He walked to the far side of the room and stared out the window. “Words, Gadyuka. Pretty words to hide the ugliness of what we are doing. What we have done. What we are about to do.
“God almighty,” he breathed.
“Stop saying that,” she said.
Valen half turned. “What?”
“Lately you keep saying things like that. ‘My God,’ ‘God almighty.’ You don’t believe in God, Valen, and to use those phrases does nothing more than stick bamboo shoots under your fingernails. Stop it. You’re only hurting yourself.”
He could not meet her eyes, and after a moment turned back to the window, beyond which was a parking lot and nothing of interest. Certainly nothing he actually saw.
“Now,” she said, “we need to move. We’re done here. Let the Americans pick up the pieces in Washington. We have bigger fish to fry.”
When he did not move, she came over and stood behind him, then bent close and gently — ever so gently — kissed the back of his neck.
“History is calling to you, my love. Let’s go save the world.”
God help me, he thought.
And meant it.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Church commandeered an office for us to use, and we all hunkered down around his laptop to watch the news.
I was the news. There were feeds from six different cameras. None of them caught all of it, but each caught some, and I was there — smack-dab in the middle, beating the shit out of reporters, unarmed civilians, Secret Service agents, and cops. Auntie was in two of the videos. Ghost was in three.
The panic and the constant shuddering of the ground kept any of the videos from being crystal clear, and even when the networks froze an image and enhanced it, my face was a little blurry. But it was me and everyone knew it.
How did they know it was me?
Because my fucking name was right there on the screen.
Government Agent Joseph Ledger in Violent Attack
And…
Son of Baltimore Mayor Attacks Crowd
And…
Captain Joseph Ledger and Unnamed Woman
in Unprovoked Attack During Deadly Earthquake
Top Sims blew out his cheeks and sat heavily on the edge of the desk. Rudy groaned softly and put a hand on my shoulder.
Bunny said, “Well, now we’re in the shit.”
I said nothing.
“This is the gas dock all over again,” said Top.
“’Cept Joe’s not killing anyone,” countered Bunny, but it was a weak riposte.
“I’m not sure that will matter,” said Church. He glanced at me. “The fact that they identified you would be manageable. You were, after all, a Baltimore detective, and your father is in a high-profile job. You’ve been in the news before.”
“Never as ‘Captain’ Ledger,” I said.
“No, and that’s the most troubling aspect of this. That designation is only ever used within certain levels of the intelligence and justice communities. You hold no verifiable rank. The press should not have been able to tag you in this way.”
“Which means what?” asked Bunny. “Did one of those Secret Service goons out him?”
Before Church could ask, a new banner appeared beneath the video footage of Auntie, Ghost, and me fighting together.
Rogue Agents from the Department of Military Sciences
We stared at that.
Church, who had been standing, sat down slowly and heavily in the leather chair behind the desk. He removed his tinted glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Well,” he said slowly, “isn’t that interesting.”
CHAPTER SEVENTY-NINE
Church put all of the DMS field offices on secure lockdown. So far, no reporters or crowds had materialized at any of them, but this wasn’t a time to take chances. Top and Bunny wanted to go out and help with rescue efforts in D.C., but Church nixed the idea.
“Even if you carry false ID,” he said, “someone in the Secret Service or other agencies with which you’ve interacted over the years could recognize you.”
“There are people who could use our help,” protested Top.
Church wouldn’t budge. “And if you are recognized, that will cause enough of a stir to draw resources away from those same people. You could create a distraction that does more harm than any good you might accomplish. I’m sorry, gentlemen, but while I commend your generosity and compassion, you would be of greater use elsewhere.”
“Where, exactly, sir?” asked Bunny, his face flushed with anger.
“In San Diego,” said Church. “Echo Team is composed of mostly new operators. Two of them have never been in a DMS action; one came in at the end of the Dogs of War event but without real training. And the fourth, Agent Duffy, is new to his role as team sniper. None of them have gone into the field as a DMS team. With everything that is happening, I would be comforted in knowing that they are ready to roll.”
“Against who?” growled Top.
“That’s always a challenge for us, First Sergeant; but when we come up with that name I want you ready to charge the field. And trust me, gentlemen, we will find out who is behind this.”
They didn’t like it, but we all knew Church was right. Top and Bunny stood. We don’t stand at attention in the DMS, and we don’t salute, but they both gave the impression of doing both. Mr. Church rose and offered his hand, nodding to each as they shook. I saw the guys out to the parking lot, and asked them to take Ghost along. The fur-monster wasn’t happy about it, and gave me an I’m going to pee in your shoes look as he trudged along behind them.
Brick intercepted me on the way back inside and handed me a new cell phone. Same make and model as mine but with a hardened case.
“Bug downloaded all your contacts and apps,” he said, “so you’re ready to roll.”
“Thanks,” I said, and began to slip it into my pocket, but he shook his head.
“Joe, when’s the last time you spoke with Junie? She’s at the Hangar now and would probably take it as a comfort if she heard directly from you that you’re all right.”
He clapped me on the shoulder and went inside. Brick is one of the good guys. Because he’s this huge, battle-scarred old soldier, it’s easy to make the wrong assumptions about him, but there are good reasons Church picked him as his aide. Brick is smart, educated, kind, lethal as fuck, subtle, and compassionate. He is the nicest of people most of the time, but you absolutely do not want to get between him and someone he wants to protect.
I stayed outside to call Junie. She answered on the first ring.
“Joe!” she gasped. “Are you okay?”
“I am.”
“Thank God. I love you,” she said, and there was such heart, such meaning in her words that I felt an actual warm glow in my heart. Don’t laugh, it happens; even to cold and cynical freaks like me.
“I love you, too, sweetheart.” I closed my eyes and conjured a memory of her. Tall, with wild blond hair that always looked like she’d stepped off a windy moor. The bluest eyes in creation, and splashes of freckles across cheeks and nose, and across her chest. When she wasn’t in the field in a third-world country, she tended to wear flowy peasant skirts in floral patterns and sheer white blouses. Her jewelry tended toward silver and crystals and rare stones in irregular shapes. Lots of rings on every finger and jangly ankle bracelets. Recently she’d had the phases of the moon tattooed across her left side so that the full moon was on her back and the new moon under her breast.