President Lamar was silent for a few moments. "I'll consider what you've suggested."
"I'm only stating my honest opinion, sir."
"You always do; that's why you are my chief of staff."
Styles walked into the Terminal Bar and immediately spotted his father sitting at a table off in a corner. He walked over with his father rising to his feet, and they gave each other a strong hug.
"Hi, Dad."
"Hello, Marvin. What's so important?" he asked, sitting back down.
Styles, sitting down opposite him, said, "Let's order a beer, and then we'll talk."
After two cold Sam Adams drafts had been placed in front of them by their server, Styles began.
"I'm going to give you the short version because the long would simply take too damned long. I've never spoken much about what I do or have done. For the last fifteen years, I've been a sniper in various areas of the Middle East. I always worked alone. Kind of a lone wolf, I suppose. I had a private handler. My task was simple. Kill the enemy. Leaving the military wasn't my choice."
Styles paused and sipped his beer and then continued, "I smacked some asshole captain who ordered soldiers into an area where I had just observed enemy occupation. He insisted that drones showed the area clear, ignored me, and we lost many men. I lost my temper and slapped the shit out of him. One thing led to another, and I was offered a full pension if I left voluntarily. I had my twenty in. I was disgusted with the way things were being run over there, so I thought it best to just walk away."
His father nodded. "It sounds like you did the right thing — walking away, that is."
Styles was impressed on how fixated his dad was. "When I arrived back in the States, I immediately got picked up by two secret service agents who took me to Washington."
He paused to take a long drink from his glass of beer.
"The man who commanded me the most met me and took me to see the president, President Williams. I didn't know that he and Starr — that's my commander — went back as far as they did friendship-wise. President Williams had made a decision, along with Starr's input, to try a different approach to fighting terrorism. He wanted his own personal assassin. Starr, who had found out about me getting bounced out of the marines, thought I would make a good fit."
Styles noticed his father nodding again. "We had a meeting, and I agreed. What started out as just Starr and me has turned into a four-man team, and I admit it is working well. It was hard for me; I've never been a team player, and it took a lot of adjusting on my part, and I'm sure the others, as well, and we have jelled. We make a good unit. The team consists of a pilot, Starr, a woman who can do magic with a computer — honestly, Dad, I've never seen anything like it — and me. Remember the terrorists who got taken out in Indianapolis over Memorial Day? That was us. We've also taken out targets, all at the direction of President Williams, in Europe and the Middle East."
He paused again and took another sip of beer.
"With the death of President Williams, everything has changed. Our team has been hidden under the DPO, the Department of the Presidential Office. President Lamar is going to eliminate that group. President Williams had written us a letter that was only to be read if he became incapable of fulfilling his duties as president. He thought it was imperative that we continue as a group, to continue with what he had us doing, and he thought that Lamar wouldn't go along with it. He felt we would have to go dark, do this completely on our own. We've talked about it and agreed that is what we are going to do. We believe strongly in what we are doing, and I can tell you that we have prevented serious damage from being done to our country." Styles was impressed at how intently he could see his father listening to every word.
"Where this involves you is this. Once we go dark, I can never have contact with you again. Ever. It would put you in danger. I won't do that. There is one option. You can choose to go dark too. Phillips — she's the hacker — can set up a sort of witness protection thing for you. She would give you a new identity that could never be compromised. That way we can keep in contact. You would have to leave everything you know, are connected with, everything, behind. No pension, no insurance, no nothing. Of course we would replace that, but still, walk away and never look back. You would be relocated any place you choose. I know you are enjoying a relationship with your girlfriend; I'm not sure about that. I haven't talked to Phillips, but if this ends up being a joint decision between the two of you, I'm sure she could go with you. I don't need an answer right now; you have a few days to think about it. I wish my situation hadn't come to this, but it has, and I have to accept it."
David Styles looked at his son, his eyes wet. "Marvin, we both know that until recently, we were never close. I've always loved you, make no mistake about that. It's just after the loss of your mother, I just, I guess I was just afraid to show love again. That is why it took me so many years to even consider letting another woman into my life. Your mother is irreplaceable, but I've finally learned to live with it. I'm finally able to enjoy the company of a woman without feeling that somehow I'm disrespecting your mother."
"Dad, Mom would want that."
"I know. It just took a very long time for me to realize that. Marvin, I'm not going to risk losing what took us way too long to establish. I need to talk to Sara, and make no mistake; I have grown extremely fond of her. To the point of I'm thinking about asking her to marry me. I need to explain the situation to her. You say you think she could join me?"
"I'll make it happen. Count on it."
"Regardless of anything else, I'm not losing you, so count me in. I only hope I can convince Sara. I don't like having to make a choice, but if I have to, you are my son." For the first time since the death of his wife over three decades earlier, David Styles saw tears in his son's eyes.
Bernard Backersley was about to tear his remaining hair out. In thirty-six hours, his response team had been bested by an unknown entity. His team leader, a man who Backersley considered all but invincible, was lying in a hospital and not going anywhere anytime soon. His cyber unit had been attacked and rendered all but useless, though Myra Banks was working virtually nonstop to get them back up and running. She had spoken very little to him since the computer attack. He had asked her once about Darlene Phillips and had only gotten a "Fuck off" in return. He knew better than to push it.
Martin Larrow, his team leader in Oregon, was on his way to his office. Two minutes later, Backersley's secretary had announced Larrow's arrival, with Backersley instructing her to usher him into his office.
"Sir," Larrow stated upon entering.
"Sit down, Marty."
Larrow made himself comfortable in one of the overstuffed leather chairs in Backersley's office.
"Tell me about the event at Ryyaki Ali's estate," ordered Backersley.
"You know most if it already."
"What is Randall's condition?"
"Pretty bad. He's looking at probably six weeks in the hospital, at least two months' healing time, and rehab after that. He took a pounding. I doubt most men could have survived."
"Do you think whoever attacked him was trying to kill him?"
"Actually, no. I think if that were the case, he'd be dead. I think because Randall is Randall, it took that much to put him down. If I may ask, how are we doing on getting our cyber unit up and running?"
"Soon, but not soon enough," Backersley answered testily.
"Where do I go from here?"
"Keep on your FBI contact. Find out everything you can. I want to know who beat us to Ali's estate."
"Yes, sir. I'll be in touch the moment I learn anything."
"Do that."