So he told them the matter was urgent, and they patched him through to Dennison’s home via an encrypted signal.
“She’s going to be pissed,” said Schoolie.
“Frankly, fat boy, I don’t give a damn.”
“Captain Brent?” Dennison began, tugging her robe more tightly around her shoulders. She had a quart of rocky road ice cream in her hand with a spoon jutting from it.
“Major, we need to talk.”
“Look, Brent, there’s no more discussion. If you take issue with what’s happened, you need to bring that up to Colonel Grey. I shouldn’t have to remind a career officer about the chain of command.”
“Colonel Grey and I have different perceptions regarding my After Action Report.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I was removed from the mission before being allowed to finish it.”
“I see you’ve had time to think. And in your case, that’s dangerous. Look, I’m sure they’ll have a place for you. I’ve heard a lot of great things about your skill as a trainer. You’d be excellent at the JFK School.”
“Someday, yes. But not now.”
Dennison glanced at her ice cream. “Is there anything else?”
“Don’t give this to Boleman. It’s mine. Let me finish it. I was close. Very close.”
“I’m sorry, Brent, but it’s too late for that. This call is over.”
“How did you find her?”
“I’m tired, Captain.”
“I’m just asking.”
She sighed. “Doletskaya gave us a list of her contacts, and a name came up in Geneva. We had some eyes on that zone and spotted her. We’d tried to bait her, even had him leave messages. She either didn’t get them or wasn’t taking the bait. But the analysts picked her up right away. The NSA’s already got people moving in.”
“She’ll be long gone.”
“We need to figure out where she’s going.”
Brent assumed his best poker face. “I know where she’s going.”
“Oh, really?”
“Ma’am, I need to finish what I started.”
“Good night, Captain.”
She abruptly ended the link.
Brent turned back toward Schoolie, who was now engulfed by a fiery car crash, the flames rising up his body and burning him into a skeleton whose bones turned black.
Brent blinked.
“Damn…” Schoolie said, glancing away. “Tomorrow you’re busted out of the Ghosts. Ah, it’s not so bad.”
Brent looked incredulously at him. “You think I’m going to let that happen?”
“What do you mean?”
Brent cocked a brow. “You know what I mean.”
“Aw, no, you’re crazy.”
Brent widened his eyes. “Am I?”
The Snow Maiden spotted the man on the rooftop of the building across the street, so she, Heidi, and the others ducked back into the coffee shop.
“What’s going on now?” cried Heidi. “I thought we were going to the market, then my apartment.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry about coming here,” said the Snow Maiden. “It was a mistake. I need a car right now.”
“You know I don’t own a car.”
She looked to the coffee shop owner. “Him. Tell him I need to borrow his.”
Heidi did so, and although the Snow Maiden couldn’t hear what they were saying, the shop owner’s expression was enough. The Snow Maiden crossed to the counter, waved the man into the back room, then drew her pistol, put it to his head. “Keys. Now.”
He fished into his pockets. She took the keys, then motioned for Chopra and Hussein to head out the back door.
In the alley, they found the man’s little Kia. She ordered Hussein into the trunk, told Chopra to lie across the backseat, and gave the keys to Heidi. “You need to drive.”
Heidi was beginning to hyperventilate. “Viktoria!”
“Stay with me, and I’m going to tell you what’s going on. Okay? I need your help.”
Heidi fought for breath, took the keys, and climbed into the car.
“We need someplace secure. Maybe at the university?” the Snow Maiden asked.
“Okay, okay.”
As they pulled out, she called Patti. “Unexpected friends here. Are they yours?”
“Yes, they are,” said Patti. “And you should be thankful. The Americans sent operatives. We took care of them for you. Don’t try to drop off the grid again, are we clear?”
“We are,” she said through gritted teeth.
“Meet me tomorrow at eight A.M. Café Gavoroche. I’m sending you the map now.”
“All right.”
“Now there’s no need to rush off just yet, if you’d like to spend some time with your friend.”
“I’m afraid the evening’s already been ruined…” She hung up and told Heidi to turn the car around; they were going back to Heidi’s apartment.
Hussein began pounding on the trunk partition. “I want out of here! Right now!”
Chopra sat up. “I assume our little clandestine exit has been canceled?”
“Quiet,” the Snow Maiden told him.
Heidi suddenly pulled over to the curb. “I need to know what’s going on right now. I’m sure Hans back at the coffee shop has called the police.”
“You’re right. So maybe we’re not going back to your place,” said the Snow Maiden. “You can check us into a hotel. That’ll work now.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“Heidi, I never told you this, but Aldo was working for the CIA. That’s why he was killed. And the same men who tried to kill him are trying to kill me.”
“No, that’s not true.”
“Come with me, and I’ll explain. I’ll tell you everything. Just help us get a room.”
“I don’t even know who you are.”
“I want to tell you. I really do. But it’s important that you just do as I say. All right?”
“No, no, I won’t do this, I can’t,” cried Heidi. “I don’t know if you’re a criminal or a prostitute or who you are!” She reached for the door handle and opened the door.
The Snow Maiden bit her lower lip, drew her pistol—
And as Chopra shouted, “No!”
— she killed her old friend.
SEVENTEEN
Brent sat in the reception area outside General Scott Mitchell’s office. Mitchell was the man, head of the entire JSF. You couldn’t go any further up the ladder.
And you didn’t get a meeting with a guy like that by just whining that you disagreed with a superior’s decision.
You got a meeting by showing… audacity. A word much in the news during the past year or so.
So Brent had made the call and had informed the general’s staff that he wanted to strike a bargain.
The general had initially declined, but his curiosity won out when he learned that Grey had denied Brent permission to go over her head, and Brent retorted that he wasn’t seeking permission; this was just a courtesy call advising her of his intentions.
Dozens of framed wartime photographs of Mitchell in action covered the walls, and as Brent studied them, he began to understand the enormity of what he was doing, the enormity of this man’s position.
Who in the hell was Brent to try cutting a deal for another chance? The mere act was going to incite every officer above him: most notably Grey and Dennison.
Moreover, Mitchell had been a Ghost Recon legend, arguably the unit’s greatest living officer. Many of the techniques, tactics, and procedures that Brent had learned had been developed by Mitchell himself during his own time at the JFK School. Brent wasn’t even sure if he could speak intelligently let alone make a persuasive argument once he faced the man in the flesh.