The Saudi replied coolly, “You haven’t even attempted any of the top-flight targets. These were the easy marks. And still, six are dead. One in five of your total strength.” The Saudi had been told that a total of thirty operators would be in America at the beginning of the mission.
“I know this. You think I don’t? But we’ve known from the beginning that there will be losses, and that the numbers of operators will move in both directions. Men will be martyred, and new blood will come in in the form of new recruits.”
“What new recruits? Success breeds success. We have to have victories to pull more recruits in.”
Musa al-Matari had planned from the beginning to keep operational details away from the Saudi. But he broke his own rule now. “We will have multiple actions with a day’s time. One of them will be a top-tier target.”
“Which target?”
“I am not revealing operational information to someone who, frankly, has no need to know.”
After a time, bin Rashid said, “Very well. That is how it should be. We are all on the same side here, my brother. I just remind you, you need a win. A big win. You need to show the world that your cause is strong.”
Al-Matari just said, “Watch your television, Saudi. You will see something great, inshallah.” And then he hung up the phone.
Adara and Midas drove to John Clark’s Emmitsburg, Maryland, farmhouse just after ten p.m. A determination had been made by all that the coast was clear after this morning’s debacle in Alexandria, especially after a confidential conference call among Gerry Hendley, Dan Murray, and Mary Pat Foley. Mary Pat and her husband, Ed, had been friends with Eddie Laird for decades, and she and Dan were pleased that Campus employees had killed the four terrorists before they’d managed to do more harm, even if they admitted they would have much preferred that at least one of the men had been taken alive.
The crime itself had fallen under federal jurisdiction the moment it was clear this was a terrorist incident, so Dan assured Gerry the two surviving shooters whom several witnesses reported leaving the scene in a black Range Rover would be identified as personal security for former CIA officer Edward Laird, and that would be that. Gavin Biery had not found any photos anywhere on the Internet of incriminating quality, so they all agreed that The Campus was in the clear.
John Clark had left for his farm three hours earlier than Midas and Adara, so he was standing on the front porch with his wife, Sandy, as the two entered with their go bags on their shoulders.
For safety’s sake, it had been decided that Adara and Midas would stay here at the remote farm for a couple of nights, while covert security cameras were installed in and around their homes to see if they were under any surveillance, either from al-Matari operatives or even from local police after what had happened that morning. Sandy showed both of the trainees to second-floor bedrooms, each with its own bathroom, and then she went to bed.
Adara and Midas made their way back downstairs, and the former Navy corpsman noticed that the former Delta Force officer moved slow and held on to the railing to combat the pain in his hip while he did so, but she said nothing. She knew he was a reluctant patient; throughout the day when she’d check on him and he’d brush off her concerns she would have to first remind him he’d been hit by a speeding SUV just hours earlier. She’d pick her battles with him as far as keeping his injuries dealt with, and let him play tough guy as long as it didn’t affect his operational status.
They found Clark in the kitchen with three open bottles of beer, and they chatted here for a moment about the old farmhouse before they all moved out to the back porch, where they sat and listened to the sound of tree frogs in the distance.
Clark said, “Well… this isn’t how any of us wanted this to happen, but I talked to Gerry this evening. We are going to be working hard in the upcoming days and weeks, as the intelligence community tries to get a grip on what the hell is going on. Jack and Gavin are working on pinning down who is involved in obtaining the intel to target the victims here in the States, and we fully expect that to lead us to a target of our own. On top of that, Gerry thinks there might be opportunities for us to address the domestic side of this problem as well.”
Adara and Midas just sat silently.
“To that end,” Clark said, “we are going to suspend further training for you two. We’ll bring you into the operational staff immediately, on a sort of probationary period. Hell… you both did damn fine jobs today. We lost Eddie, but considering you walked into a shoot-out with no guns and walked out of it with four dead terrorists, I’d say you passed any training we could throw at you with flying colors.”
While Adara and Midas were both pleased to be accepted onto the team, this was no celebration.
Instead, Midas just said, “Thanks for your faith. I, for one, am ready to get after these guys. We’re okay to go back to the office tomorrow?”
Clark shook his head. “I am, you’re not. While we won’t be pulled into the investigation about the attack at the Metro, there could always be some local in the neighborhood who got a look at you two shooting it out in the station. That could make trouble for us. You both live outside of Alexandria, so you can return to your places the day after tomorrow, just as soon as we’re sure nobody is surveilling them. For tomorrow, you can hang out here. I’ve got a simple firing range down by the creek, and I might be able to scare up a few weapons so you can get some trigger time in.” He said this with a wink, meaning he would have no problem coming up with a lot of firearms for the two new members of The Campus to shoot.
They then spent the time it took to finish their beers listening to John tell stories about Eddie Laird, and both of the two new operators were impressed by the exploits and the character of the man whom neither had gotten a chance to know personally.
Adara had promised to call Dominic before bed, and Midas just wanted to lie flat to take some of the ache out of his hip, so when John suggested they call it a night, they both agreed.
Midas started to stand. As he did so he winced in pain but did his best to hide it.
Clark saw the expression and said, “You okay, son?”
“Totally. Good to go.”
Clark looked to Adara. She just raised an eyebrow.
Clark said, “Have you ever taken an Epsom salt bath?”
“Uh… no, sir. I can’t say I have.”
“Well, I don’t like to give direct orders. We’re a pretty easygoing bunch at The Campus, definitely more so than JSOC. But if it takes me ordering you to soak yourself in some Epsom salt to get you moving right again, I will do just that.”
Midas didn’t appear convinced, but to placate Clark he said, “Yes, sir. I’ll run out tomorrow and—”
Clark smiled, his first smile since Eddie’s death. “No need. I had Sandy put a five-pound bag of the stuff next to the tub in your bathroom. Twenty minutes, minimum.”
“Roger that. Yes, sir,” Midas said. Then he and Adara headed for the stairs.
As they went up Adara said, “I’m guessing a direct order to soak in a tub before bed wasn’t standard operating procedure at Delta Force.”
Midas laughed. “Not really, no.”
37
Tampa could be brutally hot in the summer, even in the morning, though heat wasn’t unfamiliar to the fifty-eight-year-old man running past the softball field in the predawn light. He’d lived in a lot of hot climates in his life, and he was certain he’d find his way back to someplace even sultrier than South Florida soon enough, so he didn’t let it faze him.