Brisk footsteps sounded outside the freezer. Acne-Scars moved aside as an older man strode into the industrial freezer. Authority exuded from his every movement.
He wore black fatigues but no tactical gear. His hair was a shocking white, his hard face lined, but his jaw was still square, his build solid. A sharp intelligence shone in his eyes.
He reminded Liam of a grizzled old bear, long in the tooth but still deadly.
This must be the General, then.
The bodyguards parted for the man and closed ranks around him. Four behind him, two on each side. Several more at the ready outside the steel door.
They exuded the air of ex-military. It was in their posture, the confident way they moved, their attitude. Their eyes were hard and cruel.
General Sinclair halted several feet from Liam. Instead of looking at him, his shrewd gaze roamed the room. “Which one of you brought him in?”
Luther straightened. “I did, sir.”
A slow insidious smile spread across the man’s face. “I am impressed. You came through, Luther. I see I was wise to put my trust in you.” He swept his hand at the armed men ranged behind him. “You’ve earned your place with us.”
“I hope it was worth it,” Liam said.
Emotion flickered in Luther’s eyes. A flare of shame. “I had to do it.”
“Don’t make excuses,” the General said. “Never make an excuse. Do it or don’t. We all have our reasons.”
Luther’s mouth thinned. He gave a single, sharp nod. “Sir.”
The General motioned at Acne-Scars. “Redding, please personally escort Luther’s father from Fall Creek once we’re in. We’ll ensure that he receives the best medical care available. Fort Custer has a medical bay, a surgical theater, the works. It’s reserved for military only, but I can pull the necessary strings.”
Luther’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Thank you, sir.”
The General turned his attention upon Liam. His keen gaze raked over him, assessing him in seconds. “You thought I wouldn’t suspect a trap? All men can be bought. This one just needed a few oxygen tanks.”
Liam ground his teeth so hard, his jaws ached. “Go to hell.”
58
Liam
Day One Hundred and Fifteen
The General glared at Liam. “You’re Liam Coleman. Terrorist and murderer.”
Liam resisted the urge to spit on him. While it might feel satisfying in the short term, it would do nothing to further his goals.
Keep the man talking. Draw him closer. Lower his guard.
In his current state, Liam was helpless. At least, with the enemy’s eyes on him. He needed a minute alone. Just sixty seconds.
He wasn’t going to get it.
Thanks to Luther’s betrayal, Liam was going to die here in this room, surrounded by enemies.
He’d come to terms with such a death, but the idea that he would die before he eliminated General Sinclair was repugnant. He refused to accept it.
There had to be a way to turn this around. An angle he hadn’t seen yet.
He would not give up. He couldn’t give up.
“I’m no terrorist,” he said.
“You killed seven of my men at Vortex.”
“Guess your operators aren’t as competent as you think they are.”
Two of the men cursed. The bearded one made a move as if to kick him.
Liam didn’t flinch.
“Stand down, McArthur.” The General turned to Liam. “You murdered two more who came to collect what’s mine. You destroyed my Black Hawk and half my convoy, not to mention a healthy chunk of our ordnance. Fifteen million dollars of priceless government property.”
“I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”
The General narrowed his eyes. “What are you? Navy SEAL? Ranger? Delta?”
“More of a soldier than you are.”
He snorted. “We’ll see about that.”
“I will kill you,” Liam said. “You’re a dead man. You just don’t know it yet.”
The General gave a mirthless laugh. “I think you have things confused. It will be the other way around.”
“You going to kill me while I’m bound and helpless? You think that’s justice? Fight me man to man. Or are you going to have one of your minions do it instead?”
“Oh, I’ll kill you myself. A real man isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. I think we have that in common.”
“We have nothing in common.”
“You have considerable skills. So do I. I assume you’ve killed many men during your years of service. As have I. More than you, I’d wager. The capacity for violence isn’t limited to the young. Some of us have had many, many years to practice.”
Liam glared at him.
The General scowled. “You murdered my daughter in cold blood.”
“I didn’t murder anyone,” Liam said. “I am an American citizen and a proud veteran of the armed forces. You’re the one who conducted an air raid on unarmed civilians. Eleven innocent people died. I’d say you’re the murderer.”
“If they’d relinquished you as ordered by their sovereign government, they’d be sitting at their dinner tables, eating apple pie right now. It was their choice to defy the law—and suffer the consequences.”
“It was your choice to open fire, and yours alone. People just want to protect their families and survive. The only one asking for trouble is you. Leave us alone.”
The General snapped his fingers. “Chair.”
Luther slipped out of the industrial freezer and returned a moment later with a metal folding chair. He placed it about six feet from Liam’s position.
The General sat down facing Liam. He had impeccable posture, just like his daughter. He folded his gnarled hands in his lap. “I’ve sent a team to retrieve my great-granddaughter. I will bring her to Lansing with me. I’ve already procured a wet nurse and a nanny. Unlike the rest of you, I will provide her with proper food, medical care, and education. She will outlive me and carry the Sinclair name into the future. It will not end with me, but will go on forever.”