Palmer smiled. It was the sort of smile the general had warned them about when he mentioned men in suits. “He knows what I say he does.”
“So you’d lie?” Thibodaux released a deep breath.
“In a heartbeat,” Palmer said simply, “for a greater cause.”
“What about Congressional oversight? Isn’t it illegal to do this sort of thing without legislative approval?” Quinn studied the man’s cool eyes under the dim yellow dome light.
“We have our supporters,” he said, shrugging. “Call it a Select Committee of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence — I call them the Gang of Five. The SSCI has fifteen members, the majority party having one more seat at the table. Our Gang of Five keeps that same ratio — but again, they only know what I tell them — and generally they don’t do too much asking. I think they prefer to bust my chops after the fact than to know the whole truth up front. No matter what anyone weeps about in front of the television cameras, we have the backing we need — sometimes even from the same people who bash us on CNN. The Gang of Five likes to have their deniability, too.”
“So you’d lie to the Senate, but you won’t ever lie to us?” Thibodaux said.
“Never.”
“Is that a lie?” The Cajun grinned.
Palmer leaned back to study the limo’s carpeted ceiling a moment, and then put both hands flat on his knees. “I’ll make you this promise, gentlemen. I may not always tell you everything, but I’ll never send you to get killed without giving you the whole of it. That kind of mission should be voluntary and fully disclosed.”
“Sounds like it’d be pretty easy to drop us in the grease,” Thibodaux said, stone faced.
Win Palmer sighed, closing his eyes. When he opened them he looked directly at each man in turn. “Neither one of you would have stayed alive as long as you have if not for the ability to read people. You saved my grandson’s life and that’s something I don’t take lightly — but more than that, you have talents that can save countless other lives. I love my country, gentlemen, and from your records I can tell you do as well. I don’t believe I’ll ever have to ‘drop you in the grease’—I think you’d jump in on your own.”
Quinn kept quiet.
“Get some rest.” Palmer nodded toward a sprawling brick home behind an alternating row of sycamores and oaks that had already been big trees when George Washington was still receiving guests at Mount Vernon. “Miyagi will settle you in and see to your equipment issues in the morning.”
“Are you shittin’ me?” Thibodaux grinned. “Mr. Miyagi works for you?”
“Mrs. Miyagi,” Palmer corrected. “And no ‘wax on, wax off ’ jokes. This woman might not look like it, but she could seriously kick your ass.”
Quinn’s cell phone began to buzz in his pocket.
“Go ahead and take that,” Palmer said, pushing open the door. “But don’t loiter out here too long. Mrs. Miyagi is expecting you — and she’s not someone you’d want to have mad at you.”
Red oak and yellow sycamore leaves, the beginnings of an early fall, swirled under the tires in the feeble glow of the taillights as the limo crunched down the deserted street to leave the two men alone.
Quinn pressed the button on his cell. “Hello.”
Thibodaux leaned against the ghostly white bark of a sycamore tree and stared into the night.
“Daddy?”
Quinn put aside thoughts of grimy politics and let himself go soft inside. His five-year-old daughter was the one person in the world who never disappointed him.
“Well, hello, Mattie. What are you doing up so late?” She gave her trademark giggle. “Daddy, it’s always late where you are. It’s only eight in Alaska.”
Quinn looked at the Aquaracer on his wrist. Midnight. She was so far away.
“Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“Are you killing surgeons?”
“Where did you get that idea?”
“On CNN they said that Americans are killing surgeons in Iraq. You’re an American.”
“I think you should stop watching CNN.”
Thibodaux chucked softly in the darkness. “Tell her to watch Fox,” he whispered. “I don’t let my boys watch nuthin’ but Fox.”
Quinn waved him off.
“I saw a girl moose today in our yard,” Mattie said.
“Wow.” Quinn didn’t care what they talked about. Just hearing the kid’s voice soothed his soul. “Mom told me she had to drive you to school.”
“I heard Mom tell Grandma she’s worried about you.”
“Is that right?” Quinn couldn’t help but smile that Kim would talk about him at all. Still, he didn’t like the idea of her worrying Mattie. “Can I talk to Mommy a minute?”
“She said to tell you she’s sleeping.”
Quinn nodded, loving his daughter’s naïve honesty.
“I have to go, Daddy. Don’t let the surgeons get you. You’re my bestie.”
“You’re my bestie too, sweetheart. Love you…” Quinn returned the phone to his pocket, fighting back a tear.
Thibodaux hung his big head. “I thought I’d be home spoonin’ the delta whiskey tonight. Hell, I don’t even have a toothbrush. I hope Mrs. Miyagi has an extra.”
Quinn stared down the empty road, toward the orange glow of D.C. He thought of what Win Palmer had said. Deniability—it gave any professional soldier pause. It was another word for throwing someone under the proverbial bus.
Dry leaves skittered across the pavement on the cool breeze, sending a chill crawling up Quinn’s neck.
He threw on the Vanson jacket and glanced up at the forlorn Thibodaux. The mountainous Cajun studied him, cocking his head.
“Somethin’s eatin’ at you, ain’t it, Chair Force?”
“I was just thinking.” Quinn shrugged. “You know I grew up in Alaska, right?”
“Always wanted to see the place… in the summer, mind you.”
“The year before I left for the Academy,” Quinn said, “I went on this big deer hunt with my brother and dad on Kodiak.”
Thibodaux raised an eyebrow. “There’s some mighty big bears on that island, beb.”
Quinn put his hands in his pockets against the chill. “It was dark and cool… just like tonight. We took three Sitka blacktail deer about dusk and were covered with blood by the time we headed back to camp with the meat in our packs.”
Thibodaux gave a low whistle. “Not a good way to be in bear country.”
“You’re telling me,” Quinn said, remembering the event as if it had just happened. “On the way back, we came around a corner in the alder brush next to a little mountain stream and there was this live salmon lying in the middle of the trail. Its skin had been peeled off right before we happened along and it was still flopping around in the mud. It had some pretty serious teeth marks in its tail. The bear was still nearby and pissed, thrashing around in the alders, close enough we could smell him. No doubt, he wanted to get back to his meal of freshly skinned salmon.”
“You feel that way now?” Thibodaux asked. “Like a hunter covered with blood in the middle of bear country?”
“Nope.” Quinn sighed, walking toward the darkened brick house. “I feel like the fish.”
CHAPTER 18
A half dozen blue Chemturion suits hung on pegs along the cold tile wall, looking like the flayed skins of gargantuan Smurfs.
Dressed in a fresh pair of green hospital scrubs complete with paper slippers, Mahoney stepped into her rubberized suit just as the heavy bass beat of “Short Skirt and Long Jacket” began to thump in her earpiece. Cake was Justin’s favorite band and playing the song on the intercom was just another one of his ways of paying homage to her. He clipped the iPod onto the drawstring of his scrubs and stepped into his own anti-exposure suit — a larger version of Mahoney’s.