“There are too many enemies out there now — it’s a different world. Nobody’s buying most of our spin these days.” Holt shook his head. “We may have stepped on a real mine this time.”
Daniels frowned. “There’s always a way out of any trap. We both know that. The question is how we proceed from here. Hell, as complacent as most of the population is, it might not even matter that much. If the right talking heads say it doesn’t, then most of the country will believe it doesn’t. Look at what they’ve swallowed so far.”
“The problem isn’t just our own people. Think about the international repercussions. We’ll lose Latin America right off the bat if the truth about Venezuela slips out. And Europe won’t be far behind when the French learn about the magazine bombing. There’s only so much the market will bear. Christ, the Russians will go berserk once they have definitive proof about Ukraine. And eventually, even the dimmest taxpayer’s going to want their money back or someone’s hide nailed to a wall. I think we both know that we’re candidates for that honor.”
“Then obviously priority number one is to find her and neutralize her.”
“Obviously.” Holt stood. “I want you to personally supervise this. Get on a plane if need be. Do whatever it takes, pay off whoever we need to. She can’t hide forever, especially in that part of the world.”
“What about domestic loose ends?”
“I think we need to start sanitizing, don’t you?”
“It could get messy.”
“I’m sure it will. But put it in motion. There are some whom we simply can’t have testify.”
“I’m on it.”
“Keep me informed. You understand the stakes.”
Holt stood and marched away from the bench, his shoulders square. Daniels waited until Holt was out of sight to check the sound on the tiny voice recorder he’d used to tape the discussion. Daniels knew how the DOD operated, and he wasn’t about to be collateral damage. This tape would be his insurance policy. Better to see Holt hang for high crimes against the nation, after all, than himself.
If it really came down to it, Daniels could vanish in South America until enough of the shit storm had blown over. Assuming it ever did. There were some things that could cause seismic shifts in the globe’s underlying power structure; the knowledge that most of the industrialized world’s truths were actually lies propagated to benefit an elite coterie of super-rich was one of them. The sheep were complacent and apathetic, but history had shown that during times of great stress, that could turn on a dime.
This could be one of those times.
If it was, Daniels didn’t want to be within five thousand miles of ground zero.
The nation would forgive a lot in the name of patriotism, but some things were unconscionable no matter what the explanation.
“If only she didn’t have the money trail,” Daniels muttered as he stood. That was the most damning. There was no way to interpret it other than that the U.S. was being operated for the benefit of foreign and, in some cases, hostile interests — or rather, transnational interests that knew no allegiance to any country or ideology besides the accumulation of power and control.
Daniels walked slowly back to the parking lot where he’d left his anonymous sedan, just another man in a gray suit, unremarkable and uninteresting except for the hard gleam in his cobalt blue eyes and the way he carried himself, the years of drills and training impossible to hide even had he cared to.
He would do what he had to in order to protect his ass. Daniels hoped it didn’t come to that, but he wasn’t about to become a John Doe pulled out of the river, which was where it was all heading, barring a miracle.
Chapter 52
The Piper bumped through rough air coming off the Myanmar hills as it headed west. Joe hummed to himself as he changed altitude to stay below any radar but above easy shooting range from below. He’d warned them that he might have to take drastic evasive measures at any moment, so they’d stayed strapped in for the trip. The only positive was that he’d estimated a total flight time of less than thirty minutes, and they were now nearing their destination.
“There they are,” Allie said, pointing to their right at the pair of karst formations. “The twin sisters.”
Drake nodded beside her, his complexion slightly pale from the jostling of the plane.
Joe dropped another five hundred feet as they approached the road they planned to use as an improvised airstrip, and after several tense minutes, he called out, “Thar she blows!”
Spencer eyed the narrow beige ribbon dubiously. “You can land on that?”
“It does look kinda tight, doesn’t it?” Joe acceded.
“What’s the wingspan on this? Thirty-something feet?”
“’Bout that.”
“That’s narrower.”
“Hopefully it widens some.”
“If not?” Drake asked from the rear seat.
“Then we set down wherever we can. Just means we’ll need to walk more.” Joe wet his lips as he scanned the terrain. “Positive vibes, remember?”
“That might work,” Spencer said, indicating a stretch where the trees pulled back from the road.
“Little short. We still have to be able to take off again.”
They banked and overflew the area again, but after ten minutes of widening circles it was obvious that the short area was their best shot. The sky above them darkened, and it began raining on approach. Drake shook his head. “Great. How does this get any worse?”
Spencer’s expression was dour as they dropped toward the earth, and he flinched when Joe came down hard and immediately fought to slow the plane on the mud, the bald tires refusing to grip as they hydroplaned forward, the plane yawing slightly as they decelerated. The section where the road narrowed came up fast, and Allie cried out when the left wing tip smacked against a tree trunk and shredded as though it were made of tinfoil.
They ground to a stop, and Joe shook his head. “Graham’s not going to be happy about that.”
“How do we get out of here now?” Spencer asked.
“Not many ways besides walking that I can see. Damn. We almost made it,” Joe said.
“Kind of like being almost dead, huh?” Drake asked.
“Let’s get our gear. No point hanging out jawing. We’re exposed here,” Joe said and threw his door open.
They climbed from the plane, and Spencer surveyed the fuselage as Joe retrieved their backpacks and distributed them. Branches had torn some of the remaining fuselage paint off, and the wing looked like it had taken a grenade blast. He shook his head as he studied the damage and turned to them.
“This thing’s definitely not going to fly again.”
“Probably not,” Joe agreed. “Hope we can find Graham another one for a decent price.”
“Be hard to find an older one,” Spencer replied.
“Got the job done,” Allie said.
“Or half of it, anyway,” Drake grumbled.
Spencer checked the GPS and shouldered his backpack, and then chambered a round in his AK. “We’re a good four miles. No question we’ll be camping out.”
“At least we’ve got tents,” Allie reminded him. “Positive energy, remember?”
“Right. I forgot about the vibes.” Spencer sighed in resignation. “Let’s get moving,” he said, and moved down the road as rain fell around him.
The walk turned ugly once they veered off the road and were forced to cut their way through the undergrowth until they could find a promising trail. Joe did most of the hacking, Spencer’s shoulder in no shape for exertion, and he traded off with Drake and Allie every half hour. Eventually they came across a track, and Joe knelt and studied the ground while they took a breath. When he stood, his easy grin had been replaced by a scowl.