Changing of the Guard

and your grandfather leave, if you don’t want trouble.”

The old man came through the beaded curtain and glared at Celik. In the background, Kokmak continued to scream through his burned lips.

Celik grabbed the door handle. As he did, he felt it start to turn. He jerked the door open, surprising the Irani soldier holding on to the handle outside, pulling him off balance. As the startled man tried to regain his footing, Celik stabbed him with the short knife, twice in the throat. The soldier’s eyes went wide and he clutched at his neck with both hands, dropping the assault rifle he held.

Celik grabbed the fallen weapon and leaped through the door.

He was alone. A trio of rusty, battered oil drums, used for rubbish and trash, stood next to the door. He ran for the south end of the alley, assault rifle held ready to fire. There should have been more men at the back. Why weren’t there? Sloppy, but he would thank Allah for the favor of it later.

He rounded the corner, cut away from the front of the cafe, and ran along a narrow street, looking for a vehicle. They hadn’t spotted him yet. If he could get a car or a truck, if he could get out of town, if he could make it to the border, he’d be safe.

He had a gun, that would get him a vehicle.

His lungs were on fire after a block. All those cigarettes coming back to choke him. Fine, he could cough later.

He rounded a corner and saw a young man about to climb onto a big motorcycle, an old BMW. Perfect!

“Hey!” Celik called. “You on the bike!”

There was no time for finesse. The young man turned to look, and Celik slammed the assault rifle’s butt into the man’s nose.

He straddled the motorcycle, pressed the starter button. The motor came to life quickly — good, good! Holding the weapon pointed over the handle bars, he clicked the foot shifter into gear and turned the throttle, rocked the bike off the stand, and started up the street.

He was beginning to feel better. He had a weapon, he had transportation, he was headed for home!

A pickup truck full of soldiers was parked ahead of him and he went past at full speed. An unwise move. They screamed something at him, but he kept going. He was a hundred meters away and gathering speed, thinking he could certainly outrun that loaded truck on the motorcycle, when they started shooting.

No matter. They wouldn’t hit him at this distance!

He was wrong. The bullet punched through his back, low, at the right kidney, went right on through him — he looked down and saw the exit wound, a welling red crater the size of his thumb. It felt as if he had been hit by a hammer, but he didn’t fall, didn’t put the bike down. Maybe it wasn’t a fatal wound. It didn’t hurt that bad.

If he could just get across the border, he’d be okay. They’d find him a doctor. If he could just get back to Turkey, he’d be all right.

1

Net Force HQ

Quantico, Virginia

Alex Michaels put the gold ink pen given to him by the late Steve Day into the box, next to a laser pointer and a couple of mechanical pencils. Amazing how much crap you picked up when you sat behind a desk in the same spot for a few years: rubber bands, paper clips, batteries, flashmem cards… It was not as if he hadn’t cleared out a desk before, but this time was different. He was leaving government service for the private sector, moving far away in time and space, into a new life with his wife and son.

It felt strange. Unreal, somehow.

Would he miss running Net Force? Sure, no question. There was a great satisfaction in being part of the solution to America’s problems. Under his direction, the organization had nailed some very bad people, and, however briefly, made the world a safer place. Given the times, that was not a bad thing. But it was time to move on. There were some things more important than a job — any job — and his family was one of those things.

His work had put them at risk, and that simply wasn’t acceptable. He didn’t mind dying for his country, if it came to that, but he was not going to let his wife and child die — not for any reason. If a man didn’t take care of his family, he wasn’t much of a man, no matter how well the rest of the world might think of him.

He opened the drawer on the right side, saw the kerambit case nestled there. That pair of short, hooked knives had saved his life and that of his family, when Toni had been pregnant. Coupled with his knowledge of the esoteric Indonesian fighting art called pentjak silat, he had been able to stop a madman bent on rape and murder. But such occasions should not arise, should not have to be dealt with, and removing his family from harm’s way was much smarter than contending with such adversaries.

He had done his part. Now let somebody else stand in the line of fire. He would not miss that aspect of it.

“Commander?” came his secretary’s voice over the intercom.

“Yes?”

“Thomas Thorn is here.”

“Ah. Send him in.”

Michaels looked around. Being here had been good. Leaving was good, too…

The secretary showed Thorn into the office. Michaels, on his feet and apparently packing personal belongings into boxes, came from around his desk and extended his hand. When they shook, Michaels used his left as well, clasping Thorn’s hand in a firm grip, but not a crusher.

“Commander Michaels,” Thorn said. “I’m Tom Thorn. A pleasure to finally meet you, sir.”

Michaels smiled, showing a lot of laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. “Just ‘Alex’,” he said. “You’re the Commander now. I’ve heard a lot about you. Have a seat.”

Thorn started for the couch. “No,” Michaels said. “Behind the desk. It’s yours.”

Thorn paused.

“I’m serious,” Michaels said. “When I walk out the door, I might look back, but I’m essentially gone. I’ve got all my stuff almost cleaned out.” He waved at a box on the desk. “It’s your house now.”

Thorn nodded. “Okay.” He moved around the desk. Michaels sat on the couch.

“I’m not sure I’m ready for this,” Thorn admitted.

Michaels laughed again. “You came up with the basic VR interface most people still use. Half of our high-end software packages here are systems you wrote, or based on those you did. You’ll feel right at home.”

Thorn smiled. Well, yes, that was true. And it was also true he wasn’t that worried — he had run his own company until he sold it, and had been on the boards of several major corporations since. How different was managing a government computer agency from running a private one? People were the same.

“Any questions I can answer, just ask. For computer stuff, you have Jay Gridley; he is the best there is. General John Howard will still be on board at military operations for another week or so, and his replacement, Colonel Abe Kent, is, by all accounts, a first-class military man. I don’t have an assistant at the moment, but there’s a pretty good pool of qualified folks who know the systems, either here or over at the regular FBI shop.”

Thorn thought about it. He did have one question, but asking it would no doubt make Commander Michaels uncomfortable at the very least. After a moment, he decided to ask it anyway. He needed to know.

“I understand that you are leaving for personal reasons, Commander,” he said, “and that John Howard’s departure is also by his choice for the same rationale. And your assistant — your wife — gives the same justification. Do you mind if I ask what those are? I don’t want to step into a hornet’s nest of politics here — if you’re being dumped because you screwed up or peed in somebody’s Frosted Flakes, I’d rather know it coming in. It seems awfully coincidental that the Commander of an agency and his top lieutenants all decide to bail at the same time.”

That got him a big grin.