40
The Pentagon
Washington, D.C.
In Hadden’s office, Thorn sat across the big desk from the general. The chairman of the Joint Chiefs had listened to what Thorn had to say without interrupting.
Now he said, “Are you a student of history, Thorn?”
Thorn shrugged. “I know a little.”
“What would be the most famous duel in the U.S.?”
“Burr and Hamilton.”
Hadden nodded. “Two men who didn’t get along politically and who hated each other personally. Burr was Jefferson’s Vice President. He blamed Hamilton for all kinds of things, not the least of which was being dropped from the ticket for the reelection campaign. So, the sitting Vice President challenged the former Secretary of the Treasury to settle things once and for all. Since dueling was illegal in New York in 1804, they barged across the river to the Weehawken, New Jersey, dueling grounds. There were seconds, a doctor. The two men loaded their single-shot pistols—.56-caliber, I believe they were. They squared up at ten paces, were given leave to shoot. Burr fired and hit Hamilton. Some say Hamilton fired into the air rather than at Burr; some say he was simply a lousy shot. In any event, Hamilton’s wound was fatal, though he lingered, dying the next day at his home in Manhattan.”
Thorn nodded, wondering where this was going.
Hadden continued: “Hamilton was shot in New Jersey, but died in New York, and Aaron Burr was indicted for murder in both states. He was never prosecuted in either. Burr left town, went to the Carolinas, and then back to Washington, where he served out the last of his term as Vice President. I do believe that’s the only time a sitting VP was under indictment for murder while he was in office. He traveled after that, but eventually returned to New York, after the heat had died down.
“Burr’s fortunes sagged—a few years later, he was arrested for treason in connection with some land scheme connected to the Louisiana Purchase, but he got off. He didn’t die until 1836, making him about eighty.”
Thorn looked at Hadden. “Fascinating.”
“And why in hell am I telling you this?”
“Exactly. Not to put too fine a point on it, sir.”
“RHIP. Rank has its privileges, son. Aaron Burr killed a prominent man, but he had powerful supporters, and was at the time the Vice President. However unhappy his life might have been after his duel, he had more than thirty years of it left after Hamilton was laid beneath the cold ground. Three decades wherein he was able to eat, sleep, make love, travel, all the things that the living do. He got away with what the state called murder. He wasn’t the first. Won’t be the last. Had he been an ordinary citizen, that probably wouldn’t have happened.”
Thorn nodded.
“As the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs, I have a lot of privileges not available to most men. I try and use them for the good of these United States of America as best I can. Sometimes I step over the line, and because I am who I am, I get away with it. That doesn’t make it right. I need all the help I can get, and people who will stand up to me and call it like they see it? They are hard to find. You’re an asset, son. I respect a man who will fight for his principles, even if I don’t always agree with them.”
Thorn nodded again. “I appreciate that, General.”
“But you’re leaving anyway.”
“Yes, sir. Net Force as it stands isn’t what I signed on for. I’m not a soldier. I didn’t like some of the end-justifies-the-means choices I had to make. I want to be able to look at myself in the mirror and believe I am part of the solution and not the problem.”
Hadden nodded. “That’s what I figured.”
“I don’t envy you your job. Rank does indeed have its privileges, sir, but with great power comes great responsibility.”
“Carl von Clausewitz?”
“No, sir. Spider Man.”
It took a second, but then both men grinned.
Hadden stood and extended his hand. Thorn took it.
“I appreciate your service, son.”
“Thank you. Good luck on finding somebody to run things.”
“It was good work, uncovering the terrorist we wanted. I’ll keep you posted on it, let you know when we catch her.”
Thorn smiled.
“Something?”
“No, sir. Nothing.”
Trooper’s Trail, Montana
The cabin had a solar panel that fed batteries, and once you scraped the foot and a half of snow off the cells, you could get enough trickle to run a computer and a cell-phone Internet connection okay, with a few lights thrown in for good measure. Even out here in the middle of nowhere, the phone worked most of the time—one of the joys of civilization. Lewis could reach her hidden server using a laptop, and that was all she needed.
She had been working the connection to the buyer, and it looked as if they had a deal. Less than she had hoped for, but she couldn’t really push it too hard. The Army might not crack her systems for a while, and even if they did, she didn’t care if the buyer got burned when he tried to break into a base, but she couldn’t give any more demonstrations, and that was that. He was firm on a million-five, and she was going to have to take it. Not the ten million it might have been once, but better than nothing.
She’d have to hire some muscle, but she thought she could manage that okay. She knew a couple places where mercs hung out, and all she needed was somebody who could look menacing and shoot if he had to.
The sun was going down. Lewis shut the computer off and went out to collect firewood. The only heat the cabin had was a potbellied wood stove smack in the middle of the main room, and she had to keep it going all the time. Aside from that, there was a wood-fired range in the kitchen, and no heat source at all in the single bedroom, just a mound of quilts and comforters on the bed. She left the door to the bedroom open at night to get the stove’s warmth. She didn’t want to be fumbling around outside for more firewood in the middle of the night, in the dark and at twenty below. Bad enough if she had to go to the bathroom, which required a trip to the outhouse—no indoor plumbing, and you had to get water from a hand pump outside the cabin—after you thawed it out.
Primitive, yes. On the other hand, nobody was going to accidentally stumble across her here—she was a long way from a major road.
It hadn’t snowed for a few days, wasn’t supposed to for a few more, so the AWD SUV she’d rented under a fake name would get her out okay. She could firm the deal up in the morning, and take off.
Not exactly as she’d planned things, the way they’d turned out, but she was still ahead of the game. Better that than not. “You sure you want to do this?” Kent asked.
Jay nodded. “I came this far. I want to be there at the end.”
Kent said, “From here, we have to snowshoe. It’s a couple miles. People out here will notice us and word will get around pretty fast, so we want to go in while it is dark, to minimize chances of being seen. We’ll use IR lights, cold-weather snow-camo clothes, and hike in on the double.”
“I’ll keep up.”
“I expect you will.”
“I heard you were thinking about getting married, General.”
“Not thinking about it, son, going for it. I’ll send you an invitation to the wedding.”
“Congratulations.”
“Thanks. Best we gear up and get ready.”
Not long after midnight, Lewis half-heard a sound on the cabin’s front porch. She came awake fast, listening. In the two nights she’d been here, she’d had a few animal visitors, foxes or wolves or raccoons. She had to keep a heavy lid locked into place on the trash can to keep garbage from being strewn all over the place. Probably a coon out there trying to get a free meal.
She grabbed the flashlight next to the bed, and the gun that Carruth had stashed under the mattress, an old Beretta 9mm pistol.
Probably, it was a hungry critter, but best she go and make sure.
When she opened the door, she saw a man standing there, dressed in white camo and a hood. She jumped, startled, covering him with the pistol as he pushed the hood back. . . .
“Jay?!”
“Hello, Captain.”
She steadied the gun, kept it aimed at his chest. “How did you find me?” She looked past him, didn’t see anybody else out in the dark.
“I found Carruth’s records, rental receipts for this place. I followed it up. Margo Lane? Come on.”
She shook her head. Amazing. “What, did you think I was just going to . . . surrender because you figured it out? Come out here like the Lone Ranger to take me in? I can shoot you dead where you stand and bury you in the snow. They won’t find your body until spring.”
“You would do that?”
“Did you really think I wouldn’t?”
“Probably not a good idea,” said a voice from behind her. “Do you really think a civilian computer guy like Jay hiked out into the cold Montana woods all by himself?”
She froze, then turned her head, not moving her body.
An older man stood there, also in snow gear, and he had a Colt .45 pistol pointed at her. Not wavering a bit, that gun.
Kent, she remembered. General Abraham Kent. A Marine. They weren’t supposed to be doing this, the Marines.
“And if you think you’re Annie Oakley and you can take me out, I’ve got four crack shots outside with M-16s covering your car, which won’t run right now, both cabin doors, and the windows. I get killed, I’d guess your chances of leaving here alive are close to zero. But if you blink funny, I’ll shoot you, and I don’t think you’re good enough to get me anyhow. Put the piece down.”
“Shit,” she said, letting the gun sag and hang by her side. She released it and it clunked on the rag rug over the wooden floor.
They had her.
She looked at Jay.
“Why are you here? You’re not a field guy.”
“I didn’t want to miss it,” he said. “It was the least I could do.”
“What if I’d just shot you without a second thought when I opened the door?”
“General Kent tells me the ceramic and spider-silk armor I have on under this poncho will stop anything you could have carried to the door. It ought to, it’s heavy enough.”
She shook her head. Damn.
Damn.