Reign of Evil

EPILOGUE

SEAL Team 666 sat in the main salon of the priory, sipping from mugs of dark local ale. They wore civilian clothes and could have been a group of footballers, if they all weren’t sporting bandages on their arms, faces, heads, and hands.

Sassy Moore had just left after paying her respects to Preeti. Ian and the team had held a private ceremony for Jerry and Trevor, one that had begun with solemn ritual, then ended up a circle of tearful laughter as each of them began to tell story after story of how the two men affected their lives. When Preeti had told her and Trevor’s origin story, Yank and Laws, who hadn’t heard it before, had both cried.

Preeti returned from the ladies’ room at the same time as Ian arrived with a platter of fresh pints.

“What’s the plan now that you’ve been given the building back?” Holmes asked.

“Magerts is coming on as my second. Of the fourteen Marines who survived the battle, eleven have agreed to join us.” Ian passed out the beers, then sat down, bringing his own two-cubed glass of scotch to his lips. He closed his eyes and made a relishing sound. Then he continued. “We still have a long way to go, but it’s a start. The thing about disaster is that it tends to remind people what’s important.”

“And the roundup?”

“Sir MacDonald’s chief of staff rolled and gave MI5 a list of everyone involved. It goes all the way up, including several high-ranking military officials.”

“Was it really that bad?” Walker asked. “Why go to all that effort?”

“There are some who look at America and places England once called their own and remember how great we were.” Ian took another sip. “They forget that America lives today because of our greatness. Had we not set the colonies in motion you might never have existed.”

“It’s hard not to look back,” YaYa said, “knowing the rich history you’ve had. My own culture has its own share of problems trying to merge past greatness with the realities of today.”

Preeti joined in. “Add to that the rising sentiment that immigration is destroying our great nation.” She shook her head. “They don’t realize that I don’t think of myself as Indian first. I think of myself as English first.”

“Whenever things start going bad fingers start pointing.” Laws adjusted his sling and rubbed his shoulder where he’d had surgery. An eye patch covered one eye. “We have the same issues at home. People forget that America was created through immigration. What is it etched on the Statue of Liberty? Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses, yearning to breathe free. The wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me, I lift my lamp beside the golden door.” Laws grinned broadly. “And look at us. We are the sum, rather than the parts.”

Everyone drank at the same time, giving them a long quiet moment.

“Hey,” Yank asked. “Anyone hear from Genie?”

He’d been gone when they’d returned. Even Preeti didn’t know what had become of him. He hadn’t said good-bye.

Holmes set his glass down. “Get this. I got a report from NAVSPECWARCOM. He left his enlistment over a year ago.”

Everyone’s eyes shot wide.

Walker was the first to ask what everyone wanted to know. “What the hell was he doing, then?”

Holmes shrugged. “By all accounts, he helped us.”

Laws regarded his ale with narrow eyes. “But there had to be something in it for him?”

“If there was, I don’t know what it could be.” Holmes spread his hands. “I’ll see what I can find out when we get back.”

The rental car turned off Bohemian Highway before it crossed the Russian River into Monte Rio. The driver found himself on Bohemian Avenue. He drove past twenty people holding signs railing against the Cremation of Care and continued down the road until he reached a security shack beside a gate. The guard looked out and recognized the driver. He pressed a button and the gate rose. The car rolled forward, passing several groups of houses until the road ended at a large building. The driver got out and went to the front door of the building. He was met at the front door by an elderly Caucasian man who’d be recognized for his three terms in the U.S. Senate.

“Did you get it?”

“It took a while.”

“But you got it, right?”

“A witch almost destroyed it. It’s weak, but it’s here.” He unbuttoned his shirt and revealed a three-crescent tattoo etched into his black skin. It glowed faintly. “Just in time for the next ceremony.”

The senator smiled. “You done good.”

“Can we get it out, now? It feels a little itchy in here.”

“All in good time. All in good time. The board’s about to convene. Come in and have a drink with us. Tell us what happened.”

Genaro Stewart thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “I could use a drink.” Then he followed the man inside and closed the door behind him.