Red Cell Seven

CHAPTER 32

Troy and Travers knelt side by side beneath a fruit-laden orange tree a short distance inside the eastern border of the sprawling plantation, studying satellite images that were spread out in front of them on the dry ground. It was warm down here in Florida in the middle of the huge orange grove, and the heat was a welcome relief for Troy after the bitter cold he’d been dealing with sixteen hundred klicks north in DC.

He closed his eyes, stretched, and took a deep breath beneath a cloudless sapphire sky and a bright yellow high-noon sun. He loved the outdoors. Especially beneath a sun like this, because nature’s rawest and most compelling scents were so much stronger inside its comforting warmth. The smell of the earth, the plants, the fruit, even the ocean in the distance were all blending into a single amazing aroma. For some reason his love of life and its basic smells right here, right now, seemed more intense than ever before.

“I say we move,” Travers spoke up as he gestured down at the images of the plantation. “It looks pretty straightforward as far as I can tell. We’ve got a few outbuildings and the main house, and we’re done. It’ll take our guys fifteen minutes tops to crash and take control of the buildings, even if they are guarded. No one inside can possibly stand up to what we’re about to throw at them.” Travers tapped the paper on the ground in front of him. “The only thing that could be an issue is a tunnel system. That can always be a problem for an attack like this. But even here in the middle of the state the water table has to be high, just a few feet below the surface, so underground stuff should be a nonissue.” He glanced over at Troy. “We don’t want to give the people in there any chance to spot us and run. It’s time, man.”

“Yup.”

“I mean, it would be better to wait until dark so we’ve got more cover, but that’s six hours off. There could be more attacks, more civilians could die. I couldn’t handle knowing we might have prevented that. We’ve got to go in now.”

“Pull the trigger.”

Travers tapped out a message on his cell. “Here we go,” he muttered as he pressed the send button. “Battle on.”

Multiple personnel carriers were standing by a few miles away, ready to transport two hundred heavily armed special-forces troops to the plantation for the assault — along with three Apache attack helicopters, which would probably break most of any resistance ahead of them before the troops even arrived. The information Jacob Gadanz had provided early this morning in the townhouse, in exchange for his family’s protection by federal authorities, had led Travers and Troy directly to this location. And supposedly to Gadanz’s younger brother, Daniel, who Jacob had sworn was here and was protected by a decent-size force, though he couldn’t give them much on numbers or firepower.

So they weren’t taking any chances. They were going to overwhelm whoever was on the plantation and ask questions later, maybe. This mission was far too crucial to the country not to take that approach, for several reasons, it turned out.

“This is pretty amazing,” Travers said.

“If what Jacob told us is accurate, I’m with you.”

“He was feeding us straight dope,” Travers said confidently, checking the satellite images once more.

“Maybe.” Some guy who was desperately bargaining for his life and his family’s well-being didn’t seem like a candidate for a have-faith award.

“I spoke to a friend of mine at the DEA on our flight down here.”

“And?”

Travers’s phone pinged softly — he had the volume turned way down. “Here they come,” he muttered, reading the return text. “Cavalry’s inbound.”

“And?” Troy asked again, louder this time.

“And my guy at the agency said they’ve been trying hard to crack a cocaine distribution syndicate that’s gone viral recently, particularly in small and medium-size towns east of the Mississippi. He said the ring was already a force in the major cities. But according to a few low-level dealers they’ve pinched off the streets, and at least one mid-level associate who cooperated in order to reduce a major felony possession charge, the man at the top put a Brazilian guy named Emilio Vasquez in charge of the eastern half of the country about two years ago, and he’s tripled revenues in the territory since then. My guy said Vasquez is as vicious as they come and leaves dead bodies wherever he goes. But despite the blood trail they can’t catch up to him. He always seems to be one step ahead of them.”

“You think Daniel Gadanz is really the head of the syndicate?”

Travers shrugged. “The DEA guy told me a story about a son taking over a Miami drug-smuggling operation from his father back in the early nineties. It sounded very similar to what Jacob told us this morning about Daniel taking over for their father. The names are different, but the city and the years are the same. My guy said it was a small-time operation in Miami back then, just like Jacob told us their father’s was. But the son blew it out, made it into a huge deal, just like Jacob told us Daniel did.”

“Jacob didn’t tell us anything about Daniel and him changing their last name.”

“We didn’t ask,” Travers reminded Troy. “And that’s exactly what you and I would have done.”

“I guess.”

“Here’s the most important thing about it. Here’s the name that does match. Senior people at DEA believe the man who took over that Miami operation back in the early nineties is now the number-one distributor in the United States for Carlos Molina.” Travers paused. “And that was the name Jacob mentioned. Carlos Molina is—”

“I know who Carlos Molina is,” Troy cut in. “He’s the biggest cocaine producer in all of South America. He wouldn’t join any of the cartels down there a decade ago, and now he rules. Everybody else in the blow business is terrified of him at this point. I get it.”

“Even the Mexicans,” Travers said in a hushed voice. “That’s something that ought to make the little hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up.”

That was an eye-catcher. For a lot of Mexican dealers, beheading rival faction members who they’d captured was SOP. But Molina’s people in Mexico were rarely touched. And when they were, hell rained down swiftly on the guilty party.

“I can’t wrap my mind around why Daniel would fund these death squads,” Troy said. “For me, that’s the major disconnect about this whole thing.”

“Revenge for his father,” Travers answered. “Isn’t that what Jacob said? The Feds grabbed his father off the street in Miami one afternoon twenty years ago during a thunderstorm, and the family hasn’t heard from him since. Daniel never got over it. It happened right in front of him as the rain was coming down, and the Feds laughed at him as they were driving his father off. He saw what the Feds did to his father, and he feels like he’s getting back at them now. He’s making them look like idiots because they can’t do anything about the Holiday Mall Attacks or all the subsequent shootings.”

“Yeah, but I can’t believe Carlos Molina would be happy about Gadanz doing that. Ultimately, it brings attention to the syndicate when it’s uncovered, even to Molina’s operation in South America. I mean, that’s exactly why we’re here. Attention’s the last thing Molina wants. Why would Daniel Gadanz want to piss off his biggest supplier like that, especially a guy like Molina?”

“Think about this, Troy. The death squads are distracting local cops all around the country, not to mention keeping the Feds completely busy, too. It’s a huge business opportunity for these blow cowboys. It’s an opening that’s getting wider and wider the longer it goes on. Street dealers are free to trade, domestic trafficking is easy, even shipments from south of the border are probably being mostly ignored because manpower’s been moved away. The death squads are creating a massive distraction all the way around, and the syndicate’s taking advantage of it. Think about all the nose candy Molina can skate across the borders with no problem while the good guys are trying to find the death squads.”

Troy nodded. “Maybe it is a good idea from their standpoint.”

“Good? Are you kidding me? It’s brilliant. Gadanz finds and recruits terrorists who are devoted to destroying this country but lack the money and hardware to make any real difference. He brings them into the States on the sly and trains them while he gets everything ready, while he arranges places for them to live, multiple getaway vehicles for them to use, and a way to get them cash, which turns out to be Jacob’s company in Virginia. Daniel takes his time so nobody gets suspicious, and he’s got plenty of money from the drug business to fund these guys. Then, when everything’s set, he gives the order and turns them loose. Eleven super malls are attacked within minutes of each other in big cities across the country. The population is petrified, and the economy grinds to a halt. And the death squads keep attacking, so civilians go deeper and deeper underground. Nobody shops, parents keep kids home from school, workers even stop going in.” Travers gestured ahead of them through the orange grove, toward the complex in the middle of the thousands of acres of fruit trees. “Maybe this is where he brought the terrorists initially. Maybe this is where they trained.”

Everything Travers had said made perfect sense, Troy had to admit.

“The squads completely distract law-enforcement from whatever else they’re doing, so the syndicate makes more money. And if the distribution syndicate makes more money, so does the producer. That’s why Molina loves it.”

“I hear you,” Troy agreed.

“Jacob told us this morning that Kaashif is a front man for some very nasty factions in Syria and Afghanistan, some real hard-line extremists who are ultimately committed to destroying the United States. They’d make perfect partners for Daniel because—”

Travers was interrupted by the sound of engines firing up somewhere in the distance ahead of them.

They were jet engines, Troy realized as he rose from his knees, quickly climbed the tree they were beneath, and peered through the branches at the top. He recognized the sound instantly.

“What you got?” Travers called up.

“About five hundred yards west of us, there’s a Learjet coming out of a barn with guards all around it.” He recognized the distinctive shape of the aircraft’s sleek design immediately. “Somebody’s getting out of here.”

Travers scanned the satellite images quickly. “There’s what looks like a runway on here. Maybe whoever it is got a heads-up about us. We’ve got to stop them.”

Troy dropped to the ground, grabbed the MP5 leaning against the base of the tree, and the two of them took off together.

“I saw at least five guys with guns around the plane as it was coming out of the barn. There were probably more. And it looked like they were carrying automatic weapons.”

Travers nodded to Troy as they ran through the tightly spaced trees, raising their arms to protect their faces from low hanging branches. He was calling the special-forces commander, who was already heading their way. “Get the choppers in here fast,” he ordered as soon as the man at the other end picked up. “And come straight through the main gate with the troops. No need for anything but a direct assault at this point. We’re already headed at them. They’re pulling a plane out of a barn. What? No, we didn’t see it on the satellite pics because it was hidden in a barn. Look, I’m worried somebody important is hightailing it out of here. I know you got those Apaches inbound, but can you get someone else in the air fast who can keep up with a Learjet? Maybe somebody from MacDill or Patrick with an F-16 they can spare for a little while. Huh? Well, try, damn it. Okay, thanks. And hurry up with those choppers!”

“How long?” Troy asked as Travers slipped the phone back into his pocket.

“Six to seven minutes for the troops, two for the choppers.”

“That might still be too late,” Troy muttered.

As the barn took shape between the trees, a burst of automatic gunfire rang out, and bullets shredded branches and leaves around them. Both men tumbled to the ground and quickly crawled behind the narrow trunks of different trees for at least some protection.

Troy glanced around, spotted the shooter, who was a hundred feet away along the same line of trees, and fired back as the man aimed. The guy tumbled backward violently before he could fire again.

Troy looked around quickly for anyone else, saw no one, scrambled back to his feet, and sprinted ahead, aware that the roar of the jet engines was now close. The edge of the trees — the last line in the orchard before open ground — was only fifty feet away.

As he raced around a large tree in the next-to-last row, he got a glimpse of the plane and the barn behind it. The jet was only a hundred feet away across the open ground and seemed to be parked even though the engines were whining and whistling loudly. He checked quickly left and right but didn’t see Travers.

As he sprinted toward the last row of trees, a bullet grazed his upper left arm, and he tumbled into a clump of tall weeds between two trees. “Damn it,” he hissed, checking the wound. It burned like a nest of hornet stings, but it didn’t look deep. There was plenty of blood, but the round hadn’t hit anything critical. He still had full use of the arm.

More fire from ahead that seemed to be coming from behind several pickup trucks parked near the plane. There was gunfire coming from the left as well, from down the tree line. That had to be Travers.

As Troy rose to his knees and aimed at one of the guards standing behind the bed of a black pickup truck on the left, he spotted a man who resembled Jacob Gadanz climbing awkwardly out of a green sedan that had just skidded to a stop beside the plane. The man wore a white suit and was carrying a large briefcase, and when he finally made it out of the car, he labored toward the steps leading up to the fuselage.

Daniel Gadanz, Troy realized. Big, dark, and extremely heavyset, just like Jacob — exactly as Jacob had described his younger brother. It had to be Daniel, and they could not let him get away, so Troy made the decision. He aimed low, squeezed the trigger, and put the man down even though he wasn’t brandishing a weapon. Two guards raced for the man in the white suit even as he was still falling, picked him up roughly off the tarmac, and dragged his limp form up the jet’s steps as Troy laced the steps with another burst of fire. The two guards toppled from the stairs back onto the cement like bowling pins. But someone inside the plane reached out and dragged the big man in the bright white suit up the last two steps and into the plane. The twin engines roared, and the jet lurched forward.

Troy jumped to his feet. He was going to try to shoot the jet’s tires out. But as he rose up he became aware of a man racing toward him through the trees from the right. He started to turn in the direction of the oncoming attacker, but he realized that the other man was going to have a clean shot before he could swing the MP5 far enough around.

“Have you been through the townhouse completely?”

“Yes.”

Bill had sent another RCS agent to check out the townhome. “Were there any signs of a struggle?”

“No.”

He marveled at how the man simply followed orders and answered questions. He must have been intensely curious about what was going on, but he wasn’t giving that away at all. He was being a good soldier. “Did you find what we talked about?”

“No.”

“Have you heard anything about the woman?”

“Nothing, and I checked everywhere. Her car’s here, it looks like all her clothes are here, and the dog’s hungry as hell. The thing wouldn’t leave me alone, so I fed it. I even called her kids and they hadn’t seen her. I told them I was an insurance guy following up on Roger’s death and that I must have had the wrong number. Nobody’s seen her.”

Bill took a deep, aggravated breath. “Okay thanks. Talk to you later.”

As he ended the call, Bill realized they had only one option at this point. They had to go to the peak.

He had no idea if Nancy Carlson had given up the location of the Executive Order that Roger always kept. He wasn’t even certain Nancy knew where that original was located, if she even knew what Executive Order 1973 1-E was — Roger had never mentioned anything about telling her. But Bill felt he had to operate under the assumption that someone who was unfriendly to the cause now had that original, and he had to retrieve the second one. Without at least one of the originals, Red Cell Seven was in deep trouble.

Just as Troy prepared for the awful sensation of bullets tearing into his body, the man racing toward him screamed, spun violently to one side, and then tumbled backward to the ground, throwing his gun into the air with his arms outstretched above his head as he went down into the weeds.

Shane Maddux appeared from behind a tree and then sprinted to where the man lay. He calmly put another bullet into the man’s head and then jogged to where Troy was standing.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Maddux grinned. “Not even a thank you?”

“Thank you. Now what the hell are you doing here?”

“I broke Kaashif. He told me all about this place and what goes on here.”

Travers had told Troy twice that he was convinced Kaashif would never break. But Maddux had proven that theory dead wrong. “Of course you did,” Troy said as he watched Travers sprint toward them from the left over Maddux’s shoulder. “You could break anyone.”

“Given long enough.”

“But how did you know where—”

“Your father told me.”

Troy gazed at Maddux steadily as the three Apache helicopters roared overhead. They were no more than fifty feet off the ground, and the rotors created hurricane-force gales beneath them, whipping Troy’s long, dirty-blond hair about his face.

Bill had released Maddux from that cell at the house and told him where to find Kaashif, Troy realized. Whatever Maddux had on his father had to be devastating, and Troy had a terrible feeling he knew what it was. It sickened him to think about it.

As Travers got to where he and Maddux were standing, the choppers laid down an intense fire on the open ground around the barn in which the Learjet had been hidden, destroying the pickup trucks and killing the guards hiding behind them as the vehicles exploded violently. Then the Apaches moved on toward the outbuildings and the complex’s main house in the distance.

As Troy, Travers, and Maddux broke from the trees, Troy headed toward the briefcase on the tarmac. The one Daniel Gadanz had dropped when he’d been shot. After grabbing it, Troy followed Travers and Maddux past the barn toward the main house. As he ran, he glanced up into the sky to the south. He could still barely see the jet’s far-off silver shape against the clear blue sky as it streaked away toward the Keys. He wondered if Daniel Gadanz was alive up there. He’d aimed low on purpose, for the legs, not to kill but to wound, because Daniel was worth infinitely more to the DEA alive than dead. Interrogated correctly, Gadanz could convey priceless information that would significantly interrupt U.S. cocaine traffic.

But he’d escaped — for now, anyway.

The two-story mansion was ripped and burning from Apache fire as Troy, Travers, and Maddux approached. Still, someone opened fire from an upstairs window, and they dove for cover behind several large live oaks growing in the front yard.

“No reason to be heroes!” Travers yelled from behind his tree. “We’ve got two hundred special-forces madmen heading this way. And I’m thinking those Apache flyboys are about to do more damage to the mansion. I don’t want to get in their way.”

“Agreed,” Troy yelled back as the choppers circled back for another pass.

As they maneuvered, Troy and Travers quickly donned bright yellow jerseys they had stowed in their backpacks. They hadn’t worn them during the initial assault because they didn’t want to make easy targets for the defenders. But now they didn’t want to be shot by friendly fire — from the choppers or the troops. The Apache pilots and the special-forces soldiers knew not to fire on anyone wearing yellow. Maddux would be safe as long as he was near one of them.

As Troy finished pulling the shirt over his head, he spotted someone sprinting away from the back of the mansion toward the orange grove. “Major!”

Travers glanced over from behind the tree he was using to shield himself from the sniper on the mansion’s second floor. “Yeah?”

“Keep this with you,” Troy yelled, tossing the suitcase to Travers from behind the tree he was using. “Do not lose it.” Then he turned and took off after whoever was fleeing.

Bullets spanked the dry ground around Troy as he ran, but stopped when he made it to the side of the mansion.

As he raced into the orange grove, Troy picked up the prey’s trail quickly. Troy was an expert tracker, and he spotted broken twigs and trampled grass most people wouldn’t notice. He could see the trail leading away through the trees ahead of him as clearly as if the person had left footprints in a field of virgin snow.

As he jogged ahead, he noticed the trail of broken flora ending at a tree thirty yards up. So he ducked right, sprinted three rows of trees over, went left, and then headed up this tree line, keeping track of the tree at which the trail had ended by counting trees in this row.

As soon as they’d gotten here to the plantation, he and Travers had noticed that the orange grove was perfectly and symmetrically laid out. Trees were planted in seemingly never-ending straight lines spaced twenty feet apart. And each tree in the line was planted exactly parallel to the tree in the line on either side of it.

Troy moved well past the tree the path had ended under, turned left, counted three rows, turned left again, and moved carefully ahead with his MP5 leading the way. His eyes narrowed as he focused in on the tree. The bottom branches of this one fell almost to the ground, and it was loaded down with fruit. But he could still make out the form of someone hiding in the lower branches — someone wearing a dress. It looked like she was, anyway.

The woman was facing in the opposite direction, in the direction he’d been coming before he’d detoured around this tree. Troy was coming up behind her, and he noticed a blood trail coming down her leg. She’d been hit by Apache fire inside the mansion and taken off. She was holding a gun, he could see as he closed in. Aiming it back the way she’d come from.

Could he shoot a woman? It would be as bad as shooting a child. She was no doubt terrified, perhaps even innocent. But she was aiming a gun, trying to ambush him.

The doubts churned through Troy’s mind as he moved forward deliberately, step by soundless step. Had he lost his edge? Would he hesitate at the critical moment? Could he really do this?

The figure in the tree whipped around suddenly — and Troy pulled the trigger, nailing the would-be assassin in the chest. The figure dropped heavily to the ground with a loud groan, and Troy raced the last few yards, burst through the branches, and kicked the gun away from the person’s quivering hands.

“My God,” he whispered, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket and scrolling quickly to the pictures he’d been sent by the DEA while he and Travers were flying down here this morning.

He gazed at one of the photos for several moments, then down at the face of the person on the ground. He’d just shot Emilio Vasquez. The coward had tried to escape dressed as a woman.

CHAPTER 33

“Congratulations, Troy. You risked everything, and you won. The country will never know what a hero you are.” Bill hesitated. “But I do.”

“I don’t care about the country knowing. I care about it being safe.”

Troy and Bill were sitting alone in Bill’s big study at the house in Connecticut. Bill was behind the large platform desk, and Troy was relaxing in a leather wingback chair before it. The walls were made of dark-wood paneling, it was night, and the only light was coming from a dim bulb in a floor lamp in one corner of the room.

The tables and credenzas were littered with financial tombstones — Lucite-encased announcements of the many Wall Street deals Bill had done during his career — as well as photographs of Bill shaking hands with politicians and sports stars.

It was like a shrine in here, Troy figured as he looked around. “How many of the death squad members have been arrested so far?” he asked as he glanced at a photo of a young Bill Jensen wearing his Marine uniform and shaking hands with President Reagan. He promised himself that if he ever had an office like this, there wouldn’t be a single self-portrait in it.

“Thirty-three,” Bill answered. “According to the information that was in that briefcase of Daniel Gadanz’s you grabbed off the tarmac in Florida, there were a total of forty-four death squad members. Four of them died in Minneapolis the first day of the attacks, and as I said, thirty-three more have been arrested in the last twelve hours. That leaves seven of them still unaccounted for. But with the data from the briefcase and the pictures of those seven men being flashed constantly on TV, they won’t be at large for long.” Bill grinned proudly. “The country’s breathing a sigh of relief, son. There have been no more attacks, and I don’t think there will be. You and Wilson Travers are the reasons why. Red Cell Seven came through again.”

“There were lots of people involved, Dad. Those special-forces guys with us today in Florida were studs. So were the Apache pilots. They deserve the credit.”

“Not like you and Travers.”

“How did Daniel know it was time to run?” Bill was being too effusive with his praise, and it made Troy uncomfortable. It felt forced, like his father was trying to make up for something. “Did Jacob send him a message?”

“Yes.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Fear. Jacob knew Daniel would find out sooner or later who the rat was. Maybe he figured his brother would go easier on him if he had at least sent a warning. Maybe he wasn’t really trying to save himself. Maybe he was just hoping Daniel would spare his girls, that he wouldn’t take revenge on them thanks to the message at the last minute.”

“We’re going to protect them, right?”

“Absolutely,” Bill confirmed. “They are already deep into the program, along with their mother.”

“And Jacob’s in custody? He’s not going free, is he? I sure hope not,” Troy said firmly.

“Jacob’s dead.”

Troy had been gazing at the antlered head of an elk, which was mounted on the wall to his left. That elk had been there ever since Troy could remember, and its presence had always irritated him. It wasn’t right to kill animals just to hang them on a wall. He’d known that by the time he was ten years old. Why didn’t Bill?

“Dead?”

“He jumped out of a van the Feds were transporting him in from the townhouse in Manassas,” Bill explained. “It happened on the Dulles Toll Road outside DC. The van was doing seventy at the time.”

It occurred to Troy that perhaps Jacob had help jumping out of the van, but he didn’t care. “Jacob got what he deserved. And I’m assuming Daniel got away.”

“He did. I understand we tracked the Learjet all the way to Paraguay by satellite. We scrambled two fighters from a base in Tampa, but the Lear was out of U.S. airspace too fast to do anything.”

“Yeah, but—”

“And too far away.”

“Too bad.”

“You got Emilio Vasquez. That was a great catch.”

“Is he going to live?” Troy asked.

“You got him good through the right lung, but the doctors say he’ll survive. The information he has should prove very helpful.”

Troy shook his head. “Vasquez won’t talk. You know that, Dad. And the usual channels can’t do what they need to do to get him to—”

“I’m working on that. I think RCS will get custody of him soon. The DEA will help us with that. They’re very appreciative of what you and Travers did. They don’t give a rat’s ass about President Dorn’s kinder, gentler agenda. They are like us. They understand the lengths to which we must go. They understand that it’s a guerrilla war, which cannot be waged with decorum. The war on drugs is very much like the war on terrorism. The people at the DEA laugh at President Dorn.”

“Good.”

“I heard you saw Jennie before you went to Florida.”

“How’d you hear that?”

“I called her. She told me. I like her, Troy. I hope you two keep in touch.” Bill turned his head slightly to the side. “What’s wrong, son?”

“What do you mean?”

“You seem…preoccupied. Is everything all right? You should be a very happy man.”

Troy thought long and hard before he spoke. “I’m considering resigning from Red Cell Seven.”

Bill pursed his lips tightly. “Does this have anything to do with Little Jack?”

It surprised Troy when his father zeroed immediately in on the issue. Spending time with his young sons had never been a priority for Bill. “Maybe.”

“Take your time with that decision. Once you leave, you can’t come back.”

“I don’t want L.J. to be without a mother and a father growing up. Mom’s doing a great job, and I appreciate it…but still.”

“Troy, you shouldn’t let—”

“Even if I never have another gun aimed at me, I’ll be gone all the time if I stay with RCS, Dad.”

“It’s a huge sacrifice. There’s no doubt.”

“I’ll never see my boy.”

“You have a responsibility to your country,” Bill argued gently. “Not many people can do what you can. If you leave Red Cell Seven, this country becomes weaker.”

“I have a responsibility to my son as well. He needs me.”

“It’s a hard choice, Troy. I’m not about to say it isn’t.”

“I’ll never see L.J.,” Troy repeated. “Worse, he’ll never see me. I know how that feels, and I don’t want him knowing.”

Bill grimaced.

Troy felt bad for launching that verbal missile, but it had to be said. It had been a long time coming. “You knew about the plot to kill President Dorn all along. Didn’t you, Dad?”

“It was Shane Maddux’s idea,” Bill spoke up sharply.

“But in the end, you and Carlson backed it.”

“Yes, we did,” Bill admitted. “Let’s be brutally honest here. President Dorn’s a very liberal politician. But even worse, he’s a weak man. Down deep I think he understands what has to be done to protect this country. But he won’t do it. The Holiday Mall Attacks are a perfect example. We deal with the chaos, and he still wants to do away with us. And things are only going to get worse from here,” he continued. “Today it’s drug billions partnering with religious extremists. Who knows what it’ll be tomorrow. RCS’s survival is essential if the country is going to be prepared for whatever it turns out to be. We can’t have a man in the Oval Office who wants to destroy us. Full stop.”

“So you kill him?”

Bill stared at Troy steadily but said nothing.

“Are you going to try again?” Troy couldn’t believe he was asking that question.

Still, Bill didn’t answer.

“Did you cut Maddux loose after the assassination attempt?” Troy finally asked.

“We had to. Roger and I couldn’t have the cell thinking we endorsed the shooting. That could have caused dissension in the ranks. It was strategic. Maddux understood.”

“Protecting this country rules his life. It’s the only thing he really cares about, the only thing that matters. You turned your back on him, Dad. You cut loose your loyalty to him for your own gain.”

“No, for the country’s gain. And like I said, he understood.”

“You made it sound like he alone was responsible for the shooting.”

“There was a bigger picture.”

“Now who sounds like a politician?”

“Why are you defending Shane Maddux so hard? He killed Lisa. You say he killed Jack. Why do you care about him so much?”

Troy took a deep breath. “He saved my life in Florida this afternoon. I’m sitting here now only because of his talents and his devotion to this country. If not for him I would have joined Jack today.”

Bill nodded. “Ah,” he murmured, “I get it now.”

“Jack died because of you, Dad, not because of Shane. Maybe Shane shot him, but you lit the fuse to that execution. Jack went to Alaska to show you how much he loved this family because you made him feel so terrible about who he was for all those years…and who he wasn’t. At least, you made him think he wasn’t. He’s dead because you didn’t care.”

“And a lot of people are alive today because he did go to Alaska, including you. And because I do care, deeply.” Bill hesitated. “There’s something you need to know about…” His voice trailed off.

“About what?”

“Never mind.”

“Come on, Dad. What were you going to say? I need to know.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I want to hear what you were going to—”

“No,” Bill said sternly. “There’s something much more important we need to talk about now.”

“What is it?”

“I need you and Major Travers to go on another mission right away. I’ve already spoken to Travers about it, and he’s agreed. You must lead the mission because I can only truly trust you. But I can’t send you alone. It would be too dangerous.”

President Dorn eased into the big chair behind the desk with help from Baxter. It was the first time he’d sat in anything but that damn wheelchair in a long time, and it felt good. The wheelchair had served its purpose well, and it should be saved for its historic significance. It should probably go to the Smithsonian so people could appreciate his courage and conviction. But he had no more use for it than that.

“Feel good, sir?” Baxter asked cheerfully as he sat in the chair in front of the desk.

“Very good.” Dorn exhaled heavily. “It feels incredible to have these death squads stopped, too.”

“Absolutely. I got another call right before I came in here. They caught two more of them in Missouri. We’re down to only five outstanding. I think it’s safe to say the danger has passed. People will come back out from their burrows.”

“Excellent.” Dorn intended to put Baxter’s mind at ease quickly. “But it doesn’t change my view on Red Cell Seven, Stewart.”

“Thank God,” Baxter said loudly as relief spread through him like a wildfire through a bone-dry forest. “I was worried you might be rethinking your strategy with those bastards. You know, what with Troy Jensen leading the charge down in Florida today.”

“I don’t give a damn. RCS must be destroyed. It’s the only way.” Dorn’s eyes narrowed. “Is our plan still in place?”

Baxter nodded. “Yes, sir. I’ll be leaving in a few minutes.”

“You and Travers are going to Wyoming,” Bill explained, “to the Wind River Range in the western part of Wyoming, specifically to Gannett Peak. It’s the highest peak in the state.”

“Why are we going there?”

“You know why.”

“Protect the peak,” Troy whispered. “You told President Dorn in the residence the other day you didn’t know where the original Executive Orders were. But you did. You lied to him.”

“Grow up, son. We all knew what was going on in that room.”

“So one of the original orders is hidden on Gannett Peak.”

“Yes. And I’ll give you its exact location immediately before you leave here tonight.”

“What about the other one? The one not hidden on Gannett Peak?” Troy asked. “Where is it?”

“I honestly don’t know. I never did. But my gut tells me President Dorn has it now.”

“Why?”

“Roger Carlson’s wife, Nancy, is missing. No one has seen or heard from her in days, even her children. I believe she knew where the other original was, and Dorn made her pay the ultimate price for that knowledge.”

“Do you really think he would go that far to destroy us? I can’t see him killing a woman to get possession of something.”

“You underestimate President Dorn, son. He is weak, and he is a bad liberal, but he is not above having people get their hands very dirty for him. In the end, he is not unlike us.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“He’ll use any means he has to in order to get what he wants. But his objectives are not as honorable as ours. He’s concerned about himself, and that’s basically all.”

“Where is Karen?” Troy asked after a few moments.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ve called her over and over, Dad, but she doesn’t call back. If you know where—”

“I don’t know,” Bill interrupted sharply. “Now, will you go to Wyoming for me and bring back that original Executive Order? Will you go with Major Travers? It’s absolutely essential that you do, if you still believe in Red Cell Seven.”

Of course he would. Bill knew that. “If you’ll answer one question honestly for me, I’ll go.”

Bill stared across the desk for a long time before he answered. “All right, one question.”

“What happened to Rita Hayes?”

Baxter parked the car in the alley, turned off the headlights, climbed out, checked both ways through the shadows, and then hurried inside the abandoned building through a side door. This was a dangerous neighborhood in southeast Washington, but he couldn’t have anyone else do this for him. It had to be him and him alone.

“Stop.”

Baxter did so as soon as he heard the voice. Fortunately he recognized it right away. “Okay, I’m stopping,” he said, holding his arms up, though he didn’t know why. It just seemed like the thing to do. “What’s the deal?” he asked when Wilson Travers appeared out of the shadows in front of him. “What’s going on?”

“We’re going west. We’re headed to somewhere in Wyoming, but I don’t know any more than that yet.”

Troy stepped outside the mansion and onto the back porch in the bitter cold so he had privacy. He pulled his cell phone out and dialed Karen again. But once again it went straight to her voice mail.

CHAPTER 34

Snow and sleet whipped against Troy’s and Travers’s unshaven faces. The flakes and pellets were blown chaotically about by powerful gusts, which at times exceeded fifty miles an hour. After a long and grueling backcountry trek, they’d finally made their way to Bonny Pass, which was high and deep inside the breathtakingly beautiful and remote Wind River Range of western Wyoming. Gannett Peak, the highest point in the range — and the state — soared slightly over 13,800 feet above sea level, and was another thousand feet above them. If not for the heavy cloud cover and the snow and sleet lashing the two men, they might have been in its impressive shadow. Despite being so close to the massive mountaintop on this late December afternoon, they couldn’t see it through the gloom even though it towered directly above them. Thanks to the awful weather they hadn’t seen any of the peaks in the range since they’d arrived.

From here on the Bonny Pass apex, the path to Gannett Peak’s narrow, rocky ridge rose steeply up across either the Dinwoody or Gooseneck Glacier. Both of those routes involved treacherous, technical climbs, especially fighting the kind of harsh weather western Wyoming had been buffeted by the last few days. It would have been impossible to make it up that last thousand feet right now — probably for another few days, according to the Weather Channel forecast — but fortunately, Troy and Travers didn’t have to go all the way up there to “protect the peak.”

Troy knew that, but as far as he was aware, Travers did not. As far as he was aware, Travers had no idea what they were even doing here. His father had sworn he’d told Travers only that he must accompany Troy west on a crucial RCS mission — and that was it.

Maybe Travers had put two and two together by now — he was a smart man. Maybe he realized how this mission somehow involved that traditional Red Cell Seven greeting, and maybe he’d even pieced this thing together further than that. But it had been three days since they’d left the East Coast, and Travers hadn’t said a word about it. He hadn’t even asked specifically about the mission’s objective — which Troy found odd and a little suspicious.

There was probably no reason to worry, Troy figured as they slogged through the snow together. But he couldn’t help himself. It seemed like he was overly suspicious, even of people he should be able to trust. It wasn’t much of a way to live, when he really thought about it — which made the decision he’d come to, early on in the trek, easier to live with. So had the picture of Little Jack that he carried with him all the time now.

They were forty miles from the trailhead and far from anything remotely civilized as darkness descended on the Wind River Range. They’d flown into Casper three days ago; four-wheeled it west to the trailhead from that small city in the middle of the Cowboy State; been forced to hold at the trailhead for a full twenty-four hours before beginning the ascent, because of a total-whiteout snowstorm; then camped last night ten miles from here at frigid, windswept Lower Titcomb Lake. It had been one of the coldest nights of Troy’s life despite being wrapped up inside a North Face Dark Star, which, in turn, was wrapped inside a tent. But now they were finally closing in on their target. It would have been so much faster to take a chopper up here, but the weather had precluded any chance of that — and they couldn’t wait for it to clear. Troy couldn’t take the chance of someone else getting here first.

Soon after starting the trek, they’d encountered a small herd of elk on the trail. The animals were huge and amazingly magnificent. As he’d stared at them from less than twenty yards, Troy had wondered how his father could shoot one just to put the majestic animal’s head on a wall. In that moment he’d made his final decision about whether to stay with Red Cell Seven when this was all over.

Troy checked their position on the GPS device he was carrying on his belt. It was supposed to be accurate to within five feet.

“Decus septum,” Travers spoke up loudly as gales whipped through the invisible peaks above them with hair-raising howls. “Protect the peak.”

Troy turned slowly back around to face the major. The cave was less than a hundred feet away according to the device. “What did you just say?”

“Protect the peak,” Travers repeated, gesturing up and to his left. “Gannett Peak is right up there. I’m no idiot.”

“Of course not.”

“So, what are we doing here, Troy? What’s going on? I think I deserve to know. I’ve been waiting for you to volunteer the 411 for three days. But now I figure I’ll never know unless I ask. It kind of pisses me off, too.”

Troy didn’t hesitate. “We’re here to retrieve an original of Executive Order 1973 One-E signed by Richard Milhous Nixon.” Travers was right. He did deserve to know what this trek into a blizzard was about. In the last week Travers had more than proven his loyalty and dedication. Troy’s paranoia was unwarranted. “That Order established Red Cell Seven, and it’s essential that we recover it. RCS’s future may depend on the success of our mission. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right away. I understand why you’re angry.”

Travers gazed back at Troy through the gathering darkness. “Then let’s get it and get the hell out of here. I’ve had enough snow and wind in the last few days to last me a lifetime. I’m from Alabama. I can’t stand this stuff.”

Despite the snow, they found the cave easily. The opening was exactly where Bill had described it — between two tall rocky outcroppings that formed a rudimentary arch on the right wall of the cut as they were headed toward the peak. If Troy hadn’t known the cave existed and exactly where to look for it, he never would have found it. To access it, you had to go around the side of one of the outcroppings and be within a few feet of the opening to spot it. But with the GPS device, finding it had been relatively easy.

It was only a few feet tall and wide, but once they’d crawled inside they were able to stand up with no problem. The cave was seven feet high and ten feet across. With both of their flashlights brightly illuminating the space, Troy began tracking the left wall, paying close attention to a piece of paper Bill had given him and what was scrawled on it in pencil as he moved deeper into the mountain.

Fifty feet into the cave, Troy’s heart began to thud when he spotted two initials etched on a rock at eye level — RC, for Roger Carlson — exactly as the paper and his father’s verbal directions indicated.

Troy motioned for Travers to help him, and the two men fought the rock for a few seconds before finally managing to pull it away from the cave wall, revealing a small space and a metal box behind where the rock had been. Troy grabbed the box, opened it, and pointed the flashlight down. Inside was a tightly sealed clear plastic bag, and inside the bag was the original Executive Order. Troy held the bag up so Travers could see it, too, and it seemed obvious what the contents were. Nixon’s signature was at the bottom of the page in flowing letters, and the words on the page weren’t difficult to read — or interpret.

“Jesus,” he whispered as the pounding of blood in his body intensified. He was holding a piece of history. “This is it, Major.”

“I’m sorry, Troy.”

“What?” Troy called over his shoulder as he continued to stare at the document, transfixed by its importance.

“I said I’m sorry. But I have no choice. I have to do this.”

Troy whipped around, and his mouth fell open as he realized what was happening. Travers had backed off a few steps and was aiming a Taser directly at him.

“What…what the hell?”

“I need to take that with me,” Travers said, nodding down at the clear bag and its precious contents. “But you’re staying. I’m going to tie you up and leave you in here. I’ll send someone up for you when I’m back to the trailhead. I promise.”

“I’ll die.”

“There’s that possibility. It’s a bad deal, Troy, but that’s the way it’s going to be.”

“Why are you doing this?” Troy asked incredulously.

“Stewart Baxter told me everything.”

Troy gazed at Travers, even more perplexed. “You met with Baxter?”

“Yeah, and he convinced me that your father and Roger Carlson knew about and backed the assassination attempt on President Dorn. That it wasn’t just Shane Maddux’s idea. It was a whole RCS deal. It came down from the top.”

Troy was convinced that wasn’t true and that it had originally been Maddux’s idea. But did it really matter? In the end, Carlson and his father had definitely backed the plan. “How would Baxter know that?”

“Maddux told him.”

“What?” That made no sense at all. “Baxter knows Shane Maddux?”

“Apparently, his kid and Maddux go way back. Anyway, Baxter told me all about the two original Executive Orders. Baxter had no idea where this one was, but I figured this was what we were coming out here for. Carlson spent his summers out here as a teenager, and he was a mountain climber. He knew this area very well. I checked it out. It all made sense.”

“Does President Dorn have the other original?”

“Yes.”

“You know what that means, don’t you?”

“What?”

“It means Baxter had Carlson’s wife killed.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“She’s missing. No one’s seen her for a week. Baxter must have had her killed. It’s the only explanation, Major. President Dorn may even know about it.”

“No way,” Travers said firmly, raising the Taser. “I don’t believe that, either.”

“Major, if you take this original and give it to Baxter, you’re destroying Red Cell Seven forever.”

“If RCS is trying to assassinate the president of the United States, then that’s what I should be doing. That’s what my instincts tell me, and they’re usually right.”

“No,” Troy shot back. “Think about what we accomplished in Florida. Think about how many people we saved.”

Travers swallowed hard as he gazed steadily at Troy. “It’s…it’s a hard decision. I’ll grant you that, Troy.”

“Don’t do this, Major. Forget about me; I don’t matter in all of this. But think about the country. You’re putting it in terrible danger if you take this Order to the president.”

He was sounding exactly like his father now, but Bill was right. Not about assassinating President Dorn, but about everything else. Troy understood that now. Bill and Carlson should not have backed the assassination attempt, but Red Cell Seven had to survive. It was too important to national security. What had happened in Florida had proved that to him. Maybe RCS wasn’t for him personally anymore, maybe he’d lost the edge. But the country absolutely needed the cell. It was a vital piece of the intelligence puzzle. Traditional U.S. intel units might have taken weeks, maybe even months, finding Daniel Gadanz and the death squads. Many more people would have died. More schools probably would have been attacked. The economy would have imploded. The spiral would have been catastrophic. The enemies would have won.

“You’re a good man, Major Travers,” Troy said. “Don’t weaken the country you love so much. President Dorn doesn’t understand what needs to be—”

The dart struck Troy in the side of the neck, and he dropped like a sack of dirt.

Travers slid the Taser quickly back into his belt, then leaned down and picked up the bag Troy had just dropped. “I promise I’ll have someone come back and get you, kid.” He slipped the bag into his coat pocket, grabbed a coiled length of rope from over his shoulder, and began to kneel down next to Troy’s shuddering frame. “I’m sorry, Troy. I don’t like—”

“Major Travers.”

Travers bolted up when he heard the voice coming from directly behind him in the cave. “Who the hell are you?” he demanded, turning quickly to face the person.

A man with dark good looks smiled an easy half smile as he calmly leveled a .44 Magnum at Travers from ten feet away. “I’m Jack Jensen, Major Travers. Troy’s older brother.” Jack nodded to his right as an attractive brunette moved up beside him. She was training a .44 Mag on Travers as well. “And this is Karen Morris. She’s going to be in charge of you for the next few minutes while I take care of my drooling kid brother. I’d advise you to do exactly as she orders. She’s the one who saved you in North Carolina. As I believe you saw there at the Kohler farm, she’s good with a gun. She’s very accurate and not at all afraid to pull the trigger.”

“We’ve got to get going,” Troy muttered as he sat with his back against the cave wall, right beneath the spot that had hidden the Executive Order for so many years. It had been nearly half an hour since Travers had tased him, and he was feeling better. “Seriously.”

“You need a few more minutes,” Jack countered with a wry grin as he crouched beside his younger brother. “Seriously.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” Troy murmured as he glanced at Karen.

She was a few yards away keeping an eye on Travers. Jack had hog-tied him and put him into Troy’s Dark Star sleeping bag. They were going to leave him here — as he had been going to leave Troy. They couldn’t trust him on the trail.

“I’m not really here,” Jack answered. “You’re hallucinating, Troy. I’m just a figment of your imagination.”

“Thank God. I was worried there for a second I might have to share Mom and Dad’s estate with you.” He glanced up into his brother’s eyes. They’d already gone through the initial emotional backslapping scene as soon as Troy’s tremors had settled enough for him to grab Jack. “Seriously, what are you doing here?”

“Watching out for you. Someone has to. You can’t seem to do it for yourself.”

“I mean,” Troy said quietly, “on earth. What are you doing alive?”

Jack chuckled. “Oh, that.”

“Yeah, that.”

Jack’s grin faded. “It was all Dad’s idea. He figured Maddux would come after me, so he beat the bastard to the punch. I was wearing Kevlar on the porch that afternoon.”

“But I saw the blood coming from your mouth.”

“It wasn’t real. Just one of those prop cherries.”

“But you—”

“You took off across the field right after the shot to chase down the shooter. I was into the ambulance and gone by the time you got back.”

“That’s right,” Troy murmured as he thought back on it. “It was instinct.”

“The plan was for Dad to yell at you to do that, but he didn’t even have to.”

“No, he sure didn’t.” Troy thought back on how Bill had been about to tell him something in the office. This had to be it. But in the RCS tradition, he’d kept the secret. “I was sure I could run the bastard down.”

“The only people who knew were Dad, the guy who shot me, and the EMTs. Even Mom didn’t know.”

“They didn’t even tell Karen,” she called out loudly. Her voice echoed in the cave. “And when everything calms down again, your brother and I are going to have a very long conversation about that, Troy.”

Jack laughed. “Sorry, baby.”

“You ever do that to me again, Jack, and I’ll shoot you myself. And you won’t have Kevlar on when I do.”

“Good to know, Karen.” Jack touched his chest. “I’ve still got a bruise from where the bullet hit me, even with the Kevlar.”

“I bet.” Troy glanced up as it occurred to him. “So you were the one who got Maddux in the cemetery. You were the one who took him to the house and put him in that cell in the basement.”

“I was keeping an eye on Karen from the shadows, too. I really think he would have killed her if I hadn’t shown up.”

“I think you’re right,” Troy agreed.

Jack turned his head to call to Karen over his shoulder. “Maybe because I saved her life that night, she’ll go a little easier on me when we have that talk.”

“Maybe,” Karen called back. “Maybe not.”

“You know Dad let him go,” Troy said somberly.

“Really?”

“You know why?”

Jack shook his head.

“There’s a tape of Dad and Rita Hayes,” Troy said quietly so only Jack could hear him.

“As in the Rita Hayes who was Dad’s EA all those years?”

“As in that one.”

“The Rita Hayes who’s missing?”

“Yes.”

“Is it the kind of tape I think it is?” Jack asked hesitantly.

“Yeah, and Maddux has it.”

Jack grimaced. “Terrible.”

“It gets worse.” Troy took a deep breath. “I think Dad had Rita killed,” he said softly. “He thought she had the tape, but it was Maddux.”

They were quiet for a long time.

“I can’t believe it,” Jack finally murmured.

“You were lucky to be dead.”

“I guess.” Jack shook his head. “Well, it let me be the one to correspond with Jennie. She didn’t know who I was, so it wasn’t like she could tell anyone I’d faked my murder.” Jack raised an eyebrow. “She’s a nice young woman.”

“Yeah, well—”

“We’re just lucky Lisa never showed her a picture of me.”

“True.”

“She likes you a lot, Troy.”

“I like her, too.”

“Good.” Jack patted Troy’s shoulder, then gestured at Travers. “I feel bad leaving him here. I mean, I understand why he sided with Baxter. But I don’t see any other way.”

“There is no other way,” Troy agreed, making it to his feet with Jack’s help. “He’s a good man, but we can’t take the chance that he’d try to grab the Order on the trail.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Jack asked.

“Yeah, let’s get out of here.”

“Maybe we should stay here in the cave tonight. It’s already dark out.”

“I don’t want to wait. I want to go through the night.” Troy tapped his coat on top of the pocket that held the bag with the Order inside. “We’ve got to get this thing out of here and safe as soon as possible.”

“Okay.”

Jack turned, but Troy caught him by the arm. “Thanks, brother,” he murmured as they hugged again. “It seems like you’re always saving my ass.”

“Hey, what’s an older brother for?”

Troy, Jack, and Karen had gone only twenty feet from the cave opening when six forms appeared out of the snow that was whipping wildly through the high rock walls of Bonny Pass. The assailants were on them before they could even draw their guns.

“Get off her!” Jack shouted when Karen cried out in pain from beside him. One of the men had clasped her roughly by the upper arms and squeezed them together behind her back, stretching her shoulders terribly. “I swear I will—”

“You will what?” a seventh man demanded as he appeared in front of them out of the gloom. He was short and wiry, even with the cold-weather gear.

“Shane Maddux,” Jack whispered in amazement.

“Wasn’t I supposed to have killed you?” Maddux asked sarcastically. “With a rifle from three hundred yards, right, Jack?” He took a few more steps forward so now he was directly in front of Jack and very close. “You’re looking pretty good for being dead.”

“I guess your aim wasn’t that great.”

Maddux grinned smugly. “Let me tell you something. If I wanted to kill you, I would.”

“How did you know we were here?” Troy demanded.

“Your father told me. I had something he wanted very badly. Two days ago we traded that for the information I wanted. It was a good trade. Here I am.”

“You wanted to know where the original of the Executive Order was hidden.”

“The one Roger Carlson wasn’t keeping on hand,” Maddux confirmed. “I told Bill that if he tried to get in touch with you after the trade, I’d kill all of you when I got here. Judging by your reaction to our arrival, Bill kept his word. He’s a wise man.” Maddux took several steps to the side in the snow so that now he was standing in front of Troy. “Give me what I want.”

“You’re not getting anything, Shane.”

Maddux nodded to the men standing behind Troy. As they tightened their grip on Troy, Maddux reached inside Troy’s coat and pulled out the clear plastic bag containing the Executive Order. “Well, that was easy enough. I guess now I can—”

Suddenly Karen broke free. As she stumbled forward, she reached for the .44 inside her coat, turned as she fell into the snow, and fired back at the man who’d been holding her and was now coming at her. She fired once, killing him instantly with a bullet through the chest.

Troy and Jack struggled violently to free themselves as Karen turned her gun on the men holding the brothers. She hit one of Jack’s captors in the shoulder and one of Troy’s in the side, and the brothers broke free.

As she swung the .44 Magnum toward Shane Maddux, he shot her in the head with his favorite pistol — a Winchester .22.

CHAPTER 35

Troy and Jack sat in a waiting room of New York — Presbyterian Hospital in Midtown Manhattan. It had been a week since all hell had broken loose on Bonny Pass and five days since Karen had been transported from a Casper, Wyoming, hospital to this facility in New York City on the Jensen G450. But she was still in intensive care. She hadn’t yet regained consciousness from the head wound, and her prognosis wasn’t good.

“The doctors here are the best in the world at what Karen needs, Jackson,” Troy spoke up, using the nickname he’d missed using so much. A nickname he thought he’d never use again. “Mom made sure of that while we were bringing Karen home.”

“I know.”

“She’ll make it.”

“I…I hope so,” Jack said haltingly. “But they’re not sure, brother.” He was leaning forward with his face in his hands as he sat on a couch opposite Troy’s chair. “I…I never should have let her come with me to Wyoming. I should have known better, Troy.”

“Remember, brother, I’ve known Karen longer than you have, a lot longer. She’s an awesome young woman, but she’s one of the most stubborn people in the world. Once she knew you were alive again, she wasn’t going to let you out of her sight. She loves you that much.”

Jack took a deep breath, rubbed water from his eyes, and then cleared his throat, embarrassed at his emotions, even in front of his brother. “That’s exactly what she said,” he agreed in a gritty voice after a few moments. “I love her that much, too.”

“I know.” Troy understood what Jack was thinking. “And if you hadn’t followed Travers and me out there with her, I’d be dead right now. Maddux wouldn’t have kept his promise to Dad. We both know that. It wouldn’t have been in his best interest to let me live, and he always acts in his own best interest.” Troy paused. “You saved my life, Jack…again.”

“Karen saved your life.”

“You both did.”

“And Maddux got away…again.”

“There’s nothing we could have done. He’s slick. We both know that.”

“And he has the Executive Order.”

Karen being shot was the worst part of what had happened. But Maddux escaping with the bag and its precious contents was a close second.

In the end, Troy, Karen, and Jack had shot three of Maddux’s accomplices before the other three had taken off into the gloom. Then they’d gone back into the cave and freed Travers, and each man had taken turns carrying Karen’s limp body down the mountain to Troy’s vehicle at the trailhead. They hadn’t stopped once for food or even rest until Karen was in the Casper hospital emergency room — after which they’d all gotten treatment themselves for exposure and dehydration.

“Where do you think Dad is?” Jack asked.

“I called First Manhattan. The woman I spoke to said he was taking two weeks off for a vacation in the Caribbean with Mom.” Troy glanced down the hallway. Cheryl was just coming back from changing Little Jack’s diaper. “We know that’s not true. He told Mom he was going on a business trip to Europe.”

“You think Mom knows it was a lie?”

Troy nodded. “Yeah, she’s too smart to be fooled anymore. But I don’t think she cares that much. I think she’s carrying what she cares about.”

“Where do you think Dad really is?”

“I don’t know, Jack. I’m not sure I care.”

President Dorn smiled serenely at the television as he and Baxter sat in the Oval Office watching the CNN news report. The anchor had just announced the capture of the last member of the death squads — and Dorn was getting all the credit.

He only had one of the Executive Orders, true. So Red Cell Seven was still legitimate. But sooner or later he’d get the other one. He’d learned long ago to enjoy huge victories in the moment, and this was most certainly one of those victories.

“You’re a hero,” Baxter said loudly. “The country adores you. You’ve solidified your legacy.”

Dorn’s smile grew wider. “I am a hero. And they should love me.”

“By the way, sir, Major Travers is—”

“Not yet, Stewart,” Dorn interrupted, still soaking in the accolades from the newspeople and from the series of interviews CNN had done in Washington and New York with citizens on the street. Everyone was being effusive with praise for the efficient and effective end to what had essentially been a nationwide hostage situation. When the report was over, Dorn looked over at Baxter. “Now what was that?”

Dorn didn’t give a damn about Wilson Travers. That was obvious. He probably didn’t even remember who Travers was. “What are you going to do about that other original of the Executive Order?” It was the first time Baxter could remember intentionally leaving off the word “sir” at the end of a question addressed to Dorn. Maybe taking this job had been a mistake after all.

“You’re going to find it for me, Stewart, and you’re going to find it for me quickly.” Dorn raised an eyebrow as he stared steadily at Baxter. “If you don’t, I’ll fire you.” He pointed at his chief of staff. “One way or the other I will crush Red Cell Seven. Do you understand me?”

“Roger and I shouldn’t have cut you loose the way we did, Shane. I’m sorry for that.”

Maddux nodded. “I’m glad to hear you say that, Bill, very glad. But why’d you do it? Why’d you tell the president I was behind the assassination attempt?” Maddux had explained to Bill his connection to Stewart Baxter, and therefore how he knew what Bill had divulged to Dorn. “I understand the cover story internally, for the rest of Red Cell Seven, but why give me away to the president? Why make me public enemy number one in the Oval Office?”

“When Roger found out you were the one behind sailing those LNG tankers at Boston and Virginia, he lost it. In the forty years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen him that angry before at anyone. He hated it that you’d gone outside the chain of command. He felt you’d put Red Cell Seven in a terrible position. And he believed that killing half a million people to make a point was wrong, even if your intention was strategically correct. He felt we had to cut you loose, because if it ever came out that you were the one behind those plots, RCS might have been finished despite Nixon’s Executive Order. He figured the chief justice of the United States might not care about an Executive Order at that point. But he thought if we could prove you’d gone rogue, we’d be okay.” Bill paused. “Red Cell Seven and the safety of the United States was everything to him, Shane. I think you were second, even in front of Nancy on some level. But it was a distant second.”

“I know. And it should have been that way. For us, loyalty to country must come before any personal fidelity. But why did you give me away to Dorn?” Maddux asked.

“I had to trade something sensitive in order to smoke the president out. He was making all this noise about getting behind Red Cell Seven. I was trying to build a bridge to get at the truth. The same way you were doing with Stewart Baxter. As it turns out, we were right for trying to assassinate Dorn. He was lying about his change of heart. He really was trying to shut down RCS. As far as I know, he still is.”

“Fine. But you had people looking for me,” Maddux said. “You had agents who were ordered to shoot me on sight. You weren’t just trading information. You were trying to eliminate me.”

Bill swallowed hard. For all he knew, Maddux was considering the ultimate punishment here. Admitting that he’d put agents on Maddux’s trail might hammer that last nail in the coffin and push Maddux over the edge. On the other hand, Maddux respected the truth.

“Did you really think they’d find me?” Maddux demanded.

“No.” It seemed like the thing to say. And they probably wouldn’t have. “What happened to Roger?” Bill asked quickly, trying to change the subject.

“I killed him. Then I drove his body back to Georgetown.” Maddux’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Did Dorn have Roger’s wife killed?”

“I don’t know for sure. All I do know is that Nancy’s still missing, and I doubt she’ll ever be found.”

“Bastard,” Maddux whispered. “That’s as good a reason as any to try again.”

Bill understood exactly what Maddux meant by that. He wanted to try again to assassinate Dorn. “What now, Shane? Where do we go from here?”

“You take Roger’s place,” Maddux said firmly. “You’re the natural choice to become the next leader of Red Cell Seven. And I become RCS’s Number Two.” He laughed softly. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to kill you.” He laughed a little louder. “Not yet, anyway.”

A wave of relief surged through Bill’s body. Not until now did he realize how much he’d been worried about exactly that possibility. “We’ve never had a Number Two before.”

“Well, we do now.” Maddux gestured at Bill. “You’ll have to resign from First Manhattan. You won’t have time to lead it and RCS. Besides, you basically have to go underground at this point. Dorn and Baxter will be trying to find you. They know we’ll be coming after them, so they’ll try to get us first. Us and the Order,” Maddux added. “Bottom line, you would have had to resign from First Manhattan anyway. They would have made certain of that, I’m sure.”

Maddux was probably right, Bill figured ruefully. “Have you spoken to Baxter again?”

“Only long enough to tell him that I have the Executive Order and that he and Dorn will never get it.”

Another wave of relief rolled through Bill. “Thank God,” he whispered. Maddux wouldn’t lie about having the Order.

“I want this to work,” Maddux said evenly. “We’ve had our differences, Bill, but I think we’re the only ones who can completely trust each other in the long run. Now, anyway. I think we finally get each other.”

Strangely, Bill understood exactly what Maddux meant.

“The safety and security of the United States is the most important thing to both of us,” Maddux continued. “Not many men can say that and truly mean it.”

“It’s true,” Bill agreed. “So what do we do with the last Executive Order, Shane? The physical document, I mean. Dorn will be using every means available to him to find it. If he does, he’ll have the ability to destroy us.”

“I’ll keep it,” Maddux said firmly.

“I’ll need to know where it is.”

Maddux nodded. “Okay, but only on one condition.”

“What?”

Maddux pushed open the metal door of the cell they were standing in front of. Its rusty hinges squeaked. “You prove to me you’re strong enough to be the leader of Red Cell Seven.”

“How?” Bill asked, following Maddux inside the cell. “What do I have to do?”

“This is Kaashif,” Maddux said, pointing at the young man who was hanging from the ceiling of the stone-walled room by his wrists.

“This is the one?”

“Yes,” Maddux confirmed.

Bill and Kaashif stared at each other for several moments before Bill finally spoke up. “We stopped you, you little bastard, you and all of those people who worked for you. They’re all in custody or dead now. I want you to know that.”

“There are more,” Kaashif replied, “many more. There will always be more. I want you to know that.”

Maddux pulled out the Winchester pistol he’d shot Karen with. “I want you to carry out Kaashif’s execution,” he said, holding the gun out for Bill, handle first. “The sentence has been passed. He must die.”

Bill gazed down at the gun for a long time. Finally, he reached out, took it from Maddux, pressed the barrel to Kaashif’s head as the young man began to scream — and fired. “There,” he said calmly when it was over and Kaashif hung limply from the rope.

Maddux nodded appreciatively. “I need to ask you one more question.”

“Go.”

“What did you think about me sailing those LNG tankers at Boston and Virginia?”

I think you were out of your mind. “I understood.” Of course there was no way he could say what he was thinking. That would have been suicide. “It was a great act of patriotism.” He had to play the game.

Maddux nodded again. “Good. Now we get to work.” He glanced at Kaashif then back at Bill. “I have information that indicates that there is a plot in process that will make the Holiday Mall Attacks seem minor. Obviously, we need to get on it.”

Bill shut his eyes tightly. Would the bloodshed never end?

Travers stood on the very top of Mount Gannett’s narrow peak, a thousand feet above Bonny Pass. The weather had been good the last few days, and he’d made the climb with relative ease. It was frigid up here, but the view was incredible. It felt like he was literally on top of the world — which was far from the truth. He’d never been lower.

He’d trusted his instincts. He’d allied himself with Stewart Baxter and President Dorn because that was what his instincts had told him to do. But he’d been wrong. Hadn’t he?

He’d come up here to get away from everyone and everything and try to decide. And he’d come up here to conquer the mountain. He hated being so close to a great challenge and not completing it. At this point he’d conquered the challenge — but not the decision.

His cell phone rang, and he chuckled wryly as he pulled it out. He had reception all the way up here. In a way, that was kind of disappointing.

He gazed at the number flashing on the tiny screen. What choice did he have at this point? “Hello.”

“Hello, Major. You know who this is, don’t you?”

It was Stewart Baxter. “Yeah, I know.”

“Come in from the cold, Major.”

Travers thought about the irony of the remark as he looked out over the snow-laden landscape from the top of the mountain. Baxter couldn’t know where Travers was. No one did. Baxter was referring to “cold” in the sense of a spy coming home.

“This is silly, Major. You did the right thing. And there’s still more to do.”

“I don’t know.”

“If you don’t come in,” Baxter sputtered angrily, “I’ll assume you’re staying with them, and then you’ll be an outlaw. We’re going to destroy that organization, Major. It won’t be good to be on their side when we do.”

Travers glanced at the screen on his phone. It was ringing again. “I’ll call you back.” He switched lines quickly. “Hello.”

“Major.”

“Yes.”

“Do you know who this is?”

It was Bill Jensen. “Yes.”

“Have you made your decision yet?”

“Mr. Jensen.”

Troy and Jack looked up at the same time, but Troy quickly realized that the doctor was speaking to Jack.

“Yes?” Jack asked.

“You’d better come with me.”

Jack rose unsteadily from the couch. “Is she…I mean, should I—”

“Just come with me,” the doctor said gently but firmly. “And please hurry.”

Troy watched as Jack followed the doctor into Karen’s room and the door shut behind him. That hadn’t sounded good. He kissed Little Jack on the forehead and carefully handed the baby back to Cheryl. “Could you take him for a few minutes, Mom?”

“Of course.”

“I’ve got to make a phone call.”

“Fine, but I think you better hurry, son. I’m afraid your brother’s going to need you in a few minutes.”

Troy quickly found a quiet corner of the floor not too far away, pressed the digits on his cell phone, and listened impatiently to the ring. Watching Jack go into Karen’s room had been awful. Life was too good and short not to live it to the fullest every day with the people you wanted to live it with.

“Hello.”

“Jennie?”

“Yes?”

“It’s Troy.”

“Hey there, I’m so glad you called. I was worried you weren’t going to when—”

“Can we have that lunch we talked about?”

She laughed softly in his ear. “Of course, but let’s make it dinner instead.”

“Great, I—” Troy stopped when he happened to look up. Jack was standing right in front of him. “I’ll call you right back, Jennie.” He couldn’t tell from Jack’s expression what was going on. He hoped it wasn’t what he feared. “What happened, Jack?”

Jack swallowed hard and then broke into a relieved smile. “Karen’s gonna be all right. She just opened her eyes. The doctors wanted a few minutes with her.”

The brothers grabbed each other and hugged hard.

“That’s awesome,” Troy murmured when they finally stepped back from the embrace. “Just awesome.”

“Yeah, it is,” Jack agreed, shutting his eyes for a few moments as the relief washed over him. “Thanks for being here, Troy. I can’t tell you how much it helped me to know you were.”

“Of course.”

“I’m going to marry her as soon as she’s well.”

Troy smiled. “Good for you, Jack. Good for her, too. She’s a lucky young woman.”

Jack grabbed Troy and hugged him again, even harder this time. “You’re going to be my best man.”

“I’d better.”