And Victor had helped it along.
My God, he thought, his stomach spasming and rolling: this is what it must have been like to have been a medical officer at Auschwitz or Birkenau or Bergen-Belsen…this is what it must have been like to have the fate of thousands in your hands, and to wash yourself of concern about it, to leave it alone, because it was your duty. It was what had to be done. The few sacrificed for the many. Work will make you free. The lies of the ages.
My God. How could he go through with this?
He picked up the case, headed for the door. He wouldn’t, that was how. He would walk out and run away, and maybe the Final Winter project would go on, but it would go on without him, and wouldn’t Doc Savage be proud of what he was doing, to face up to evil and to fight it and—
Victor’s hand was on the doorknob. All right, let’s be honest, now. We’re not facing evil. We’re not even fighting it. We’re just running away, and that’s all we can do and—
Victor opened the door. Adrianna was standing there, wearing a smart black business suit. A slight smile was on her face and she was carrying her leather briefcase.
‘Very good, Victor,’ she said. ‘You beat me to it. Are you ready?’
He looked at that confident woman’s face, took a breath, felt the quivering in his knees ease up.
‘Yes, Adrianna, I’m ready,’ he said.
Darren Coover went into the kitchen near the conference room, saw Monty Zane standing there, leaning against the counter. The counter probably had to be pretty strong to handle a weight like that, all muscle and bone and sinew. Monty nodded at him and Darren nodded back, and he was going to grab a cup of coffee when Monty said, ‘Ask you a favor?’
Darren tried to hide his amazement. He had always enjoyed what little interaction he had with Monty, and he had always been thankful that the military man had treated him with respect. There was usually very little love lost between those in the field and those ‘info pukes’ in safe areas who sometimes determined when and how military options would be used. There were untold tales out there, of Special Forces groups being sent into harm’s way on the basis of information gathered by people like Darren only to have those ops turn disastrous because of bad info or bad intel.
So Darren was always grateful for Monty’s attitude, and when the question was asked Darren quickly said, ‘Absolutely.’
He grabbed his own cup of coffee and followed Monty into his office, which was austere compared with those of the other Tiger Team members. Desk, chairs, bookcase, computer terminal, and only a few photos, and then only of Monty and his wife and two kids. Having visited a number of military officers over the years, one thing Darren always counted on was a display of plaques or certificates or some other memorabilia. But not for Monty.
Monty settled back in his chair, the chair creaking ominously from his weight, and he said, ‘Just come back from a job.’
‘All right.’
‘What kind of job doesn’t matter. It was a job. But it was the afterwards that freaked me out.’
‘Go on.’
Darren held his coffee cup still in his hands. If some-thing was freaking out this soldier in front of him, he wondered if he really wanted to know what was going on. But he had to. His damnable puzzle-curiosity would not allow anything else.
Monty said, ‘Don’t know if you’re aware, but there are… places where guys who are on jobs go to unwind before being sent back to their home base. Allows them to let off steam, relax, get a good meal and a drink. That’s where I was yesterday, unwinding.’
Darren just kept his mouth shut, knowing the story would come at Monty’s own good pace. Monty took a swallow of coffee and said, ‘Met a guy there. Friend of mine. Done some training together, one op. He works for the Hymen Squad. Heard of them?’
‘Yes,’ Darren said, feeling pleased that he could show Monty that he was in the loop. ‘Deep black support group. Working the borders, north and south.’
Monty nodded. ‘Yeah. Pretty secret. Thing is, this bu4dy of mine’s been assigned to the Hymen Squad for over a year. We got to chatting. Tell me, Darren, you being a bright guy and all, with Final Winter coming down the pike like it’s supposed to be, what do you think my buddy would be doing?’
Even though he had just poured coffee into it, the mug in Darren’s hands felt suddenly cold. He said, ‘I know what he
The skin around Monty’s eyes tightened a bit. Darren felt that for a guy like Monty that was a good way for him to show a surge of emotion. ‘How did you know?’
‘I didn’t. But there’s something you should know.’
‘What’s that?’
Darren shifted his legs, which had started trembling. ‘You and I have clearances for lots of things. Not sure if you have it but I’ve got one called “Gatekeeper”. Lets me go into classified and compartmentalized bulletin boards, discussion areas, that sort of thing. One of the changes since 9/11 was breaking down the information barriers. If a guy in the field from the CIA needed to know the background of a Pashtun chieftain in some remote village in Baluchistan, it might take a week or two through normal channels. But by using Gatekeeper, he could hear from an FBI source who fingered this character as an opium smuggler. Or it could be a Defense Intelligence Agency analyst who helped this chieftain smuggle out some SA-7 missiles. Guy could get the answer he needed in minutes, not days or weeks.’
‘Sounds good. What’s your story, then?’
Darren said, ‘Pretty damn simple. I wanted to do like you did. Check out what other people were doing about Final Winter.’
Monty grimaced. ‘Let
Darren nodded. ‘Just found one contemporary reference, from a week ago, when Adrianna got the clearance from the Colonel to proceed. Besides that… nothing.’
Monty raised his coffee cup and then, as if he’d changed his mind, lowered it to the desk. ‘Don’t like this, don’t like this at all.’
‘Me neither.’
‘What do you think’s going on?’
Darren said, ‘Maybe Adrianna’s got bum info. Or maybe people higher up aren’t taking her seriously. Or maybe this damn thing is so secret and need-to-know that nobody else, ah, needs to know. Could be a lot of things.’
Monty said, ‘Lot of things, none of them good. Look, Adrianna should be back from Memphis tomorrow. I think it’d be time for a meeting, don’t you think? I want to feel good about what we’re doing and right now I don’t feel good at all.’
‘Sure… unless, well,’ and Darren found himself laughing.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Unless Adrianna’s working for them. The enemy. Then saying something tomorrow might be bad for our health. But she doesn’t fit the profile.’
‘And what profile is that?’
‘Angry Muslim male.’
Monty nodded, ‘Yeah. Thank God for that.’
‘True,’ Darren said, not sure if he even believed in God. But still, it wouldn’t hurt. ‘Thank God for that.’
Now Vladimir and Imad were in a rocky area of Wyoming, flat sand and scrub brush and sharp peaks and not a hell of a lot else. Along the way Imad had stopped for a few short naps, and the Russian was amazed at how these naps had re-energized the youth. Imad had also driven the truck and its cargo with ease, impressing even Vladimir with his skill. He had said something and Imad, almost shyly, had replied, ‘You learn a lot, driving in Damascus and Yemen. My uncle, once he moved us away from Canada, he owned a trucking company. He taught you once, and he taught you again with the end of his belt if you failed him in any way.’
