The Sniper and the Wolf

19

During the drive back to Langley, Pope spoke on the phone with Midori, his young Japanese-American assistant, directing her to gather and collate all available intel on the CIA traitors Ben Walton and Max Steiner. He had deliberately not told the president of Hagen’s suspected involvement — or that Peterson had hired the assassin Jason Ryder — because it was his intention to have all five men in question terminated, and that was precisely the kind of thing the president of the United States didn’t want to know about.

Pope’s next call was to agent Mariana Mederos, a CIA analyst in Langley. “Mariana, are you still able to contact Antonio Castañeda?”

Castañeda, a former Grupo Aeromóvil de Fuerzas Especiales (GAFE) operator with Mexican special forces, was head of the deadliest drug cartel in Mexico. The tacit deal he had struck with the Mexican and American governments the previous September in exchange for his help in locating the Russian suitcase nuke — along with his promise to cease the violence against civilians — had allowed him to eliminate virtually all of his competition in northern Mexico, with only limited interference from the Mexican army and the American Drug Enforcement Administration.

Mederos knew Pope. She had briefed him on her experiences in Mexico during her time there, but she was not attached to the Special Activities Division, so she was not subordinate to him.

“I can if it becomes necessary,” she said. “Why?”

“I need you to fly down there and meet with him as soon as possible,” Pope said. “Make sure he understands that his ongoing cooperation will be part of the ongoing truce that has allowed him to become such a wealthy man.”

“He won’t like that,” Mederos said. “Does Mr. Webb know about this?”

Pope decided now was a good time to start letting people know there was a new sheriff in town. “The president has appointed me the new director as of today, so there won’t be any need to contact Mr. Webb. Just arrange the meeting with Castañeda, then swing by my office so Midori can fill you in on what I want done.”

“Mr. Pope, I’m sorry, but I’ll need confirmation of that before I can—”

“Mariana, listen to me very carefully,” Pope said, not unkindly. “Do you want to be dismissed the day my appointment becomes official?”

She paused, clearing her throat. “No, sir. No, I don’t.”

“Then please do as I’ve asked, and speak of this only to Midori — it’s classified top secret. You’re one of the few people I trust over there, so keep it that way, and I’ll take good care of you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you.” Pope put away the phone.

They crossed the Francis Scott Key Memorial Bridge, and the driver stopped for a red light behind a line of four other cars. Pope noticed a man in street clothes on the far side of the intersection with his hand inside the signal box that controlled the traffic light. The man was very definitely looking in their direction.

“Get us out of here, Lieutenant. We’re about to be hit.”

The marine didn’t hesitate, dropping the shifter into reverse and pressing the accelerator just as Jason Ryder was stepping from the pine trees to their right.

Ryder was dressed in a black North Face rain jacket and black wool cap. He cursed and gave chase, firing twice through the windshield with the suppressed USP .45 and hitting the marine driver center mass. Ryder fired three more times into the backseat as the car continued in reverse, and Pope fell over on the seat. The car slammed into another car coming off the bridge and came to a stop.

The marine managed to open his door, rolling out on the opposite side of the car and drawing a Springfield Armory .45. He sprang into a crouch as Ryder went in to finish Pope. The lieutenant fired a quick shot through the windows of the car and hit Ryder in the side of the neck, knocking him off balance. The marine stood up and fired over the roof three more times in quick succession — tac-tac-bang! — hitting Ryder twice in the torso and once in the head to drop him in the street beside the car.

The marine made sure there were no more targets to engage, and then climbed into the backseat and ripped open Pope’s coat to find him bleeding from a single hole in the right side of his chest.

Pope was conscious but having trouble breathing.

The marine turned him onto his wounded side to keep the blood from draining into the good lung and yanked a military med kit from beneath the seat, tearing away the green plastic from a combat field dressing. “You should’ve worn your vest, sir.”

Pope was going into shock. “You’re right,” he croaked. “You okay?”

“Some cracked ribs — nothin’ I can’t handle.” The marine pressed the compress to Pope’s wound and held it. “I don’t know what tipped you, sir, but you saved both our asses. I thank you for my wife and kids.”

“You did all the work,” Pope muttered, starting to shiver. “Jesus, this really hurts. I’m getting cold.”

“It’s just shock, sir.” They could hear sirens on the far side of the Potomac now. “You’re gonna be fine. I promise.”

“Semper fi,” Pope said, closing his eyes. “I’m going to have a little nap while we wait.”

The marine gave Pope a painful sternal rub with his knuckles to bring him back around. “Sir, I need you stay to awake for me. No sleeping on the job.”

Pope opened his eyes wide, the sharp, unexpected pain to his sternum worse than that of the bullet wound. “Good Christ, Lieutenant! I’d rather you not do that again!”

The marine chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. “Just hang in there, sir. Help’s almost here.”