Dead Six

Chapter 16:

Surface Tension

VALENTINE

Somewhere over the Persian Gulf

May 9

0155

Dark water flashed below us as the strange black helicopter skimmed the deck at speed. Inside, we were bathed in red light as we made final checks on our equipment and communications.

Tailor, Byrne, Hudson, and I huddled together, going over the plan one last time. Just inside the starboard-side door sat a crewman manning a machine gun. The stealth helicopter flew with its doors closed to maintain its small radar cross-section. When the door opened, the entire gun mount swung out, allowing the chopper to lay down suppressive fire.

“We have the target on FLIR,” the copilot said. “Stand by. Touchdown in three minutes.”

“Going dark,” the pilot said, and the internal red lights switched off. My active hearing protection minimized the noise of the chopper, but I could hear the pounding of my heart. It was that last-minute adrenaline spike that you get right before showtime. With the onset of that adrenaline, my pulse slowed and my thoughts coalesced as the Calm washed over me. Tailor reached over and slapped me on the shoulder.

“Thirty seconds!” My grip on the cut-down Benelli M4 shotgun tightened. The side doors quietly slid open, and the chopper was filled with the roar of rushing air. The door gunner slid his weapon mount into position. Below us, I could clearly see the Santa Maria, well-lit and steadily cruising though calm seas.

My stomach felt the sudden drop as our helicopter rapidly descended upon the Santa Maria’s aft helipad. The yacht rushed up toward us, and with a heavy thud we were on the deck.

Tailor was out the door first, his carbine up and ready. I was right behind him. Following me was Hudson with the SAW, and then Byrne with another carbine. As soon as we were clear, the chopper dusted off. The door gunner opened up as the chopper ascended, raking the foredeck with a stream of tracer fire. We moved together in a tight line, rushing for the superstructure, trying to cover as many angles as possible. Shouting could be heard. An alarm sounded.

The aft superstructure served as a hangar for a small helicopter. We kicked in a personnel door and entered as our second chopper landed above us. The ship’s interior lights were on. A door at the opposite end of the hangar opened as we passed by the Santa Maria’s helicopter. Two men in suits, armed with MP7 submachine guns, burst into the room. They hesitated for a brief moment when they saw us. We’d caught them completely off guard. Tailor cut down one while I put a magnum buckshot load through the other. Both men were dead before they hit the floor.

“Clear!” Tailor said.

“Clear! Reloading!” I repeated, thumbing another shell into my shotgun.

“Clear!” Hudson and Byrne repeated.

“Alpha Team, this is Bravo Team,” Tailor said. “We’re in the hangar. What’s your status?”

“Bravo Team, Alpha,” Holbrook replied. “We’re crossing the sundeck, heading for the bridge. We—shit!” A long burst of automatic weapons fire rattled over the radio. “Encountering stiff resistance.”

“Roger that.” Tailor looked back at us. “Engine room. Let’s go!” We followed Tailor into the bowels of the Santa Maria, encountering terrified crewmembers as we went. The engine room was on the lowest deck, in the aft of the yacht.

We cleared a tight, spiraling staircase and immediately came under fire from down the passageway. Tailor jumped back in the stairwell, stumbling backwards and crashing into me.

“Shit,” he snarled. “That was close.”

“What?” I asked.

“I think they’ve got guys at both ends of the passageway. The hatch to the engine room is sealed.”

“Frag?” I asked, mind racing.

“Frag,” Tailor concurred. We each pulled a hand grenade from our vests. Squeezing side by side, we moved as close to the doorway at the bottom of the stairwell as we could and pulled the pins. At the same time, we reached around the doorway and threw our grenades. Mine went aft, Tailor’s went forward. They went bouncing down the passageway. We withdrew into the stairwell and crouched down. Men were shouting in the corridor. The Santa Maria was rocked by two deafening blasts a second later as the grenades detonated.

“Move, move, move!” Tailor shouted. We spilled into the passageway as rapidly as we could, weapons leading us around the corners. Tailor angled to the left, while I angled to the right. The two men that had been guarding the hatch to the engine room were dead.

I dove to the deck as a burst of automatic weapons fire roared behind me. Bullets zipped over my head and pocked the hatch to the engine room. Tailor fired off several short bursts in response. I rolled over onto my back, leveling my shotgun down the passageway just in time to see Hudson crouch in front of me, SAW shouldered. He ripped off a long burst while Tailor reloaded.

“Byrne!” Tailor shouted. “We’ll hold ‘em off. Get that fucking hatch open!”

“Moving!” Byrne replied. He was carrying on his back a compact Broco cutting torch. The three of us provided him with covering fire as he set his equipment up. Without hesitating, he pulled welder’s goggles down over his eyes and ignited the torch.

Byrne first cut a small hole in the hatch and punched out the circular piece of hot metal in the center. I warned my teammates and tossed in another grenade. The blast slammed the narrow corridor. Byrne fired the torch up again and resumed cutting.

Minutes ticked by at an agonizingly slow pace as our teammate cut his way through the watertight hatch. We were vulnerable in the narrow passageway, and the ship’s security complement knew right where we were.

“I’m through!” Byrne shouted as he extinguished the torch. Tailor and Hudson covered forward while Byrne and I went aft to clear the engine room. A couple of full-force kicks and the cut-through hatch slammed to the deck in a deafening clatter. The engine room was dark and filled with smoke from my grenade. We switched on our weapon lights, sending bright columns of light piercing into the hazy darkness.

A crewmember was lying on the floor by the hatch with blood leaking out of his ears. He wasn’t moving. I couldn’t tell if he was unconscious or dead.

“Damn,” Byrne said, looking down. “Do you—” BRRRRRRRP! One of Rafael Montalban’s security men appeared from behind a fixture. His MP7 was extended in one hand, like a pistol, while he covered his bleeding ear with the other.

Snapping the shotgun up, I fired. Two loads of buckshot tore into the bodyguard in a splash of blood. As he hit the deck, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I swung my weapon around, firing twice again, dropping another crewmember that was running toward me. I quickly scanned the engine room for any more threats. Then I noticed Byrne lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, his right eye wide open. What was left of his left eye was hidden under a puddle of blood. A bullet had punched right through his safety glasses and into his head.

Enveloped in the Calm, I didn’t feel anything as I looked down at his lifeless body. No, that would come later.

“Clear!” I shouted. “Man down!” Tailor and Hudson came in a second later. I was crouched by Byrne’s body, thumbing more shells into my shotgun.

“Goddamn it!” Hudson cursed, punching the wall so hard I thought he’d break his hand. He looked down at me. “What are you doing?”

“I’m taking the torch,” I said. “We might need it again.”

Tailor quietly swore to himself. He then squeezed his throat mic. “Alpha Team, this is Bravo, engine room secured, what’s your status?”

“This is Alpha!” Holbrook replied, sounding shaken up. “We’ve got the bridge secured. Commo equipment is trashed. They’re trying to retake it, but we’ll hold ‘em off. Animal is down, KIA.”

“Roger that,” Tailor said flatly. “We’re down one, too. Disabling the engine now. We’re then going after the target.”

“Good luck,” Holbrook said, and the radio went silent.

Our first objective was complete. The Santa Maria was dead in the water. The engine was disabled, the radio was smashed, and the bridge was controlled by Holbrook’s chalk. It was now up to the three of us to find Rafael Montalban and capture him.

The two choppers circling were watching for lifeboats or swimmers. No one had left the yacht. Rafael Montalban was on board somewhere. Tailor figured that he’d be holed up in the security office. It was at the end of a passageway on one of the lower decks, and was defensible. If we didn’t find him there, we were going to head to his stateroom next. If he wasn’t there either it was going to be a room-by-room, deck-by-deck search until we found the son of a bitch.

We encountered almost no resistance as we crossed the yacht. Sporadic gunfire could be heard coming from above us. Holbrook reported that Montalban’s security force made their attempt to retake the bridge, and failed. We expected the remainder of the security contingent to be protecting the man himself.

We were right. We came under fire as soon as we set foot in the passageway that led to the security office. Instead of a few disorganized guys in suits with machine pistols, we were now encountering guards in body armor, armed with G36C carbines and Benelli shotguns. To make matters worse, we were outnumbered.

But they were outgunned. The Santa Maria shuddered with another concussion after Tailor sent a grenade rolling down the passageway. As soon as it detonated, Hudson leaned around the corner and laid down suppressive fire. Tailor and I quickly advanced up the corridor. There were several compartments on either side of the passageway, with a few of Montalban’s remaining bodyguards using the doorways as cover. We were sitting ducks as we moved down the hall. We had to use overwhelming firepower to keep their heads down.

My shotgun wouldn’t penetrate their vests, but a shotgun with a holographic sight on top of it makes for comparatively easy head shots. We brutally cut down the rest of Montalban’s security force in that passageway. When the shooting stopped, six men lay dead on the deck in a mix of spent brass and spilled blood. The air stunk of smoke and burnt powder. Only the three of us remained standing.

I used the brief lull to pull more shells from the bandolier across my chest and thumb them into my shotgun. The weapon was hot to the touch. My cheek was sore from the pounding the stock gave it. Even an autoloader could be rough with three-inch Magnum buckshot.

As expected, the hatch to the security office was sealed from the inside like the engine room had been. According to the ship’s schematics, these were security features in the event the Santa Maria was overrun by pirates. The security office was designed as a sort of panic room where Rafael Montalban and his personal guards could hold out until assistance arrived.

No assistance was coming. Our choppers had impressive electronic warfare suites and were effectively jamming all transmissions that weren’t on select frequencies, like our radios. And your typical pirate didn’t have access to a Broco torch.

My teammates covered me as I fired up the torch and began to cut through the hatch. This one was less substantial than the engine room hatch had been, and the cutting went faster.

It was done. Tailor was ready, Mk 16 carbine shouldered. I dropped the torch, doffed the welder’s goggles, and clicked off the safety on my shotgun. Hudson had just finished loading a fresh hundred-round nutsack into his saw and nodded at us.

Tailor kicked in the hatch. The last three bodyguards were waiting inside, sporting compact assault rifles and body armor. My team swept into the security office all at once. We didn’t use grenades this time. We needed Montalban alive.

The first guard was ducked behind an overturned metal desk. He fired off a burst as we came into the room. Hudson replied with the SAW, tearing through the desk and ventilating the man trying to hide behind it. At the same time, another guard leaned around a corner, G36C shouldered. Tailor and I hit him at the same time. The guard was ripped apart by the barrage of buckshot and 5.56mm rounds and collapsed to the deck.

We didn’t stop. Moving through the office, we turned a corner. A hammer weight slammed into my chest as a loud handgun discharged in front of me. I yelled that I’d been hit and stumbled backward, falling to my butt. The shot was answered with a hail of gunfire that was over in a second.

“Val! You alright?” Tailor asked, crouching beside me.

“I’m fine! I’m fine!” I gasped, looking down at my chest. The bullet had blown open two of the shotgun shells on my bandolier and lodged in my front armor plate. I was okay.

Tailor extended a hand and helped me to my feet. I shook my head and stepped around the corner. Two men had been holed up at the back of the office. One was a big guy in a dark suit, with an ear bud. He was dead on the floor with about a dozen exit wounds in his back. His pistol lay on the deck in a pool of his blood.

The other man was still alive. He was an older gentleman, with graying hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. He had an aristocratic air to him and was wearing what looked to be a very expensive suit. He stood against the wall, eyes wide, with his hands on top of his head. Hudson had the barrel of his SAW practically shoved up the man’s nose.

My eyes narrowed. “Rafael Montalban?”

“Yes,” the man replied. “What is the meaning of this?” I had to give the guy credit. He hadn’t pissed himself or anything. He had some semblance of backbone at least.

“Don’t worry about it,” Tailor said harshly. “You have a computer?”

“I have many,” Montalban replied with an aloof sniff.

“We’re only concerned with the one,” Tailor said. “You know the one I’m talking about.” Tailor was bullshitting the guy. All we’d been told was to get his laptop. We had no idea which laptop or what they were looking for.

Rafael Montalban frowned. “You’ve been well informed. It seems I have a leak in my organization. I’d speak to my head of security about it, but I’m afraid you just killed him.” He nodded to the dead man on the floor.

“Just show us where the laptop is, playboy,” Hudson growled. “I ain’t in the mood for any bullshit.”

“It would seem not,” Montalban said, his English only had a hint of a Spanish accent. “Very well. It’s in a safe in this office. This way.” Hudson led Rafael Montalban around the corner. Tailor and I looked at each other and shrugged. I can’t believe that worked.

Tailor bent over and picked something up. “Here,” he said, handing it to me. “He shot you with this.”

I looked down at the gun in my hand. It was a Korth .357 Magnum revolver, beautifully engraved, with a brightly polished blue finish. The grips were genuine ivory and had what I guessed was the Montalban family crest inlaid in them in gold and silver. Ijust been shot with a ten thousand dollar gun.

After Rafael Montalban opened the safe and retrieved the laptop, Tailor made him boot it up and enter the password. He then shoved the laptop into his backpack and keyed his microphone. “Control, this is Xbox. Bravo Team has secured the package and the target, repeat, we have the package and the target, both intact. Requesting immediate extraction.”

Gordon Willis himself came on over the radio. “Excellent work, boys!” he said enthusiastically. “Your ride will be there shortly. Over and out!” Tailor rolled his eyes.

“Xbox, this is Control,” Sarah said then. “What’s your status?”

“One KIA on our team,” Tailor said. “It was Anarchangel.”

“Control, this is Joker,” Holbrook said, sounding very tired. “We’ve got two KIA, Animal and Linus. I’m wounded but still mobile. Copy?” Sarah acknowledged while the three of us swore aloud. Linus was Cromwell’s call sign.

I didn’t really listen to the rest of the radio chatter. We were ordered to gather up and stand by for extraction at the aft heliport. We still had to use caution. Most of the Santa Maria’s crew was still alive. Even though we’d wiped out Rafael Montalban’s security detail, there was no telling who’d be waiting around the corner, ready to be a hero.

“Gentlemen,” Rafael Montalban said, sounding detached and aloof. “Surely we can come to some sort of understanding? I assure you I can triple whatever it is you’re being paid. People died tonight, yes. Your people and my people. But we can all walk away from this.” Montalban then winced as Hudson roughly pulled his arms behind his back and secured them with a zip-tie.

“There’s no going back for us,” Tailor said, lighting a cigarette.

“I see,” Montalban said, discomfort apparent in his voice. “I’m going to ask you again. Let’s talk about this like civilized people. Believe me, gentlemen, I’m a man of means. And I’m not a man to be trifled with. I have powerful friends.”

“I think you better shut your mouth, playboy,” Hudson said roughly. “Your friends ain’t here.”

Tailor gestured at our prisoner. “Bag this motherfucker.” Rafael Montalban was forced to his knees. Hudson pulled a heavy black sack over his head and slapped him upside the head to shut him up. Tailor led the way down the corridor as we marched the Spanish billionaire topside.

I looked at the ornate revolver in my hand again. Feeling a slight twinge beneath layers of Calm, I ejected the one spent case and five unfired rounds and stuffed the gun into a pouch on my vest. Rafael Montalban wasn’t going to need it anymore.

The extraction from the Santa Maria went smoothly enough. The other chopper landed first, depositing Anders onto the deck. He collected the laptop from us as soon as we made it topside. Holbrook and Fillmore boarded that chopper with Anders. It lifted off and hovered nearby while the other one set down.

As Hudson, Tailor, and I shoved Rafael Montalban onto our stealthy helicopter, we noticed the survivors of the Santa Maria’s crew quietly watching us from a distance. Some looked angry, others looked terrified, but most appeared in shock. None had offered any further resistance after we’d wiped out the security detail.

I looked at them one last time as we lifted off. They were all dead, and they didn’t even know it. It felt wrong. A lot of people had died, and I found myself wondering why. The helicopter’s door slid shut as we ascended into the night sky. I quickly grew tired as the chopper droned on. The Calm was wearing off, and I began to get the shakes. I was experiencing adrenaline dump. Closing my eyes, I tried to concentrate on something else.

I couldn’t wait to see Sarah when I got back. I’d probably go straight to bed and fall right to sleep. Holding her in my arms helped me forget things for a little while. In the morning, we’d probably hold a memorial service for the three men we’d lost. I’d been to several such services already. There were no bodies this time. Our friends’ remains had been unceremoniously dumped into the ocean.

The events of that night strengthened my resolve to escape Project Heartbreaker. We’d gone from meticulously hunting terrorists to recklessly killing the employees of a European billionaire, with no regard whatsoever for our safety. I’d had enough. I was done doing Gordon Willis’s dirty work. He could find another damned errand boy.

My thoughts were interrupted when the chopper’s copilot called my name. I left my seat and went forward.

“You have a call,” the copilot said, handing me a headset.

“Who is it?” I asked, my voice raised so I could be heard over the noise of the chopper’s engines.

“Gordon Willis,” the copilot replied. I pinched the bridge of my nose, took a deep breath, and put on the headset.

“This is Nightcrawler.”

“Nightcrawler,” Gordon said. “Listen up. Damn fine job you did tonight. I’m proud of you. But something’s come up. We have a slight change in our game plan. Can you handle that?”

“What kind of change?” I asked, my voice flat.

“I just got confirmation from Drago,” Gordon said, referring to Anders by his call sign. “Everything we need is on that laptop. Excellent work securing it with the password already entered.”

“So, what’s the change?” I repeated.

“We no longer need Rafael Montalban alive. Liquidate him immediately.”

“What?” I snarled, furious. “Three guys died trying to get that asshole, and now you tell us you don’t need him? What the fuck are you doing, Gordon? Who in the hell is making these decisions?”

“Nightcrawler, I know you’ve had a bad night, but—”

“I haven’t had a bad night, goddamn it!” I snapped, shouting into the microphone. “A bad night is when you get a flat tire or you break your cell phone. Tonight I killed a bunch of people and three of my teammates died, and now you’re telling me it was for nothing?”

“Mr. Valentine!” Gordon barked, ignoring radio protocols. “We’ll discuss this when you return. Believe me when I say that tonight’s operation was not for nothing. You have your orders. Carry them out.” The radio fell silent. I ripped the headset off and threw it to the deck. I closed my eyes tightly for a moment, swearing to myself. Taking another deep breath, I regained my composure and warned the pilots about what was going to happen.

“What was that all about?” Tailor asked. I didn’t say anything in response. I just pointed at Rafael Montalban and dragged a finger across my throat. Tailor’s eyes flashed with anger.

“Jesus Christ, you gotta be shittin’ me,” Hudson said, shaking his head.

I steeled myself; I had my orders. I turned to face Rafael Montalban and pulled the bag off of his head. He squinted in the red light, obviously confused.

“What’s happening now?” he asked, still sounding defiant. “Have you come to your senses, young man?”

“This is where you get off,” I said levelly.

“I . . . don’t understand,” Montalban replied hesitantly.

“You will.” I pushed a button on the hull. The chopper was filled with a windy roar as the door behind our prisoner slid open. His eyes grew wide at the sudden realization of what was happening. He looked out at the blackness behind him, then back at me.

My .44 was already in my hand. I fired from the hip, putting the bullet through his chest. He didn’t even scream. Before he could crumple to the floor, I kicked the dying man in the chest. Rafael Montalban, aristocrat, billionaire, industrialist, and head of an international conglomerate, tumbled out the door and disappeared into the darkness. Holstering my revolver, I closed the door and sat back down. I held my head in my hands.

The subsequent trip back to Fort Saradia was long and uneventful. I slept through most of it. The choppers had landed somewhere in the desert again. The five of us piled into a large van for the long drive back to the city. I didn’t wake up again until we crossed into the fort.

Upon arrival we were immediately herded into the briefing room. Colonel Hunter and Sarah were both waiting for us. We shuffled into the room, still in our body armor, weapons slung, and tried to sit at the desks with all of our gear on.

When I stepped into the room, I made eye contact with Sarah, who was standing back by Hunter. I knew I looked like hell. I wanted nothing more than to stride across the room and take her in my arms. I didn’t think the colonel would approve. I managed a smile for her to let her know I was okay, even though I wasn’t really. I just didn’t want her to worry, even though she undoubtedly would anyway.

The debriefing went by quickly. Hunter just wanted to get through it while the mission was fresh in our minds and let us get some sleep. It had been a tough run. Holbrook had a bandage on his arm. I had a .357 slug stuck in my vest. Three of our teammates were on the bottom of the Persian Gulf. Bad op.

We all chimed in during the debriefing. Sarah recorded and Hunter listened intently as we retold the events of the mission, from beginning to end. Fighting fatigue, I explained the entry into the engine room and how Byrne died. The image of him lying on the floor, left eye socket filled with blood, flashed in my mind and I stumbled on my words. Tailor interjected and continued the narrative.

Hunter leaned against a desk, arms folded across his chest, and listened quietly as I explained the events of the return flight. His one eye studied me as I recalled Gordon’s order to kill Rafael Montalban. Sarah put a hand over her mouth when I described dropping him into the ocean.

“So tell me,” Colonel Hunter said, “where is this laptop? You retrieved the target’s laptop computer, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Tailor replied.

“So where is it?” Hunter repeated.

“We gave it to Anders,” Tailor said, sounding confused.

“What?” Hunter said, anger rising in his voice.

“Anders was waiting for us on the deck of the ship,” Hudson said. “He took the laptop from us. Did we do something wrong, Colonel?”

Hunter didn’t say anything for a moment. “No, boys, you did fine. Where is Mr. Anders now?”

“He stayed on the chopper after it dropped us off, sir,” Holbrook said. “He’s wherever those stealth birds go, I guess.”

“I see,” Hunter said, rubbing his chin. It was obvious that something was very wrong, but he didn’t want to discuss it with us. At that point I was so tired I didn’t really care. I just wanted to go to bed and forget this day had happened. “That’s all I have for you, gentlemen. Go get some rack time. You won’t have anything else scheduled for as long as I can manage it. You’ve all been busting ass for a long time. You deserve a break. Tonight, after sundown, we’ll have a memorial service for Cromwell, Byrne, and Blutarsky. Dismissed.”

We all got up to leave. Sarah crossed the room and threw her arms around me. She squeezed me tightly, then stepped away.

“I was worried,” she said simply.

“I’m okay,” I said, smiling a little. “It was a bad night. But I’m okay.”

“Ms. McAllister, you can smother Mr. Valentine with affection later,” Colonel Hunter said. “I need to speak with him. You, too, Tailor.” Sarah’s face turned red, and I felt myself flush a little.

“Oh, for God’s sake, Val, everyone knows,” Tailor said. “It’s not a secret.”

“Did you guys think you were keeping it a secret?” Holbrook asked, standing by the door. “Wow, that’s funny,” he said humorlessly, then stepped out of the classroom. Hudson and Fillmore followed.

“I’ll see you later,” Sarah said, squeezing my hand. She left the room, leaving Tailor and me alone with Colonel Hunter.

“Is something wrong, Colonel?” Tailor asked.

“You’re goddamned right something’s wrong,” Hunter growled. “I’m not yelling at you, son, don’t worry. You boys took a bad situation and made it work, like you always do. Matter of fact, I’m damned proud of you all.”

“With all due respect, sir,” I said, “this is bullshit. You told us we’d be fighting terrorists. You told us we were taking the war to their backyard. You said we were accomplishing something here. So what did we accomplish by kidnapping some rich guy off of his yacht? What did we accomplish when I murdered him and dropped him in the ocean? What the fuck are we doing here, sir?” I realized then that I’d almost been yelling at Colonel Hunter. He didn’t seem fazed.

“I don’t know,” Hunter said.

“Um . . . what?” Tailor asked.

“I don’t know what you accomplished, boys. I’m going to level with you here. I saw Gordon’s intelligence on Rafael Montalban. His organization definitely was funneling money to General Al Sabah and other radical elements throughout the region. We’ve known about that for years.”

“Then why haven’t we done anything until now, sir?” I asked, more than a little confused.

“It’s . . . complicated, son,” Hunter said. “This stuff is way above my pay grade. We’re talking about national foreign policy stuff here. International business, transnational interests, and supranational organizations. Rafael Montalban was connected. He had ties to the leadership of the European Union. He had ties to the UN Security Council. He had . . .” Hunter paused. “Well, let’s just say the man had a lot of powerful friends.”

“And we took this guy out,” Tailor said. “Is that good?”

“I don’t know,” Hunter said. “He was a power player, but he was just one man. There are many others to take his place. Rafael Montalban has a younger brother, Eduard, who will probably take over for him. Killing one man won’t break the Montalban Exchange. It won’t stop the flow of money to the enemy. Christ, if that was all it took, we’d have killed all those sons of bitches years ago.”

“What sons of bitches?” I asked.

“Never mind. Doesn’t matter. Anyway, boys, I want to thank you for the work you’ve done. You two, in particular, have been the sharp end of the stick for Dead Six since your first operation. And it hasn’t gone unnoticed.”

Tailor and I looked at each other. “What do you mean?”

“For my part,” Hunter said, “I’m going to tell Gordon that I’m taking you two off the mission roster. Hudson also. Hell, Holbrook, too. Fillmore, he spent the last two months sitting in a safe house. He’s raring to go, still. But you boys need a break.”

“I appreciate that,” Tailor said.

“Gordon Willis wants to see you both,” Hunter said. “He’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“What the hell does he want now?” I asked ruefully.

“I think he wants to offer you two a job,” Hunter replied.

“What?”

“Project Heartbreaker is a temporary assignment, as you two are aware. I’m sure you’ve guessed that we have a much larger organization that’s supporting our mission here. Well, we also have an active paramilitary branch that’s always recruiting. I think Gordon wants to offer you a position there.”

“Wait,” Tailor said. “Who the hell does Gordon work for, exactly? The CIA?”

Hunter didn’t blink. “Just like when you signed up for Project Heartbreaker, there are a lot of things you don’t get to know until you sign the paper. Even then, there are a lot of things you don’t get to know. I know you’re angry. Just . . . think real hard before you make any rash decisions, boys. We could use you. It would probably be . . . better if you signed on. It’s not always like this. I’ve been doing this for a long time. There are a lot of things going on right now that I don’t like. Back in the old days a cocksucker like Gordon never would’ve . . .” He trailed off. “Never mind. Excuse me, gentlemen. I’m tired, too. Stand by. Gordon will be here in a few minutes. Remember what I told you.” Colonel Hunter left the room without another word.

“He didn’t tell us anything,” Tailor grumbled. “I’m sick of all this innuendo and double-talk. People need to quit dropping hints and shit. They either just need to tell us straight up or shut their mouths.”

“Skullduggery gives me a headache,” I said, rubbing my temple. My shoulders sagged from the weight of my body armor and gear. I still had a shotgun slung across my back. I just wanted to take a shower and go to bed. I was in no mood for any of Gordon’s bullshit.

But even when Gordon wasn’t around, he could still piss you off. Another twenty minutes ticked by before Gordon strolled into the classroom. He had his suit jacket hanging over the crook of his arm. He tie was loosened and his shirt collar was unbuttoned. It was as casual as I’d ever seen him. He was wearing a leather shoulder holster with a Glock tucked under his left arm. He looked like a TV cop.

“Mr. Valentine!” he said jovially, vigorously shaking my hand. Gordon was one of those people who seemed like he was trying to crush your fingers during a handshake. “Mr. Tailor! Good to see you both. How was your flight?”

“I shot a man and kicked him out of the helicopter, Gordon,” I said.

“I know. Nicely done, Mr. Valentine. Excellent work rolling with a changing situation. I know things were tense, and I know you gentlemen have been under a lot of pressure. Please believe me when I say your efforts are paying off.”

“Is that so?” Tailor asked.

“It certainly is!” Gordon said. “We’ve been watching you two very closely. I’m prepared to offer you, both of you, full-time positions with my organization.”

“What organization is that, exactly?” I asked.

Gordon smiled. “You know the drill, Mr. Valentine. Need-to-know. And unless I can count on you to make a commitment, you don’t need to know.”

Tailor lit a cigarette, not bothering to ask if it was okay to smoke in the classroom. “What exactly are you offering us?”

“A full-time job,” Gordon replied. “You two would start right away. We’d have you on the next flight out of Zubara. You’ll head back to our training center stateside for indoc and processing. After a couple weeks of R&R, of course. Paid R&R. You two have more than earned it.”

I was speechless. Tailor kept asking questions. “So we’d just leave?”

“I’m going to level with you,” Gordon said, leaning in conspiratorially. “And this goes no further than you two. Project Heartbreaker is winding down. Your mission tonight was probably the last major operation we’re going to take on.”

“What? What happened?”

“I had to fight to make Project Heartbreaker happen,” Gordon said. “My superiors never really believed in it. It was a constant struggle to get funding and resources. That’s why you were always so short on manpower and equipment. That’s also why we ran you so hard. We had no choice. I never wanted to send you two out on missions, alone, with no back up. A lot of decisions made over my head forced my hand, I’m afraid.”

“Like risking our lives to capture some guy then changing your mind later and ordering me to kill him?” I asked bitterly.

“Yes, like that,” Gordon said. “I hated to do that, Mr. Valentine. I still think Rafael Montalban would’ve been an excellent asset. But the situation changed, and so did my orders. I asked you to carry them out, and you did. That sort of dedication and ability to adapt to a dynamic situation is why we’re having this conversation right now. It’s no accident your chalk was sent after Rafael Montalban. My organization needs people of your caliber.”

“Okay, okay,” Tailor said, interjecting before I could say anything else. “What would this position involve?” I couldn’t believe it. Is he seriously interested in Gordon’s offer?

“You’ll work for me. Things are changing quickly. I need people I can count on so we can stay on top of things. I need people who can carry out tough jobs despite limited resources and information. The pay is far better than you’re making now. You won’t have to deal with any bureaucratic bullshit. You two will answer only to me.”

I found it darkly humorous that Gordon didn’t consider himself a bureaucrat. “You mean like Anders?”

“Yes!” Gordon beamed. “As a matter of fact, Anders is my right-hand man. You’ll be working with him a lot. He’s spoken highly of you both.”

“I’ll bet,” I said. “Did he tell you he let Singer bleed to death without even trying to help him?”

“I was fully briefed on that operation, Mr. Valentine. I know that was tough, but the import—”

I cut him off. “Tough? Tough? Is that what you’d call that? We’ve had thirty percent casualties, and you call that tough?”

“You need to control your temper,” Gordon snapped. “I’m trying to offer you a job!”

“Don’t fuck with me, Gordon. I’ve seen full well what your jobs involve! And I’m sick of this shit!”

Tailor stepped between me and Gordon, trying to calm me down. I don’t know if it was fatigue, stress, or a combination of the two, but I was on the verge of blowing up completely. My heart was pounding in my chest. I was so mad I was almost shaking.

“Fine!” Gordon said, gesturing sharply with his hands. “I’m trying to do you a favor. If this is how you want it, forget it. Mr. Anders warned me about this. He told me that when things start to get tough and you lose a couple guys, you fall apart. I didn’t believe it. I’ve seen your record. But you know what? He’s right. You can’t handle it, Valentine. You’re not cut out for this. This was a mistake. I need solid, dependable men. I don’t need guys that turn to mush when we take a few casualties. Shit happens. People die. That’s the way it is.”

Something clicked just then. I stepped back and straightened myself out. My eyes narrowed. My face went blank. Tailor saw the expression on my face. His eyes went wide, and he turned to Gordon.

“Listen, you wanna leave now,” he said. “Val had a bad night. Bad timing, you know?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Gordon said. “Forget the whole thing. You two want to go down with this ship, you’re more than welcome. We can always get more. You know how many people there are like you out there? Half burned-out shooters, desperate for their glory days and the old run-and-gun, who jump at any offer we give them? They’re all so eager, and they don’t ask a lot of questions. You, for example.”

“Gordon, I’m warning you,” Tailor said.

“I’m not afraid of you, Valentine,” Gordon said, looking at me over Tailor’s shoulder. He gestured to the pistol under his arm. “I’m not some paper-pushing desk jockey, you know.”

“Gordon, there’s no way you’re going to get that gun out before Val blows a hole in your chest. Everybody just calm down now!”

“I’m perfectly calm,” I stated. “I’m not angry at you because my friends died. We knew the risks when we signed up. I’m angry because my friends died as a direct result of your incompetence and blatant disregard for our lives. So I’m going to have to decline your offer.” I turned around and walked away, but paused at the door. “Gordon, if I ever see you again, I’ll kill you.” I turned and left the room.