to his liver, his right kidney, and his spleen. He’ll probably lose the spleen and, unless he’s very lucky, part or all of one kidney.”
“When this NSA bullshit blows over I’m going to run this down,” I said.
“I have no doubt. Use whatever resources you need. Carte blanche.”
“Thanks.”
“Losing men is hard, Captain. It never gets easier.”
“No, it fucking well doesn’t… and it pisses me off that I can’t be there with my guys because of this bullshit.” I only had three active operatives in Echo Team. There were six others almost ready to join, but they were in Scotland doing some field training with a crack team from Barrier, the U.K.’s most covert special ops unit. With Big Bob down that left Top and Bunny. It made me feel like they were suddenly vulnerable.
“For what it’s worth, you’re not the only one on the VP’s most hated list. There are two NSA agents in the hospital in Brooklyn. They attempted to forcibly arrest Aunt Sallie, but that didn’t go as they expected. Some convalescent leave and a few months of physical therapy and they’ll be fine.”
“Ouch.”
Church said, “There’s more, and this probably does have something to do with Wilmington. We’ve lost touch with the Jigsaw Team out in Denver.”
“The whole team?”
“Yes. The Hub itself went into lockdown, but Jigsaw was on a mission and went radio silent about thirty minutes before the NSA started trying to kick doors.”
The Hub was the Denver DMS facility. I’d worked only one three-day operation with Jigsaw and they were very tough hombres. Their leader, Hack Peterson, was ex-Delta Force and he looked like he ate pit bulls for breakfast.
“Do you see the NSA taking the whole team into custody, ’cause I don’t.”
“Captain Peterson may have gotten a sniff and gone dark,” said Church. “But I have a bad feeling about it. I’d like you to head out there.”
“When?”
“Now. I’ll have someone pick you up at the park. You’ll recognize the driver. Be at the exit closest to I-Eighty- three, say twenty minutes.”
“Um… hate to break this to you, but this might not be the best time for travel. The U.S. government seems to want my head on a pole.”
“Cry me a river,” said Church. “I need you in Denver. I have private transport waiting in several secure locations.” He read them off to me and gave me a rendezvous timetable. “Get to one of those and head west. First Sergeant Sims and Sergeant Rabbit already arrived at the first location. I was going to have them wait for you, but just in case you’re taken I’ve sent them on ahead. They’ll meet you at the other end.”
Son of a bitch moved fast.
“Normally I’d wait on this and let the Los Angeles office deal with it, but they’re in lockdown and you’re the only senior officer on the streets. Besides,” he said, “the Denver thing looks like it’s going to break big.”
“Meaning…?”
“Meaning that it’s starting to look like a DMS project. There’s a high probability it’s tied to the deaths of my colleagues overseas, and to some old cases that were supposed to have been closed a long time ago. Now it seems that we were wrong. Once you’re airborne you’ll teleconference with Dr. Hu, who will send you a feed of a video we received from an anonymous source.”
“A video of what?”
“I’d prefer you watch and form your own opinions, but… it’s compelling.”
“Can you vague that up a little for me?” I said.
He ignored me. “Contact me when you’ve watched it. This is a bad day, Captain, and tensions are running high. I need you to be cool. Tell your people the same thing. This other matter, the Denver job… if it turns out to be what I think it is, then it’s big.”
“Bigger than the Vice President launching a witch hunt?”
“Potentially,” he said.
“Swell. Okay, I’ll go see what I can do… but one last thing about the Vice President: if anyone else at the DMS gets hurt because of this-politically, legally, or otherwise-then I’m going to want to do some damage.”
“Are you talking about revenge, Captain?”
“And what if I am?” I snapped.
There was a sound. It might have been a short laugh. “I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”
With that he disconnected.
Chapter Sixteen
Baltimore, Maryland
Saturday, August 28, 10:15 A.M.
Time Remaining on Extinction Clock: 97 hours, 45 minutes
Mr. Church closed his phone and laid it on the desk in front of him. He was a big man, broad shouldered, blocky, strong. There were gray streaks in his dark hair and old scars on his face, but rather than serving to reveal his age they stood as marks of use; their presence toughened him in ways the people who knew him could recognize but not define.
For over a minute he sat with his big hands resting on either side of the phone, which sat just off-center of the green desk blotter. He might have been a statue for all the animation he betrayed. His eyes were only shadows behind the lenses of his tinted glasses.
To his left was a glass of water, no ice. Beside it was a plate of vanilla wafers. After he’d sat for two full minutes, Mr. Church selected a cookie and bit off a piece, munching it thoughtfully. He brushed a crumb from his red tie.
Then he swiveled in his chair and reached for his office phone. He punched a code to engage the scrambler and then entered a special number. It was answered on the fourth ring.
“Brierly,” said a crisp male voice.
“Linden,” said Church, “I know you’re busy, but I want you to listen very closely. This is a Brushfire Command Protocol.”
“Ah,” said Brierly, “it’s you. I was hoping you lost my number.”
“Sorry to disappoint. Please verify that you’re on active scramble so we may proceed.”
Brierly made a sound that might have been a curse, but he verified the scramble. Linden was the Regional Director of the Secret Service and was directly responsible for overseeing the safety of the President while the Commander in Chief was in Walter Reed for his heart surgery. One slip and Brierly would be working out of a field office in the Dakotas. A successful job, on the other hand, could be the last resume item needed for the step up as overall Director of the Secret Service, which would make Brierly the youngest man to hold that office. The hot money-and the heavy pressure-was on him during the current crisis.
“Here is the Brushfire code,” said Church, and recited a number-letter string that identified him and his authority to make this call.
Brierly read back the code, moving one digit and adding another.
Church repeated the code and made his own two-point change.
“Verified,” said Brierly. “Brushfire Protocol is active.”
“I agree,” said Church.
“You just activated a Presidential Alert, my friend. We’d better have missiles inbound or Martians on the White House lawn. You
Church said ten words: “The Vice President is trying to take down the DMS.”
