Cutting Edge

32

The colonel relayed the improbable news. His team was assembled in a conference room inside the massive federal building at 10 Causeway Street in downtown Boston, barely a mile removed from their double snatch on the lawn of the Logan Hilton.

“So there it is,” the commander said.

His second in command, an Army major, spoke for the others. “This whole mission had been an abortion from the beginning! Now Benefield, our commanding officer, gets murdered halfway around the world? Does this not bother you?”

The colonel nodded. “No doubt about it — he was executed. The State Department is up in arms, but so far they haven’t attached Benefield to us. Chances are, they never will. So the question becomes, where do we go from here?”

“We reported solely to Benefield, and none of us know what unit or command he was responsible to. With the general gone? No question — we chop back to SOCOM.” He was referring to Special Operations Command, the joint overseer of U.S. Special Forces.

Everyone looked at the colonel.

“Look,” he said, “I know how you all feel about this mission. The general assured us this op was targeting a domestic terrorist cell, a group who were an extreme and immediate threat. That’s the reason our unit was created — we are the no-questions-asked response to verified domestic threats. But we’ve all seen this mission play out. That woman we killed at the cabin, the clinic we hit. I’m having the same doubts you guys are — this whole thing has stunk from the get-go. Now we’re sitting here with two people in custody and no guidance on what to do with them. We’ve been chasing this guy for days on a ‘kill quietly’ order, but the officer who issued it is suddenly out of the picture … and, I should add, under highly suspicious circumstances.”

The major spoke up, thumbing toward the hallway behind them. “You talked to this guy. What do you make of him?”

“Gut feeling … I can’t picture him as a threat. As for the woman, she’s a Coast Guard investigator, and definitely not on our target list. So that’s our situation, gentlemen. The way I see it, it’s our decision as to how we clean this mess up.”

One of the two Navy SEALs, a lean, angular man, spoke up. “None of it adds up, boss. I think we have to consider the possibility that Benefield went rogue. If so, then none of our orders were legal to begin with.”

“If that’s true, we didn’t know it,” the other SEAL argued. “We can’t be held accountable.”

“Probably not,” said the colonel. “But if this goes public — that SOCOM has put together a black unit whose purpose is to strike terrorism suspects domestically, and with limited oversight — it’ll blow up big-time. Every two-bit congressman on Capitol Hill will be throwing knives at SOCOM, and heads will roll. I probably don’t have to tell you which five careers will be the first ones down the crapper — assuming we can stay out of Leavenworth.”

“Everything has been clean so far,” said the major, a man who never drifted from his tactical nature. “The nurse’s death, the op at the clinic — none of that can be tied to us. The only two loose ends are right here in this house.” He chinned toward the adjacent holding rooms.

“We can’t just waste ’em,” argued the colonel.

“No, I’m not saying that. But maybe we can impart on them the importance of keeping everything quiet.”

“Impart?” the second SEAL queried. “I can do some imparting.”

The colonel said, “No, it isn’t gonna be that easy. This guy saw what we did on Cape Split — he said as much at the hotel two days ago. He knows we’ve been hunting him. He’s probably wondering right now how the hell he’s still alive. He’s also seen at least two of our faces, including mine.”

“The girl hasn’t,” chimed in the second SEAL. “I got her clean today. I’m sure she didn’t get a look at either of us during the takedown.”

The colonel considered it, looking at each man in turn. “Okay, maybe we can talk our way out of this. I need to find out more about this guy — we don’t even know his name, for Christ’s sake. I want to know why he’s so important. Problem is, we can’t go about it in a damned Border Patrol lockup.” He looked around the room, and got four nods. “Okay, Trigger and Fry, I want a safe house. We need to move soon, so not too far away.”

“Duration?” said the Air Force master sergeant whose call sign was Trigger.

“Three days is plenty.”

“Can we borrow one from somebody?”

The colonel thought about it. “Yeah, might as well. Speed is life.” He turned to the second SEAL. “Knocker, transportation. Same goes — if you can requisition something from Homeland or Border Patrol, I don’t care. We’ll only need it for a few days.”

The three men got up and left the room, leaving the colonel with his second in command.

“I’m thinking we ditch the girl,” said the major. “Drop her somewhere outside town.”

“My thoughts exactly. But we wait until tonight. In the meantime, let’s keep her wrapped tight — the less she sees and hears, the better for everyone.” The commander looked at his subordinate and saw him wrestling with something. “What is it?”

“The guy … there’s still something about him I don’t like, something under the radar. He’s been way too lucky.”

The colonel nodded — the same thing had been gnawing at him. “He’s a survivor, I’ll give him that. But yeah … I know what you mean. Benefield didn’t tell us everything. This guy is getting information from somebody. He’s seen us coming more than once. After we get safe, I’m going to have another talk with him. We need to find out who the hell he is, and why Benefield wanted him dead.”

“Okay, boss, but does the irony of what you just said not strike you? Right now — look at who’s dead and who’s not.”