Devlin adjusted her position in the chair.
He put both feet on the floor, rested elbows on knees, and leaned toward her. “That’s where you come in, Jessica. I’ve created several,” he hesitated, “clandestine teams that are committed to battling terrorism abroad. Now I want to do the same thing on American soil. And I want,” he leaned back in the chair and poked a finger at her, “you to lead a team of U.S. Marshals...in a campaign to track down and apprehend enemies of this country.”
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
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Chapter 32
Marshal Devlin
Hearing the President’s words, butterflies stirred in Devlin’s stomach while she re-crossed her legs and shifted weight to her left hip.
“I’ve already worked out the details with Deputy Director Thorn. Marissa and I have—” Noticing the look on Devlin’s face, “Yes,” Conklin fumbled around in a pants pocket before forfeiting a leather case, “your boss has been promoted.”
Opening the bi-fold, Devlin saw the gold badge of a United States Marshal, her picture, and her name in the cred pack.
“Let me be the first to congratulate you on your promotion,” he paused, “Marshal Devlin.”
She spied her name near the emblem and her heart rushed into her throat. “I...” she covered her lips with her fingertips, “I don’t know what to...” A beat. “Thank you, sir.”
Smiling, “You’ve earned it,” Conklin gave her a few seconds to enjoy the moment. “As I was saying, Marissa and I have spoken. Even though she’ll be in charge of running logistics and intelligence gathering, you’ll be the one making decisions in the field. You’ll be given a wide berth to do your job. And that includes selecting your team members.”
Devlin closed the bi-fold and regarded the President.
“You’ll be drawing your assignments from Marissa, but those cases—for the most part—will be coming from the various law enforcement ‘most wanted’ lists...such as the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted,” Conklin gestured toward Devlin, “and your own United States Marshals Service 15 Most Wanted Fugitives Program.”
She nodded. “So I would basically be doing the job I’m already doing.”
The President half closed an eye at her. “Mostly.”
Her brows coming together, she cocked her head at the man.
“Your team will be operating out of a black budget, Jessica.”
Devlin understood the term: money spent on classified, secret operations.
“You’ll be hunting our own citizens who have committed, or are planning to commit, crimes against innocent civilians. And that may require you to cross international borders to get your man. When that happens, you’ll become a covert agent, and the parameters of your mission will change. If you’re caught operating on foreign soil, your country will be forced to publicly denounce your activities.” He paused. “Do you understand what I’m telling you, Jessica?”
Devlin took a moment to replay the President’s words in her mind. “Yes sir. I understand.” Squinting, she tipped her head to the side. “What about due process for those I’d be,” faltering, she tried to find a better word, but settled on the one Conklin had used, “hunting.”
“As I said, this is not a gray area for me. If they’re involved in the mass murder of Americans, they’ll be treated as enemy combatants. They’ll be interrogated for information on future attacks and tossed into a dark hole. As far as I’m concerned, they became traitors to their country the second they decided to cast their lot with terrorists.”
“Sir,” Devlin put both boots on the floor and leaned closer to Conklin, “with all due respect, the legal and ethical implications of doing that are totally in the gray. Some would argue that such actions would trample on the rights of honest Americans.”
“Which is why,” he leveled a finger at her, “I’m counting on you to make the right call and keep everything in the black or the white.”
Her eyebrows came together again. “Sir?”
“I’m the biggest proponent for citizen’s rights. I’m the President. It’s part of the job; however,” he stood and drew near to the fireplace, “I’m also big on justice. And stopping criminals and terrorists, preferably before they can hurt us, is paramount.” Pivoting, he gaped at Devlin. “There are people out there who want to destroy us. Whether they’re from another country...or born in this country...those who wish to harm us will face the full might of American power.”
Devlin rose to her feet and studied the leather case in her hand. “Sir—”
“Jessica, I’m not asking you to break the law. I’m asking you to enforce the law. And, at times,” he bobbed his head, “that’ll require bending the law...to save innocent lives.” He looked down before meeting her gaze. “Earlier, you said ‘there’s nothing more important than family.’”
She observed him.
“Taking the fight to the enemy means protecting the ones you love...your family.”
His words striking a passionate chord deep inside of her, Devlin stood tall and gawked at the fire, her mind showing her the things she had done to apprehend Crane, including pointing a gun at her boss. She recalled past investigations where she had employed tactics, gray-area tactics, to catch criminals. She cast a downward glance at the rug under her boots. Maybe, I’ve already been operating out of a black budget.
“Make no mistake.” Conklin slid one hand into a pants pocket. “If you catch even a whiff of something you think isn’t right,” he sliced the other hand across the space between him and her, “shut it down. In fact, I’ll expect that high level of morality from you.”
Morality. Devlin’s mind took her back to Mexico, to her truncated prayer. An image of her father, dressed in the garb of a Catholic priest, pierced her thoughts. He raised me to do
