FOURTEEN
Jim and Kirsten lay on the hard metal floor of a C-17 transport plane flying over Central Asia. They’d found some space in the plane’s cavernous fuselage, which was crowded with armored vehicles and a dozen Army Rangers, who sat in a circle and played Texas Hold ’em. Jim couldn’t sleep—the roar of the C-17’s engines was deafening—but Kirsten dozed right through it, curled on her side, with her head resting on Jim’s olive-green duffle bag. The plane was headed for Bagram Air Base, the military airfield in Afghanistan.
Having nothing better to do, Jim stared at the Rangers. They were in the 75th Regiment, First Battalion, which specialized in raiding Taliban hideouts in the Afghan mountains. It was one of the most dangerous assignments in the army, but the soldiers didn’t look worried. They shouted and guffawed as they played round after round of poker, manic and high on adrenaline. Jim had felt the same way during his own years in the Rangers. Before his NSA assignment, he’d served in the 75th’s Third Battalion, jumping from one hot spot to the next—Panama, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Somalia. He’d started in ’86 as a platoon leader, and by ’93 he was the battalion’s intelligence officer. It was a fantastic ride, the greatest job in the world. And then suddenly it was the worst.
Jim turned away from the soldiers and looked at Kirsten instead. She’d taken off her camera-glasses before falling asleep, and without them she seemed younger and more vulnerable. She slept with her mouth open, like a napping child. It reminded Jim of the first time he saw her after the explosion at the Nairobi embassy. Their rooms at Walter Reed had been right next to each other, and in the middle of the night he’d struggled out of his hospital bed to see how she was doing. Although her eyes were covered with bandages, Jim could tell from her steady breathing that she was asleep. He spent the next half hour in the chair beside her bed, watching over her like an anxious parent. And now Jim did the same thing, fifteen years later. He felt an urge to brush the hair away from her closed eyes.
The C-17 started to descend. It spiraled downward in a corkscrew to minimize the plane’s exposure to shoulder-fired missiles. The violent maneuver woke up Kirsten. She fumbled for her camera-glasses, which Jim handed to her.
“Thanks,” she said, putting them on. “When we get back to the States, I gotta get those new implants from Singularity. You think they’d improve my tennis game?”
Jim nodded. “Definitely. You’d be able to read the brand name on the ball while it’s zooming toward you.”
“Maybe that’s why the Chinese wanted Arvin’s technology.” She smiled. “They’re gonna give the implants to their Olympic team.”
Jim remembered his conversation with Arvin. “They’re probably more interested in the Dream-catcher implant. It would be perfect for interrogations.”
“Too bad we don’t have one. We could use it on Hammer.”
Jim smiled back at her. “He’ll be at the airfield, right?”
“Yeah, I made sure his boss at Langley had a talk with him. But that doesn’t mean he’ll cooperate. You know what he’s like.”
“Don’t worry. If Hammer makes a fuss, our friends will give us a hand.”
The C-17 made another sharp turn, then another. Then it landed on Bagram’s two-mile-long runway. It was early morning in Afghanistan, just after 6:00 A.M.
As the jet taxied across the field, the Rangers wrapped up their poker game and collected their gear. Then the cargo door dropped down and the soldiers marched out of the plane. Led by their muscular lieutenant, they assembled on the tarmac to await their orders. Jim and Kirsten followed right behind, with Jim lugging the duffle.
They saw Hammer as soon as they stepped off the plane. The CIA agent was dressed like an Afghan, in a baggy shalwar kameez. A black turban covered his bald head, but there was no disguising the Z-shaped scar on his cheek. He was flanked by a pair of bodyguards, CIA paramilitaries who also wore Afghan garb and carried assault rifles. Parked on the tarmac behind them was an MRAP, a mine-resistant ambush-protected vehicle. It looked like a Humvee on steroids, equipped with tons of armor plating and a high-caliber turret gun.
Hammer fixed his small, black eyes on Kirsten, obviously recognizing that she was the important player, the governmental force to be reckoned with. “Welcome to the Shit,” he grunted. “Good to see you again, Chan. It’s been a long time.” As an afterthought, he gave Jim a perfunctory nod. “Good to see you too, Pierce. How’s civilian life?”
Jim shook his head. “I’m back on duty. Under contract with the NSA.”
This wasn’t precisely true. Jim and Kirsten had left the States without filing the official paperwork. But Kirsten backed him up. “That’s right, he’s my technical adviser. He still has his security clearance.”
“Well, well. Nice work if you can get it. A contract from Fort Meade can be a pretty sweet thing.” He pointed at the MRAP. “Come on, I’ll drive you to our station in Kabul. One of my liaison officers prepared a briefing for you.”
Kirsten didn’t budge. “Actually, I’d rather go straight to Camp Whiplash. My orders are to review the drone technologies you’re testing there.”
Hammer stared at her and frowned. The expression accentuated his scar, deepening the crooked lines on his cheek. “My liaison officer will give you an overview of our progress.”
“I’ve already seen your progress reports. Frankly, they’re unacceptable. They barely mention the projects you’re working on.”
“The reports describe our methods and goals. That’s all we’re required to share with NSA.”
“Sorry, that’s not enough. You’re keeping my agency in the dark and we want to know why.”
He took a step toward her. His bodyguards stepped forward, too, the bigger one edging toward Jim. “Look around, Chan. In case you didn’t notice, there’s a war going on. I got a big operation to run, and I don’t have time for—”
“Excuse me,” Jim interrupted. “Does this war involve China now?”
Hammer scowled. “So you talked with Conway, eh? I had a feeling you’d go looking for him. I saw the reports about your tussle with the Guoanbu agent.”
“Then you know why I’m here. The bastard threatened my daughter.”
“Yeah, I sympathize. But that has nothing to do with my operation. So you should go back home and continue enjoying your retirement.”
Jim clenched the fist of his prosthesis, but Kirsten grabbed his other arm before he could do anything. “Enough,” she said. She gave Jim a fierce look, then turned back to Hammer. “You’re taking us to Whiplash. If you don’t cooperate, I’m authorized to bring you to Washington, where the NSA director will question you directly.”
This was a lie. She had no authorization. And Hammer, unfortunately, saw through her bluff. He grinned, clearly amused. “Nice try. I’ll give you an A for effort. But until I see a piece of paper signed by someone at Langley, I’m staying right here. You can either come with me to Kabul, or you can go fuck yourselves.”
For a moment Jim stared at the CIA agent’s face, which looked even uglier when he smiled. Then Jim turned to the Ranger lieutenant and nodded. An instant later, the twelve soldiers from the 75th Regiment surrounded Hammer and his pair of bodyguards. The Rangers towered over the CIA men. Each soldier cradled an M-4 carbine.
Hammer narrowed his eyes. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Now it was Jim’s turn to smile. “Don’t you remember? The NSA has an arrangement with the Seventy-fifth. We set it up back in the nineties.”
“Fuck you, Pierce. You can’t—”
“These Rangers are assigned to follow Deputy Director Chan’s orders. If necessary, they’ll drag your ass onto the C-17 and escort you back to Washington.”
This was no bluff. Kirsten was entitled to a security detail when she traveled to a combat zone. And Jim had called some of his old friends in the 75th to make sure the detail was big enough. Hammer glanced at his bodyguards, but he knew he’d been outmaneuvered. Although Kirsten had no right to hijack him, he wouldn’t be able to overrule her until they reached the States.
Hammer grimaced. “All right, you win. I’ll take you to Whiplash.” He headed for his MRAP. “Follow me,
