarked DMS choppers lined up. Two AH-64D Apache Longbows, a monster of a Chinook like the one we were in, and three UH-60 Black Hawks. There were rows of Humvees and TacVs. Everywhere we looked there were armed guards. Everyone looked tense.

DeeDee and John Smith hadn’t arrived with Black Bess, but knowing the way DeeDee drove, they wouldn’t be far behind.

Sgt. Gus Dietrich met us on the helipad. He held out a hand. “Glad to see you boys in one piece. Well, mostly. Sorry to hear about Rudy taking a hit.”

“Could have been worse,” said Bunny.

“It could always be worse,” agreed Dietrich.

Nurses and orderlies arrived with two-wheeled gurneys. Circe O’Tree took charge of the wounded as if it was her right, and the nurses did not argue the point. I found that odd but didn’t comment on it.

The prisoner was hustled off with a pair of armed agents flanking his gurney. If he thought his day had been