“You’re a coward, McBride.”
Grangeland stepped forward, brushing Nathan aside with her body, and delivered a solid haymaker to Montez’s bloody jaw. “And you’re unconscious.”
Nathan backed away, allowing Grangeland to take over.
Holly hugged him. “It’s over, Nathan,” she whispered in his ear. “You don’t have to fear him anymore.”
“I didn’t mean the things I said. I’m sorry.”
“I know you didn’t.”
Her words echoed again. You don’t have to fear him anymore. He held her, unsure if she meant Montez or the vicious thing inside him. Perhaps they were the same, cut from the same dark cloth. It didn’t matter.
Holding Holly, he sensed something he hadn’t felt in a long time.…
He felt safe.
Chapter 48
Nichole Dalton heard a voice. A man’s voice.
For a split second she saw Montez’s grinning face and bloody gloves.
She remembered being rescued by a tall man with long scars on his face and body.
Nichole, can you hear me?
She opened her eyes but couldn’t focus. Her chest and stomach stung. Where was she?
The plastic surgeon. She’d been taken to a plastic surgeon’s office. She remembered lying on her back and feeling cold, remembered feeling an IV inserted into her arm. There’d been classical music in the background. And some kind of chemical smell, alcohol maybe? She couldn’t remember anything beyond that.
“Nichole, can you hear me?”
She turned her head and saw Dr. Reavie.
He took her hand. “I’ve got a couple of girls who want see their mother.”
“You found them! They’re safe?” She tried to sit up. Fiery pain made her wince. She didn’t care.
“Don’t sit up. I’ll elevate the bed for you. You’re recovering from anesthesia. Everything went well. You have more than a thousand sutures, though.”
“My girls!”
“They’re right here.”
Nathan felt insecure in a wheelchair, but it beat the alternative-a pine box. He watched the two girls rush to their mother’s bedside and hug each other. Nichole’s joy overpowered her pain. She closed her eyes to the tears streaming down her cheeks and held them.
And in that moment, nothing else in the world mattered.
Grangeland wiped a tear. So did Holly. No warm-blooded human being could watch this and not feel torn to pieces. He felt Holly take his hand and give it a firm squeeze.
“Come on,” he whispered. “Let’s give them some time alone.”
He wheeled himself to the door and turned back.
Nichole Dalton made eye contact and mouthed the words thank you.
He nodded and slipped out.
Grangeland insisted on pushing his wheelchair the rest of the way through Reavie’s office and he reluctantly agreed. Holly couldn’t do it. She walked with a cane. A few hours ago, his feet had been numbed, scrubbed clean, and sutured closed. None of the cuts had been especially large or deep, but there’d been a lot of them. The local anesthetic had since worn off and truth be told, he was grateful for the wheelchair. But wrecked feet or not, he wasn’t going to miss this reunion.
In the parking lot, the cobalt beginning of a new sunrise spread across the horizon.
He spoke softly, just above a whisper. “Seeing Nichole and her daughters like that? It makes it all worth it.”
Grangeland stopped pushing and Holly took his hand.
They were silent for a moment, staring at the eastern sky.
“I owe you an apology, Grangeland. I didn’t mean what I said.”
“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”
“It’s not okay. I really care what you think of me. Both of you.”
“I feel the same way about you,” Grangeland said.
“My feet hurt.”
Holly half laughed. “At least you’re not sporting Grangeland’s pink sweater any more.”
He’d almost forgotten about that. After cleaning Montez up and hauling the semiconscious man into the sedan, Grangeland had given him the sweater, the only thing she had stretchy enough to fit. He’d worn it into the emergency room.
He grinned. “I don’t know, I kinda liked the way it felt.”
“Don’t ever repeat that,” Holly said.
He looked to Grangeland, as if to invite a dissenting vote.
“Sorry,” she said. “I’ll have to agree with my SAC on that.”
Chapter 49
A week later, compliments of U.S. taxpayers, Nathan and Harvey arrived in Washington via Director Lansing’s Lear. At Reagan National, they rented separate cars and went separate ways. Harv wanted to retrieve his family from Thorny’s safe house and see a museum or two.
In his own rental car, Nathan sighed and concentrated on driving.
Overall, it was a nice afternoon. Not too humid. High clouds drifted toward the east.
Diving up the George Washington Memorial Parkway toward Langley, he tried to make sense of things, but there were still some missing pieces. He hoped to get some answers, but wasn’t holding his breath. He didn’t expect to learn much more than he already knew.
Following Cantrell’s instructions, he stayed on the GW Parkway and took the exit ramp directly north of CIA headquarters. He drove up a gentle slope and stopped under the guardhouse canopy. It felt a little strange telling the guards he was here to see the head honcho, but from their reactions-or more accurately, lack thereof-they’d obviously been prepped for his arrival. Most people stared at his face when they first met him, something he’d accepted over the years. He never took it personally, but sometimes getting no reaction felt worse. Those people tended to treat him like a leper.
The entry guards directed him forward to a small parking area just outside the red vehicle barriers. He turned off the engine and relaxed, wondering how many video cameras had already, and currently were, recording his every move. If possible, he planned to keep this meeting cordial. He hadn’t requested it, Cantrell had. He had little doubt she could be a formidable enemy and he didn’t want to spoil the rapport he’d developed with her, if he could call it that.
Ten minutes later, she arrived in a convoy of three white sedans. He climbed out and felt the telltale tingling itch of healing flesh on the soles of his feet.
As quickly as he’d stepped out, he found himself surrounded by four nicely dressed agents with bulges under their coats.
The passenger window of the middle sedan rolled down, revealing Director Rebecca Cantrell.
“Hop in.”
“I’m impressed,” he said as he took a seat and belted in. He made eye contact with each agent. “For a second, I thought you boys were going to tackle me.”
“They just needed to be sure it was you, not someone wearing a Nathan McBride mask.”
He pointed to his mug. “Kinda hard to copy, don’t you think?”
“But not impossible.”
“Where’re we going?”
“I thought we’d do a late lunch at the Congressional Country Club. It’s only a few miles away. Sound okay?”
“The Congressional Country Club?”
She shrugged. “It’s a private golf course, that kind of country club.”
“My treat?” he offered.
“Sure, why not.”
“Are you always escorted like this?”
“Pretty much. A lot of things changed after nine-eleven.”
They drove in silence for a few minutes.
“I know you’re curious about Ironclad, and rightfully so. You’re probably wondering why, out of all the unsavory interrogators in the world, Montez was offered the job.”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“Well, first off, Montez is not the only interrogator subcontracted for this kind of work during the past decade. I know that’s not a pretty thought, but-”
“I know the score, I get that. But still… Montez?”
“Like I said in your hospital room, he never blew the whistle on our involvement in Nicaragua. He’d proven himself trustworthy. Yes, I know how that sounds. But he was also completely deniable, which is not unimportant.”