Gideon’s Sword

Dajkovic didn’t bother to pick it up. For a moment, the two just remained where they were, staring at each other.

“Well,” said Crew at last, shaking his head. “I guess I was naive to think I could convince an old soldier like you that his beloved commanding officer is a liar, coward, and murderer.” He thought for a moment. “I want you to bring Tucker a message. From me.”

Dajkovic remained grim-jawed.

“Tell him I’m going to destroy him like he destroyed my father. It’s going to be nice and slow. The memo I’ve released to the press will trigger an investigation. No doubt a news organization will put in a FOIA request to confirm the document is genuine. As the truth comes out, bit by bit, Tucker’s integrity will be impeached. In his line of work, even though everyone is corrupt, the appearance of integrity is pure gold. He’ll see his business dry up. Poor Tucker: did you know he’s leveraged up the wazoo? The mortgage on his McLean McMansion is swimming with the fishes. He owes a shitload on that tacky Pocono golf-club condo, the apartment in New York, and the yacht on the Jersey Shore.” Crew shook his head sadly. “Know what he calls that yacht? Urgent Fury. Funny, isn’t it? Tucker’s one weak-ass moment of glory. The Poconos, McLean, the Jersey Shore…the general can’t be accused of good taste, can he? Of course, the Upper East Side girlfriend was a step in the right direction, but she’s a hungry little bird, her beak open day and night. He hasn’t saved his money like a good boy should. But bankruptcy will only be the beginning, because the investigation will eventually show everything I just told you: that he framed my father and was himself responsible for the death of those twenty-six agents. He’s going to end up in prison.”

Dajkovic found Crew staring at him. Again, he said nothing. He could see Crew was getting frustrated at his lack of reaction.

“Let me ask you another question,” Crew said finally.

Dajkovic waited. His chance was coming — he felt it in his bones.

“Did you actually see Tucker under fire? What do you know of the guy as a soldier? I’ll bet Tucker didn’t set foot on land until the beachhead was totally secure.”

Dajkovic couldn’t help but remember how disappointed he’d been that Tucker seemed to be the very last soldier onto Grenada. But he was a general, one of the top commanders, and that was army protocol.

“Fuck it,” said Crew, taking a step backward. “It was a mistake to expect you might actually be capable of thinking. You got the message: go deliver it.”

“May I get up?”

“By all means, get your sorry ass up and out of here.”

The moment had arrived. Dajkovic placed his hands on the ground and began to rise to his feet; as his hands passed his boots he slipped out the knife and in one smooth motion threw it, aiming at Crew’s heart.

10

Gideon Crew saw the quick movement, the flash of steel; he threw himself sideways but it was too late. The knife slammed into his shoulder, burying itself almost to the hilt. As he fell back, trying to bring the shotgun up, Dajkovic leapt for him, ramming him backward with immense power and wrenching the shotgun from his hands. He heard a crack as his own head caromed off a stone.

For a moment, all went black. Then the world came back to him. Gideon was sprawled on the ground, staring into the barrel of his own shotgun. He could feel the knife in his shoulder, searing hot, the blood seeping out. He reached to pull it out.

“No.” Dajkovic stepped back. “Keep your hands away from your body. And say your prayers.”

“Don’t do this,” Gideon said.

Dajkovic racked a shell into the chamber.

He fought to think straight, to clear the fogginess from his head. “What do you know about me besides what Tucker said? Christ, can’t you think for yourself?”

Dajkovic raised the gun and looked him in the eye. Gideon felt desperation take hold: if he died, his father would never be vindicated, and Tucker would never get his comeuppance.

“You’re not a killer,” he said.

“For you, I’m going to make an exception.” Dajkovic’s finger tightened on the trigger.

“If you kill me, at least do me this one favor: take that envelope. Look into the story I told you. Follow the evidence. And then do what you think is right.”

Dajkovic paused.

“Find someone who was there in 1988. You’ll see. My father was shot down in cold blood — with his hands up. And that memo — it’s real. You’ll discover that, too, eventually. Because if you take my life you’ll also have to take on the responsibility of finding the truth.”

He found Dajkovic peering at him with a strange intensity. He wasn’t pulling the trigger — yet.

“Does it sound likely to you? Not that a guy with a top-secret security clearance at Los Alamos would be passing secrets to al-Qaeda — that’s possible. No — that General Tucker would know about it? And ask you to take care of it? Does that really make sense?”

“You have powerful friends.”

“Powerful friends? Like who?”

Slowly, Dajkovic lowered the shotgun. His face was slick with sweat, and he was pale. He looked almost sick. Then — kneeling abruptly — he reached for the knife in Gideon’s shoulder.

Gideon turned away. He’d failed. Dajkovic would cut his throat and leave his body in the dirt.

Grasping the knife, Dajkovic pulled it from the wound.

Gideon cried out. It felt as if his flesh had just been seared by a hot iron.

But Dajkovic didn’t raise the knife to strike again. Instead, he removed his own shirt and used the knife to cut it into strips. Gideon, head swimming in mingled pain and surprise, watched as the man used the strips to bind his shoulder.

“Hold that down,” Dajkovic said.

Gideon pressed the strips against the wound.

“We’d better get you to a hospital.”

Gideon nodded, breathing hard, gripping the bandaged shoulder. He could feel the blood soaking through already. He tried to overcome the searing pain, worse now that the knife was gone.

Dajkovic helped Gideon to his feet. “Can you walk?”

“It’s all downhill from here,” Gideon gasped.

Dajkovic half carried, half dragged him down the steep slope. In fifteen minutes, they were back at Dajkovic’s car. He helped Gideon into the passenger seat, blood smearing over the leather.

“Is this a rental?” Gideon asked, looking at the car. “You’re going to lose your deposit.”

The old soldier shut the door, came around and got in the driver’s seat, started the car. His face was pale, set, grim.

“So you believe me?” Gideon asked.

“You might say that.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Easy,” Dajkovic said, backing out of the parking spot. He threw the car into gear. “When a man realizes he’s going to die, everything is stripped down to essentials. Purified. No more bullshit. I’ve seen it in battle. And I saw it in your eyes, when you believed I was going to kill you. I saw your hatred, your desperation — and your sincerity. I knew then you were telling the truth. Which means…” He hesitated, gunned the engine, the rubber squealing on the macadam, the car shooting forward.

“Which means,” he resumed, “Tucker lied to me. And that makes me angry.”

11