The Director leaned forward slightly over the desk. ‘But with that great power comes great responsibility. A little secret for you. Just after 9/11, after the shock and terror, there was an opening, and some took advantage of that opening. We knew there was only a slim opportunity to set something up that would protect us and kill our enemies. Not merely reshuffling office cubicles in some government agency, or setting up a color-coded alert system. Speaking of which…what color are we at today?’
Brian shifted uncomfortably in his seat. ‘Don’t know. Orange, I guess.’
The Director smirked. ‘Here you are, a valued member of Tiger Team Seven, and even you don’t know our alert level from the Department of Homeland Security. So there you go. And as I was saying… with this power comes great responsibility. We have minimal oversight, but what oversight there is has to be tough. Which is where you and a number of other Tiger Team members come in. In addition to your regular duties, you check out your comrades. You see what they do. You take a fresh look into their background. Nine-hundred ninety-nine times out of a thousand, there’s nothing there. And what is there is something minor. Like looking at porn while on company time. Big deal. But we can always say later, when the Congressional investigations start — and, my friend, they will start, that you can believe, it’s the nature of the beast — that we had oversight in place. That’s your job. To guard the guardians.’
‘The job sucks.’
The Director said nothing for a moment. Then his voice changed, became softer, more reflective. He said, ‘Two months after 9/11, I was in Afghanistan. I was a liaison to an anti-Taliban group that was operating near Kandahar. We were moving at night and some of the mujahedin had stopped a Toyota pickup truck, running without lights along this long dirt road. Took the men out of the truck. There were four of them. They weren’t from Afghanistan. They were Saudis — volunteers who had come there to fight for the Taliban. To the Afghans there, they were outsiders. Interlopers. Arabs. So you know what happened to them?’
‘Something not nice, I’d imagine.’
The Director said, ‘Here, let me help you with your imagination. Besides myself, there were two other Americans there. And a few dozen mujahedin. And those mujahedin took the four Arabs away and took turns buggering them, and when they were done their throats were slit. Our allies had raped and murdered these men, and left their bodies in the Toyota truck as a warning to other outsiders about what happened to those who were captured by Afghans. And our Afghans were happy and were singing, and there we were, representatives of twenty-first-century America, witnessing a war crime, and we didn’t do a damn thing. That, detective, is what sucks. Sorry you don’t like your job. Get over it.’
The Director opened up a desk drawer, pulled out a folder which he tossed in Brian’s direction.
‘Your next assignment,’ he said. ‘As soon as possible.’
Brian picked up the folder, opened it up. Adrianna Scott’s photograph looked up at him. He looked to the Director and said, ‘Adrianna? Are you sure?’
‘Nobody is immune from oversight. Not even myself, not even her.’
Brian said, ‘It’s going to be busy this month, with…well, you know. Final Winter and all.’
The Director nodded. ‘I’m sure you’ll find the time. If you’ll excuse me, detective, I need to get ready for my next meeting. And by the way, the Homeland Security threat level today is yellow. Not orange.’
Brian was dismissed. So what? He got up and left without a word, the bad feeling leaving an even worse taste in his mouth. The Rat Squad membership was to continue. How joyful. Out in the hallway he looked at the folder and thought, Adrianna. My apologies already. What a fucking job.
And as he was walking down the hallway, something odd came to him, what the Director had said back there. Or hadn’t said back there.
About Final Winter.
With Final Winter breathing down everyone’s neck, you’d think that the Director would have given him a pass about looking into Adrianna’s background.
Yeah. You would think that.
But the Director had almost brushed aside Final Winter. Like it wasn’t as important as finding out whether or not Adrianna Scott had really, truly lettered in soccer when she was in high school or some damn thing.
Odd.
And before Brian could think about that anymore, his pager started vibrating at his side.
Darren Coover woke up, groggy and tired, mouth sore, body sore, whole damn body aching. Last night had been a wild one, he had just felt the need to let loose, so it meant a night of clubbing and drinking and…well, a few minutes of fumbled passion in the back seat of a Toyota 4Runner, like he was a college kid or some damn thing.
He just stayed quiet in bed, let his eyes rest, let the seasick feeling in his gut ease. He probably shouldn’t have gone out last night, but with Final Winter and the thought of what was out there pressing against him…he’d just needed it. That was all. The next few weeks were going to be hell and he needed all his energies and focus to pay attention to that. Nothing else.
Darren opened his eyes, looked up to the white plaster ceiling. He rolled over, checked the clock. Damn. He was late. He reached over to the phone, knocked over a pill bottle, picked up the phone and dialed.
It was going to be one hell of a day, and he could hardly wait to see this man’s face when he was done.
Montgomery Zane yawned as he left the bathroom after a nice long shower, rubbing his head and back with a soft white bath towel. Charlene was sitting before her vanity unit, running a brush through her hair, and he bent over and kissed the back of her neck. She had on a bathrobe and he enjoyed the view of her freckled cleavage as he brought his head up.
Charlene noticed the gaze and gently thumped him with her elbow. ‘Get your eyes where they belong and get dressed. You’re gonna be late for work.’
Monty smiled and tossed the towel back towards the bathroom. ‘Babe, you’re the best excuse for being late there ever was.’
‘Hah. Hush and get going now.’
He started dressing and thought about the day ahead, and about how much he had enjoyed that long motorcycle run, out into the countryside. Probably the last piece of relaxation he was going to have for a long, long time, and he felt queasy for a moment, remembering what he had thought about, out there in the deserted countryside.
A deserted country. For years and years to come.
He quickly finished dressing and went back to Charlene. He rubbed her shoulders, kissed the top of her head, did some quick calculations and said, ‘Four weeks from now. What’s going on with you and the kids?’
She lowered the hairbrush. ‘Four weeks? Hell, hon, trying to figure out what’s going on four days from now is a hell of a stretch. Why four weeks?’
Monty tried to keep the tone light. ‘Thought you and the kids might go on a trip. Visit my aunt in Georgia, at Miller’s Crossing. That’s all.’
He noticed her hand tightening around the handle of the hairbrush. ‘Aunt Clara? Honey, God bless your aunt and all, but she lives in a town with one street light and four stop signs, and…’
Monty kept quiet. Charlene was a very bright woman.
‘Georgia,’ she breathed. ‘There’s a reason, isn’t there?’
Not worth trying to fool a military wife. ‘Yes.’