“Who is the man?”
“Titus Stonewall Eskridge Jr. That’s actually his real name, by the way. He fronts a PMC called Cold Harbor.”
“I know of them.”
“Good, because he already has a buyer lined up in the Middle East.”
“How did you get this?” Ogden asked. “Scratch that, I don’t care. I suppose you think this buys you immunity for kidnapping me?”
“Nope.”
“No?” Ogden asked, surprised.
“No, because it never happened.”
“Brother, you live in a fantasy world.”
“It didn’t happen, Damon. You’ve been running me this whole time. Ever since I got out. This was your operation from the start. A damned impressive piece of work too.”
“You actually think I’m going to go along with that?”
“Why not? This way you get to be the hero again. I don’t know about you, but that sounds a whole lot better than admitting you got taken like a bitch and locked in a bathroom for a month. Does Langley give promotions for being a victim?”
“Easy on that talk,” Ogden said angrily, but Gibson could see him considering the proposition.
“Take all the time you need,” Gibson said. “But keep in mind that C-130 is in the air and on its way to North Africa.”
That got Ogden’s attention. “Let’s say I agree to go along with this. What happens now?”
Gibson slid a garbage bag across to him.
“What’s this?” Ogden asked.
“Your suit. Unless you’d rather go to work dressed like that.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
An unassuming green sign announced the exit for the George Bush Center for Intelligence. Beneath it, attached to one of the legs as if an afterthought, a small white sign read: “Authorized Vehicles Only.” Gibson’s Yukon definitely didn’t qualify. The New Headquarters Building wasn’t visible from Dolley Madison Boulevard, but it was back there beyond the trees. Gibson could almost feel it. He turned off at the exit and pulled to the side of the road. The security gate was up around the bend about a hundred yards, but this was as close as he intended to get. Ogden would have to walk the rest of the way.
“Sure you don’t want to come in for a minute? Say hello,” Ogden said. “I’m sure everyone is dying to meet you.”
“That sounds like a real bad first date.”
“You understand that if they want you, they’ll just come get you.”
“Then come get me. But I have faith that you can sell it to them.”
“It’s a pretty big sell. They’re going to have questions.”
“And you’ve got answers,” Gibson said, pointing to the laptop and laminated sleeve resting on Ogden’s knees. “Do we have a deal?”
“Yeah, we have a deal. But don’t think this clears the slate between you and me.”
“No,” Gibson said. “But I figure it’s a good start.”
“I’m not entirely comfortable with having to constantly check my rearview mirror for you. Wondering if you’ve had a change of heart.”
“Believe me, I feel the same about you. So I’ll be leaving the country tonight. Put a little distance between us.”
“You understand it had better be one-way. You go, you stay gone,” Ogden said.
“I know, and I will. But I’m going to need you to call off the dogs first.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Yeah, so there was kind of a . . . thing last night.”
“What . . . thing?” Ogden said.
Gibson described the events at Dulles. It already felt like a lifetime ago. He made no mention of Jenn or George, but otherwise it was 80 percent true. He fudged only a little around the edges, but by the time he finished, Ogden’s jaw was hanging open.
“Do you know how many laws you broke?” Ogden said.
“None. I was working for you. It was a matter of national security.”
“Are you kidding me? We don’t have jurisdiction over something like that. You know the shit storm that will come down if I claim the CIA was running an operation on US soil? Homeland and the FBI are going to bend us over.”
“Well, gosh, Damon, I’m real sorry that saving the CIA’s ass, again, is so damned inconvenient. Next time, I’ll be sure to let the bad guys fly away.”
“All right, all right, I’ll figure something out. But I’m not going to be able to hold them off forever.”
“Just until tonight. If I get detained, I’m going to have quite a story to tell,” Gibson said.
“If you get detained, you’re not going to get a chance to.”
“I guess we’ll see.”
“I guess we will.”
Ogden stepped out of the vehicle and shut the door gently. He buttoned his jacket against the cold. His suit didn’t fit him properly anymore and hung loosely off his shoulders. He turned back as if he wanted to say something. Gibson lowered the window, but by then Ogden had changed his mind and turned away.
In the backseat, Duke Vaughn and Bear sat side by side. Duke had an RC Cola in his hand. Bear was kicking the back of the seat with her feet.
“You’re gonna miss your flight at this rate,” Duke said.
“Yeah, let’s go already,” Bear said agreeably.
Gibson had never seen his ghosts together before. It meant something, but he didn’t know what. Duke handed the RC Cola to Bear, who took a tentative sip. She grinned at the sweetness. Duke produced a second bottle, and they clinked necks, a silent toast. Gibson watched them in the rearview mirror. It made him happy to see them together. He liked that they were finally getting along, which, crazy as it sounded, felt important. It gave him hope for the future. His father caught his eye and tapped his watch.
Agreed.
Gibson shifted back into gear and made a U-turn. In the rearview mirror, he saw Ogden running up the road in the direction of the guardhouse. When you added it all up, they’d spent perhaps two hours of their lives together. It was peculiar hating a man one barely knew. You ended up hating the idea of the man more than the man himself, filling in the blanks, making up the parts you couldn’t know. Damon Ogden didn’t actually seem like all that bad a guy. Still, he hoped it would be the last time he ever saw him.