The Devil's Waters

CHAPTER 55





On board the USS Nicholas

Gulf of Aden

Mouse and Dow, the best stitch men in the unit, closed wounds. They handled Quincy and Jamie first, and then Mouse worked on Wally’s biceps and back. Dow took an hour to close LB’s calf with eight stitches, his shoulder with eight, and his right forearm with five. Sandoval spent two hours in the ship’s surgical suite having his bullet removed. In the early morning he was returned by marines on a stretcher, semiconscious. Iris Cherlina was nowhere to be seen; after giving LB a peck on the cheek once they were on board Nicholas, she was escorted away by her own set of marines.

The PJs slept into the late afternoon, when guards brought them a late lunch. Captain Goldberg had had their uniforms washed, and the marines handed these over with the food. The team marveled at the number of holes in Wally’s tunic and pants. Mouse came up with a new call sign for him, Dartboard. Doc changed everyone’s bandages.

LB finally had a chance to examine the team’s wounds. Jamie hobbled around with holes in both thighs. Quincy and Wally wore slings, as did LB. Sandoval’s chest was wrapped, and he was kept sedated. Robey had been bagged and laid in the ship’s cold storage locker. Doc, Mouse, Fitz, and Dow were unscathed.

At 1700 hours, Nicholas docked at the naval pier in Djibouti. A half dozen marines escorted the PJs on deck. The rail was cleared of sailors when they stepped under a blue sky. Captain Goldberg greeted them alone. At the bottom of the gangplank, another bunch of marines waited on the quay with three Land Rovers.

Wally shook the captain’s hand, then led the PJs off the ship. LB brought up the rear. Even laundered and rested, the team looked beat to hell, blood still on their boots. LB’s pride swelled when the hard-jawed marines held the doors to the Land Rovers open for them. Limping, wincing, and wrapped, the PJs helped each other into the vehicles. Robey would come later in a hearse.

No one spoke. Wally had laid down the law—no talking about the mission, even among themselves, until the debriefing. In the front passenger seat, Wally slid on his sunglasses for the ride through town to the camp.

Squalid, crowded Djibouti slipped past. Skinny boys in T-shirts and sandals sat on broken walls and curbs where old women struggled under the burdens of baskets. Men loitered around garages and shops, girls hurried in shawls and long direh dresses. The streets were crowded with cars and vendors, slowing the convoy. LB didn’t mind. This late-day bustle was the life of the real world, not the long, awful night behind him. He was glad to be stuck in traffic. He wanted to pat the annoyed marine driver on the shoulder, tell him things were all right. Instead, he put his arm around Jamie, beside him.

At Lemonnier, the Land Rovers passed quickly through the checkpoints and blast walls. They headed straight for the Barn. There the camp CO, Colonel McElroy, held open the chain-link fence, saluting to greet the arriving team. He closed the gate behind the vehicles and did not come in.

More armed marines were stationed outside the Barn. Wally led the PJs inside, into quarantine.

The Barn was locked down, marines at every door. The rest of the Fifty-Eighth RQS—unit, the SERE guys, chute riggers, med logistics team, intel specialist—all were missing. A cold-cut buffet had been spread on the long rigging table, nine cots with fresh linens set up on the concrete floor. Doc shuffled to his locker, put his wedding ring back on, then climbed to his tent on the high shelf. LB couldn’t make it up the ladder, so he collapsed on a cot.

Fitz and Mouse played Ping-Pong until Doc shouted down for them to shut up.

Wally found a folded note sitting under his Air Force Academy ring in his locker. He lay gingerly on the cot next to LB and handed it over. Major Torres had scribbled the word “Dinner.”




Camp Lemonnier

Djibouti

The PJs spent another night in isolation. In the morning, the marines escorted them to the head, stood outside the shower room, and afterward carted a hot breakfast into the Barn. Doc worked with Dow and Quincy, assembling new med rucks to replace the ones that had sunk. LB and Wally left their cots for pancakes, ate, then got back in them.

At noon, the marines let in a wiry man with a crew cut and civilian clothes. He wore a short-sleeved white shirt, no tie, khakis, and a blue blazer. The clothes fit as if issued to him. He doffed the jacket, entering the air-conditioned space, stood at a distance from the reclining PJs, and seemed to await a greeting. He had the veins in his forearms of a hard-ass and wore a fat gold ring. LB took a guess, got to his feet, and shouted, “Ten-hut!”

The PJs stood at attention; Sandoval was the slowest to rise. LB was right. The man was brass. He strode into their midst with the air of command. Doc clambered down the ladder.

“At ease, men.”

Wally strode forward. “Captain Wallace Bloom, sir.”

“Major General Raymond Piper, US Army.” The general offered the hand with the West Point ring on it. Wally took it left-handed because of his sling. “Captain, can we take this into the briefing room?”

“Yes, sir. Let’s go, everybody.”

Wally led Piper to the doorway of the room. The general nodded approvingly at the bandaged, limping PJ team filing past. Wally closed the door when all were seated on the sofa and tiers. He sat beside LB at the rear, leaving the front to the army man.

“Gentlemen, I bring you the thanks of a grateful president. He’s relieved like the rest of us that you made it back. That was a tough job, and you were up to it. The president sends his condolences for your injuries, especially for the loss of Lieutenant Robey, as do I. I understand he was a hell of a young officer.”

“Saved my life,” Jamie said in the front row.

Thinking of the averted Predator, LB offered, “Probably saved all of ours.”

From the back, Quincy said, “Hoo-ya.”

Piper liked that. “You bet, son.” The general tugged at his own civilian shirt. “Sorry about being out of uniform. My bag didn’t make it out of Ramstein. I didn’t wait for it; I was in a hurry to get here.”

Piper clapped hands, the niceties out of the way.

“I’m chief of staff for General Madson, CO of AFRICOM. Captain Bloom, the two of you have spoken.”

Wally answered, “Yes, sir.” LB poked him in the leg, impressed.

“You’ll notice I came to debrief you alone. No intel officers, no note takers. You will not be dissecting the mission you just completed. You will not be searching for ways to do things better. Your mission to the Valnea is classified top secret. You will not from this day forward discuss the events of the last forty-eight hours with anyone. Absolutely no one. This includes each other. As far as you’re concerned, whatever you saw or think you saw on that freighter, you did not. Violations of this order will be considered treason against your country and will be punishable as such. This order comes directly from General Madson. Questions?”

The PJs said in unison, “No, sir.”

This wasn’t out of the ordinary. A lot of the rescues the PJs handled were classified affairs, black ops that went wrong. LB had known this operation would be branded off-limits, but he wasn’t looking for the order to come straight from a four-star, delivered by a two-star. The treason reminder seemed a little heavy-handed.

“Anyone need to speak to a psychiatrist? No? All right, then. Gentlemen.” Piper hardened his stance to parade rest. “That is all. Good day.”

The PJs stood, surprised collectively at the shortness of the debriefing and the rank of the officer who’d flown three thousand miles to say as little as Piper had. They left the room single file. Jamie, Sandoval, and Quincy would be on their way to the French hospital as soon as security around the Barn was lifted. LB, too.

On the top row, LB and Wally hung back. Both waited to see if, in fact, that was all. Piper held his ground until the rest of the PJs were gone from the room. He shut the door behind them.

The general crossed his arms. “Very clever. I assume this is First Sergeant DiNardo.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, I was going to talk to you two separately. But they told me you were a matched set.”

Wally nodded. “Sir, the sergeant knows pretty much everything I do at this point.”

“Down front, boys. Have a seat.”

Wally and LB came down the tiers to the first row. Piper leaned against a table.

“Captain Bloom. First let me say how proud I am of how you handled this job. This could have been a major f*ckup. It was not. The United States owes a lot of that to you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I’ve got news for you, Sergeant DiNardo. The scalded cadet will be getting skin grafts compliments of the United States. And Nikita will make a full recovery from his back injury. He says to tell you oslayub. Yes, I know what that means.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, on to more important matters. Captain Bloom.”

“Sir.”

“General Madson gave you an order to terminate the pirate leader Yusuf Raage. I understand that was done by Sergeant DiNardo.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That was not your directive, Captain. The order was yours.”

LB raised a hand, not knowing what else to do. “Sir. If I may.”

“You got something to add?”

“Sir, by the time we isolated Yusuf Raage, the captain here had already killed a dozen men on that ship. There was a hostage situation. Yusuf had Iris Cherlina.”

“So I heard from Dr. Cherlina. She is a fan of yours, DiNardo.”

LB pressed past this. “I’d killed Yusuf’s cousin. He demanded a trade, me for Iris. Wally was against it. I insisted.”

Wally muttered, “To put it mildly.”

Piper folded his arms. “Go on.”

“I requested Captain Bloom give me the order to eliminate Yusuf Raage. It seemed the only way to save Iris, sir. That is what we do, you know.”

“Keep the mild sarcasm in check, son.”

“Yes, sir. The captain agreed. I stayed back. The team and Iris got off the ship. Me and Yusuf worked it out after that.”

“Guns?”

LB patted his sling. “Knives.”

Piper ran a hand under his chin. Stubble from the long flight hissed in his fingers.

“To rescue Dr. Cherlina, you stayed behind on a sinking ship for a knife fight with a Somali pirate.”

LB shrugged. “Sir.”

“That is a hell of a thing, Sergeant.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That was noble of you. I mean it. And a breach of duty. Did you have any idea of the number of orders you were violating to do that? General Madson’s and Captain Bloom’s? A goddamn knife fight.”

“Yusuf Raage wasn’t the sort of man to do things from a distance. He had some guts.”

“Are you implying something to me, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tell me, DiNardo. You like your rank?”

“I don’t mind it, sir.”

“Good. Then maybe you won’t mind this. You’re busted down to master sergeant.”

“No problem, sir.”

“And why exactly is that?”

“Because those men in the next room don’t follow me because of my rank.”

“Probably true, son. Captain Bloom?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m gonna let you keep your rank. For a long time.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Why am I not going to court-martial you both? Because I suppose you joined this unit for a good purpose. Those must’ve been hard orders to follow. But make no mistake, they were orders.”

Both said, “Thank you, sir.”

“Besides, there aren’t enough PJs and CROs around to waste a couple of good ones. Even hardheaded ones. We’ll say no more about it, so long as Yusuf Raage is, in fact, dead.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Now, gentlemen, you are likely wondering why I was sent all this way to deliver that little message myself. Someone from intel could’ve swung by Djibouti and told you fellas to stay quiet. The reason I’m here is because no one in intel knows what the hell was really on that ship. There aren’t many of us who do. ”

“The railgun.”

“That’s right, Captain. And all the rest. Tell me what you know about it.”

Wally shook his head. “Only what LB’s told me, sir. I never got a look at it.”

Piper raised a hand to stop Wally. “What LB’s told you. Sergeant, how much talking about this have you done?”

“What was determined on the scene to be the appropriate amount. Sir.”

Wally cut in. “General, tactically, I decided LB should inform the team. The situation was confusing and dangerous. Our orders were contradictory to our PJ training. I felt it necessary to have the sergeant brief the team on what he’d found out about the ship and its cargo. We had decisions to make on the fly. Sir.”

“What about the deal?”

“Yes, sir. And the deal.”

Piper rubbed his stubbled cheek again. “Well, that cat’s out of the bag, then. I assume with this knowledge, gentlemen, you’ll both agree it’s a lucky thing Iran didn’t get a railgun and all that hardware. It’s best to keep them out of enemy hands.”

Wally asked, “Sir, what about Iran’s nuclear weapons program? Doesn’t this just put us back to square one?”

“Not at all. Iran had to come clean on a lot of what they’re up to before that bargain could be struck. It was worth a few billion dollars down the drain to get that intel. The Israelis are beside themselves.”

LB fidgeted. Piper swelled into his businessman’s shirt made for a bigger frame.

“You got more to add, son? Let me have it.”

“Permission to speak freely, sir.”

“I got the sense you were already doing that.”

Wally shot LB a tight-lipped look of caution. LB hooked a thumb at the closed door and said, “Maybe you want to step out for the rest of this.”

Wally made no move to leave. Piper answered for him. “I’ll have the captain stay for this. Since I don’t believe orders are enough to keep you in line, DiNardo, I’m making him responsible for you.”

LB raised his palms at Wally: I tried to get you out of the way.

“Proceed.”

“Sir, you and I both know that ship wasn’t sunk by pirates.”

“Let’s focus on what you know. Leave me out of it.”

“Understood. I negotiated with Yusuf Raage before we assaulted the bridge. We had him and his last men surrounded.”

“And?”

“He never mentioned he’d set charges to blow up the ship. I believe he would have in that situation, or else what would have been the point of mining the ship? After we had him cornered on the bow and Wally asked him, Raage looked pretty surprised when he admitted to it. It just didn’t add up that he’d wait until all his men were dead to bring it up, then sink the boat. Didn’t make sense to Razvan, the chief engineer, either. That’s when he told Wally what he’d heard.”

Wally pitched in. “Iris Cherlina caused the piston to blow.” LB patted Wally gently on the back, pleased to have him at his side again.

Wally continued. “Razvan was dead certain the damage to the engine was sabotage. Then one of the Russian officers, before he got killed, confessed that he and Iris Cherlina timed the accident to slow the ship smack in the middle of the Gulf of Aden.”

Piper leaned closer. “Are you two telling me Iris Cherlina was responsible for bringing pirates on board that ship?”

LB looked at his boots. “Sir, I’ve been blown up, sliced, and almost drowned. We all got blood on our hands that’s going to take a while to wash off. One of us is dead.” LB lifted his gaze. “So can you please cut the shit?”

Piper pointed at LB’s sling. “You’re the knife fighter, son. Cut it for me.”

Wally gestured to LB with a flat palm. You’ve come this far—go ahead.

LB took Wally’s hand for a shake, as if to say, Nice knowing you.

“Iris Cherlina wasn’t working for herself. No way.”

Piper spoke slowly, making sure he got the tone of threat right. “Then who?”

“The United States.”

Piper let the words dangle. He cocked his crew-cut head to eye LB without blinking. “That’s a big statement.”

“Yes, sir. But it’s the only way all the pieces fit. You said it yourself a few minutes ago. This could’ve been a f*ckup, but it wasn’t. That says you’re okay with the ship sinking. That means it was supposed to go down, and you knew it would.”

Piper twisted the big gold ring. He nodded to himself, then asked Wally, “Does he pay attention like that when you talk, Captain?”

“Never.”

“Well, Sergeant, I expect you won’t be surprised if I tell you it’s true.”

“No, sir. I won’t.”

Piper’s tone changed. He became conspiratorial, explaining himself and the rationales behind the secrets he was about to reveal. LB and Wally, because of their wounds and service, because they’d earned it, were going to be included.

“Listen, you both been on enough battlefields. You know how one weapon, the right weapon deployed at the right time, can determine the outcome. I assume you both know what a rail-gun is theoretically capable of.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The military that gets an EM launcher into the field first is going to have a huge advantage. Period. The damn thing’s a game changer. It needs more R&D, about a decade’s worth. A lot of us don’t want Iran in on that game. When the deal first got struck with Iran, Russia, and Israel, we objected to it. We told the president it was a bad idea to let the Iranians get their hands on a weapons system like that. The president let us know this was a diplomatic initiative and not military. He and everybody else were relieved that Iran was standing down their damned nuclear development.”

Wally said, “But it didn’t end there.”

“No, it didn’t. Secretly the president agreed with us. We’d already put a lot of intel about the Irani nuke program in our pockets. So the president gave the Joint Chiefs the authority to make sure Iran would not get their hands on that ship, under any circumstances. Then he told us he didn’t want anyone else to know about it. So, this became a purely military operation. We made an arrangement with a promising young Russian EML engineer, Dr. Cherlina.”

LB said, “You bought her.”

“Hell, son, she was buyable. We saw to it with the Russians that she accompanied the shipment. We got some of our Sunni friends in the region to find us a reliable Somali hijacker. After that, the plan was simple. Slow the boat. Bring on the pirates. Sink the boat. Blame the pirates. We made sure the Nicholas was in the area for the rescue. Nothing leads back to us, and the president has clean hands.”

Wally asked, “But why send my team in? I mean, if the whole point of the operation was to make it look like pirates sank the ship, I don’t understand dropping us in to stop them.”

Piper offered this to LB. “Sergeant? You got this one figured out?”

LB nodded. “Give it a shot.”

“You had to make it look like the Somalis’ hand was forced. You’ve got Russia, Israel, Iran, everybody, watching this cargo. It wouldn’t be reasonable just to claim that pirates hijacked it, turned for Somalia, then blew it up for no reason three hours from shore. That’s where we came in. We were the decoy.”

Wally stiffened. “General, is that right?”

“Yes, it is.”

Wally leaped to his feet. LB tugged at his pants leg to no avail, so stood with him. Because of the sling, Wally had only one arm to wave around.

“I led my men onto that ship, risked their lives, so you could have a cover story?”

“Correct.”

“We killed two dozen Somalis. Lost four of the ship’s crew. One of my men died, an officer, a kid. We took bullets and shrapnel in half my team, myself included. LB almost drowned. And you knew this would happen?”

“I’ve answered you, Captain. Sit down.”

LB pressed Wally into the chair, then joined him. Wally continued to steam. He jerked a finger at LB. “I almost shot him for insubordination.”

“Well, if you’d done it, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

LB rocked back. “Whoa.”

“Just trying to lighten things up, boys. Calm down. I’m sorry about Lieutenant Robey. And your close call, Sergeant. But don’t be prima donnas. Men die in this line of work. I expect you two know that as well as anybody.”

“They’re not supposed to die by our hands, General. I expect you to know that.”

Wally took the momentum now, angered and wanting to get at the heart of the secrets.

“Why’d you set it up so we were the only unit that could respond? The ship’s engine could’ve been damaged out in the Indian Ocean. The pirates would’ve taken her out there. You’d have had more time. You could’ve sent a search-and-destroy team. Why my unit?”

Piper tapped a finger to his temple. “Think about it. Your PJs were the perfect choice. Small, elite. Pararescue, excellent jump skills. Not killers by trade. We sent you in, told you to focus on the Somalis and not the hostages. We didn’t want heroics, some big rescue and a body count. We figured you’d drop on the Valnea, fire a few shots, maybe take out Yusuf Raage, then Iris Cherlina would blow the charge. Hell, son, you’re not killers anymore, just like you say. Should’ve been simple. The pirates would hightail it off the sinking ship in their skiffs, and you’d let ’em go. Why not? Nicholas would come over to rescue you and the crew, the freighter would disappear, and it would all go like clockwork.”

Piper pretended to throw smoke in the air.

“Poof. All the hardware’s on the bottom of the gulf, Iran loses out. Pirates get blamed. America looks like a hero for giving it the old college try to take the ship back and keep the deal alive. We didn’t figure you’d go and wipe everybody out. Christ, if we’d wanted that, we would’ve sent in the SEALs. We just wanted Yusuf Raage dead to make sure at least one of the pirates got shot to make the story of the explosion plausible. Besides, it would keep him from talking. But Cherlina screwed up and injured two of the ship’s crew when she blew the piston. DiNardo here went out on the distress call, then decided to stay on board. That wasn’t part of the plan.”

LB got a worse feeling than the one Piper was already giving him. It was starting to sound like, without his knowing or intending it, too much of what had happened on the Valnea depended on him.

The general continued, leveling a finger at LB to confirm it.

“Then this one here decided to get cute. He disobeyed his orders to show no curiosity about the cargo or Dr. Cherlina. He hid out belowdecks, saw all the toys, then cuddled up to the good doctor, who was hiding out there herself. By the time he went topside to do his job, the sergeant here knew way too damn much. Iris Cherlina was supposed to set the charge, then blow it as soon as the rescue team was on board and the pirates were on their way off the ship. Like I said, it should’ve been simple.”

Piper swung the accusing finger to Wally.

“Then, Captain, your team went in to rescue one of your own, and you boys hit that freighter like a shit storm. Before Cherlina could trip the charge, you’d taken out all the pirates. All but one, anyway, and that one caught her up on deck after setting the timer. What do you want me to tell you? We underestimated everybody, to be honest. We didn’t think the Somalis would hang so tough. Your boys are better fighters than we thought. And DiNardo here is actually charming when he wants to be.”

LB asked, “Was there really a Predator?”

“There was. Worst-case scenario. And we still could’ve blamed it on the pirates.”

Wally asked, “But why did Iris blow the ship after the deadline?”

Piper handed this one off to LB. “Sergeant?”

LB chuckled at how coldhearted it was. “They didn’t tell her about the Predator.”

Piper showed his palms. “Sorry if that seems harsh, fellas. But you did your job, Iris Cherlina finally did hers, and here we are. Good to go.”

Wally exhaled. He seemed to believe every secret had been exposed. LB doubted it.

“Now what?” Wally asked.

“End game. We sell that story to the Iranians, Russians, and Israel. The ship was sunk by pirates. We’ll reimburse the Israelis for the lost drones, the Russians for the railgun. The pirates are all dead. The ship’s crew thinks Iris Cherlina did it on her own, and we’ve put the fear of the Almighty into them to keep quiet. Your team’s not talking. Period.”

Piper considered this the end of the debrief. He cast Wally and LB significant looks and said, “Boys. Your country thanks you. Now, good day.”

LB rose to stand with Wally. Piper opened the briefing-room door. The general shook hands with Wally, who left the room.

LB closed the door behind him, locked it, and kept his good hand on the doorknob.

Piper eyed him. “Sergeant?”

Outside, Wally knocked.

“Sir, all due respect, I don’t think the story’s over.”

“Sergeant, you want to take your hand off that door.”

“I don’t like unfinished business, sir. That’s why I’m a good PJ. Nothing halfway about it, in or out.”

“I admire that. You might consider mixing in a little judgment and discretion.”

Wally rapped again.

“There’s still a few pieces missing.”

“And you just got to know.”

“Yes, sir. I can obey orders I understand better than ones I don’t. It’s a flaw in my personality.”

Piper took a seat in the second row. “All right. I’ll make a deal with you. First, every word said in this room stays here. Not even your Captain Bloom out there. Agreed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Open that door.”

LB unlocked the door. He opened it to find Wally standing there. Piper told him to stop knocking and go away. LB closed and locked it again.

“Second. I’ll answer your questions. And every one you ask will cost you a stripe. Let’s see how bad you want it. Okay, Master Sergeant. The floor is yours.”

LB leaned back against the table, copying the posture Piper had taken addressing the team. He wondered what it would be like to have the kind of power over men that the generals and politicians had. To make them subordinate. Wally was right. The PJs had bled and killed on that boat. Violence always extracted a cost, whether in blood or in spirit. They asked little in return, what every man and woman in uniform asked: the chance to do their duty with honor and comrades at their sides, and that the people who sent them into the breach to do and suffer that violence weren’t f*cking them over. Piper, Madson, the president, and the rest had broken that pact. Someone had to call them on it. Or at least let them know they weren’t so clever.

“Whenever you’re ready, son.”

“I think the United States pulled off a swindle. A beauty, in fact.”

“Do you.”

“Yes, sir. Like you said, there’s no way our military would ever let Iran develop a railgun. Not before us, anyway.”

“That’s why it’s now in a thousand feet of water.”

“The gun, the drones, they were all just another cover, like us.”

“Oh, the Iranians wanted all that Israeli radar, all right, if just to piss off the Israelis. But you’re basically right. It was just a cover. Now, can you figure out for what? Ask me a question.”

“Good. Where is Iris Cherlina?”

“She was put on a chopper that left the Nicholas one minute after she stepped on board. She is at this moment at an undisclosed location inside the United States. Tech Sergeant.”

“You going to claim she drowned on the freighter?”

“No, Staff Sergeant. That was the original plan, but since your team killed all the pirates, we’ll just say she was murdered by the Somalis. Very few people are left to contradict that, and every one of them is on an American payroll. Let Yusuf Raage have it all. Tell me something, son.”

“I get a stripe back for every question you ask.”

“That’s fair. She talked to you a lot, I see. Why would she do that? She didn’t need to.”

“Actually, she did. She was hiding out in the cargo hold when the hijacking started. I was the best way for her to get information on the rescue, the timing. That explains why she acted scared, so she could be there when I called in to the JOC. And now I get why she wanted me to shoot Yusuf Raage in the back.”

“She’s clever, that one. Ruthless.”

“A lot of both. And you know, even though I’m sure she was playing me from the minute I met her, she acted like she dug me a little.”

“And a looker.”

“True that. And something else.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t think she was just accompanying that shipment, like she said.”

“No, she wasn’t.”

“You made her part of the bargain from the beginning. You wanted your hands on her. She was the prize all along.”

“Yes, she was. Right from the start.”

“Who is she?”

“You sure you want to know? Senior Airman?”

LB squinted, muttering, “Damn it.” He shrugged at Piper. “What the hell. Yes, sir.”

“Iris Cherlina was not simply a top EM engineer in Russia. She has become the leading electromagnetic launch designer in the world. She headed a Russian program that took the application of railguns in a whole new direction. It may speed the development of an EML by anywhere from three to five years. You understand that is immense, and could not be handed over to Iran.”

“Or left in Russia, for that matter.”

“Absolutely not.”

“What did she do? And sir, that is part of the same question.”

“Tell you what. I’ll give you this one for free. You may as well know the whole enchilada. I figure you got the right. Besides, you did rescue her for me.”

“I’m all ears, sir.”

“She schooled you on how an EM launcher works, I assume. And the problems.”

“Well enough.”

“Okay. A few years back, our Dr. Cherlina and her team at Molniya came up with a very smart idea. Instead of shooting a shitload of juice in one large force into two parallel metal rails, why not ramp up the power in increments? Accelerate the projectile repeatedly as it travels down the rails. Distribute magnets along the length of the launcher, pulse the charge. You cut way back on the thermal energy, and that minimizes erosion and warping. You reduce the G-load from thousands to under a hundred, so now you can use GPS-guided projectiles.”

“That’s impressive.”

“Not as impressive as this.” Piper clapped hands and rubbed them together. Then he pointed the pistols of two fingers at LB’s face. “At the Plesetsk Cosmodrome, Dr. Cherlina oversaw the design and construction of a one-mile-long elevated electromagnetic track. This big bastard railgun successfully accelerated a forty-ton load—that’s what I said, a forty-ton payload—to a velocity of two kilometers per second. The projectile reached an altitude of one hundred kilometers, then separated and punched a one-ton satellite into earth orbit with a booster.”

“Wow.”

“And here’s the kicker. Other than the obvious, do you know why this incredible technical feat is so important? Why would the United States care that a country with the biggest booster rockets in the world launched a forty-ton payload off a mile-long electromagnetic track? Can you figure that one out?”

“Because we couldn’t track it.”

“Because we could not goddamn track it. Exactly. There was no heat signature. It’s Sputnik all over again—the Russians beat us to the punch. We’re playing catch-up. Oh, we’ll figure out how to spot an EM launch at some point now that we know we got to do it. That’ll take a while. But this capability to put a load into orbit off a rail is not something we want the Russians or anyone else to corner the market on. Up to this point, our EML research has focused on the metallurgic and power problems of deploying one as a naval weapon. Frankly, we’ve paid no attention to sequential acceleration. But it looks like a damn ingenious approach, for orbital as well as weapons. That is why Dr. Iris Cherlina is now working for you and me, under an assumed name, of course, at an undisclosed location. She will get no credit for the intellectual property she will develop, she’ll have restricted travel under US supervision, and she’ll only be allowed to confer with a few of her old mentors face-to-face. This operation is blacker than black. But she’ll have unlimited funds to work with and will be our lead scientist in pushing railgun technology to the lunatic fringe. Iris Cherlina pounced at the chance, to be honest. And you are now one of the few people in the world who knows it.”

LB’s arm ached in its sling. His calf tweaked him, too. The team would be attending a service for Robey tomorrow morning.

“So that’s what she couldn’t tell me.”

“Beg pardon.”

“Iris. She said she was just accompanying the cargo to Iran.”

“That was a lie, Sergeant, one of several I’m sure you heard. No, she was going to re-create the whole shebang for the Iranians. In a couple of years, they’d be launching shit we couldn’t spot, too. The railgun that got sunk was a next-generation prototype of her acceleration technology. The woman is a pioneer.”

“I get the picture.”

“Do you? Enlighten me.”

“This whole operation was a scam. Everything my team and I went through on that ship was to cover your ass so you could screw the deal with Iran, fake Iris’s death, then steal her for yourself.”

Piper rocked back in his chair like a man who’d just enjoyed a performance.

“Dead center. That is what we did. Congratulations, my boy. What do you think of yourself?”

“I think, sir, that anything you take from me in this room, I can get back. The whole thing sucks, and I think you need to hear that perspective from one of the guys who did the bleeding.”

Piper stood, done with LB.

“Nothing new here, son. Old men make wars, young men fight them. It’s going to be that way in any future we make. Rely on it. Now I’m going to leave on that note. Got a long flight back.”

LB unlocked the door and twisted the knob. He pulled open the door to let the general out. Piper took a step into the common room and stopped. LB halted in the doorway.

Wally kept watch from the Ping-Pong table; the rest of the PJs paid no attention. The general whispered over his shoulder: “You did good in there. Smart-alecky, but you held your own. Go ahead and keep your stripes. I lost count anyway.”

Walking off, wrinkled and formidable, Piper lifted his voice to all the PJs in the Barn.

“Remember, boys. Mum’s the goddamn word.”