“And you’re going anyway? In this condition?”
Gil shrugged. “Nothin’ better to do out here.”
Yablonsky told the lieutenant to cut him loose, and Gil dug a couple of dextroamphetamine capsules from his medical kit.
“Do you really think you’re capable of completing such a mission in your condition, Master Chief?”
Gil swallowed the capsules with a gulp of water from the CamelBak inside Mason’s rucksack. “Yep.”
“One man against two hundred? Two hundred who probably know you’re coming?”
Gil smiled. “Well, there’s seven of us now, Colonel.” He chuckled. “Which cuts the odds to something like twenty-eight to one, doesn’t it? Unless you guys are leaving, in which case I’d appreciate some ammo and grenades.”
Yablonsky was unsure of what to do.
“You say you guys jumped in here against orders?”
The Russian nodded and stood up. “And by now Moscow will know.”
Gil got to his feet slowly, testing his weight on the titanium implant and rubbing his wrists. “I’m not Spetsnaz, Colonel, but with Major Dragunov already out of danger… well, I’m guessing it might be a good idea for you guys to take Dokka Umarov’s head back to Moscow.”
Yablonsky smiled. “Even if we fail, it’s a story that will grow in the telling.” He looked at his men, saying to them in Russian, “The American has challenged us to help him kill Umarov. Anyone want to refuse?”
No one did.
75
After a couple of hours in the bathroom, Mariana emerged. She glanced at Crosswhite, who sat on the bed in front of the television. Then she leaned against the wall, folding her arms in a protective embrace. “What happened to the — to the bodies?”
Crosswhite lifted the remote and turned off the television. “Ernie’s people are taking care of things. Do you need him to call the doctor?”
She pulled her hair back behind her ears and then folded her arms again, sniffling. “Thanks. I’m okay.”
“I should have cleared the room. I’m sorry.”
She shook her head.
“We’ll get you on a plane to Mexico City. I’ll meet you there after the mission, and we can get our stories straight. There’s no reason for Pope to know about this — unless you want him to. And don’t worry, I’ll tell him I’m willing to work with you again.”
She stepped over to the bed and sat down on the corner of the mattress, keeping her arms folded. “How did you know to come in?”
“It’s an old building,” he said. “I heard him peeing in the toilet through the wall. It didn’t sound right. Then when he dropped the lid to flush, and I knew somebody was over here.”
She sat staring at the floor. “I must’ve washed fifty times. I still feel dirty.”
“It’s normal,” he said.
She looked at him. “I’d like to stay and finish the mission. I’m focused now.”
“No. You need to recover from this. You can spend as much time as you need in Mexico City. There’s plenty of money, and Pope’s been—”
“I need to finish this, Dan. If I go back now, it’s like it happened for nothing.”
“You might feel that way at the moment, but—”
“Listen to me!” she said. “You didn’t just save my life. You stopped him before he could finish — and that means more than you have any idea. I can do this. Please trust me.”
He sat thinking things over for a long time. He thought about Sarahi bleeding to death in his arms. He thought about his friend Sandra Brux, raped and brutalized at the hands of the Taliban two years earlier — his failed mission to rescue her — and he thought about Paolina. Did he even dare step into her world? What specters of evil might follow him there?
“Dan?”
He looked at her.
“Let me stay.”
“Okay,” he said reluctantly. “But you have to follow my every instruction.”
“I promise.” She stood up. “Think we can get outta this room?”
“Sure.”
They slipped into Crosswhite’s room, and he gave her a bottle of water from the fridge. “I talked to Midori over the sat phone. Pope’s been shot again.”
Mariana nearly choked on the water. “What?!”
“Ben Walton walked right into his hospital room and shot him — with two Secret Service agents out in the hall. Believe that shit?”
“By now, I’ll believe anything. Is he going to live?”
“Sounds like it.” He took the Cuban assassin’s cellular from his pocket and dropped it onto the bed. “Midori worked the call list and figured out where to find Peterson. Looks like he bought a small finca outside of town last year.” A finca was an estate. “She’s going to email us the sat photos and whatever other intel she can come up with. We’ll recon the place later and put together a plan of action.”
Mariana capped the water bottle and set it aside, rubbing her hands on her legs. “So what do we do while we’re waiting?”
“Dunno. You hungry?”
“Yeah, but can we have Ernesto bring us something? I don’t feel like going outside right now. I feel like the whole world will know what happened the second they see me.”
“Sure.”
Ernesto brought them food from a restaurant down the street, and they sat on the bed eating. When they were finished, the two of them stretched out and lay staring at the ceiling. Crosswhite kept the 1911 beside him on the bed.
Mariana rolled to her side and propped up her head on her hand. “I’m sorry for what I said earlier… about getting another one killed. That was a cunt thing to say.”
“Forget it. We’re in another life now.”
“I guess that’s true, isn’t it? For me, anyhow.” She stared into space. “They were absolutely going to kill me. Peterson ordered it. The smaller guy said so.”
“Well, we’re going to return the favor.”
She lifted her head and her eyes filled with tears, her voice shaking as she spoke. “They slugged me in the stomach, and I couldn’t even scream for help.”
“When he was on top of me…” Her voice cracked. “When he was on top of me, I begged God for you to come through that door. I’ve never begged for anything like that in my life… but I knew you wouldn’t come… I knew it was impossible.
“But then there you were. I still can’t believe it.”
He smiled. “Well, I guess that just proves the old saying.”
She wiped her nose with the backs of her fingers. “What old saying?”
He looped a lock of hair behind her ear with his finger and then rested his hand on the bed.
“Trust in God and the Eighty-Second Airborne.”
76
Peterson was back on the phone with Roy, his Mexico City contact, astounded by the news that Walton had shown up in Maryland and gotten himself killed.
“What do you mean he shot Pope?”
“All I know,” Roy said, “is that he walked into Pope’s room, shot him, and got gunned down by the Secret Service two seconds later.”
“I don’t fucking believe it!” Peterson said. “He never said a word about going back to the States.”
“Well, it gets even more bizarre than that,” Roy said.
“How? What the hell else don’t I know?”
“It looks like he probably killed Steve Grieves before he paid Pope a visit. The senator’s car blew up down the street from the Capitol less than an hour before Walton showed up at the hospital. So if it wasn’t Walton’s work, it’s one hell of a coincidence.”
Peterson stood with his jaw hanging down. “Christ Almighty. I must have been next.”