Rules of Betrayal

41

Frank Connor took the news stoically and, except for a sudden and nearly unnoticed grimace, with no outward show of emotion. He was a veteran of too many campaigns to fear that all was lost. One battle did not a war win- or lose. Sitting in his office, Peter Erskine at his side, he listened dispassionately as the helicopter crew chief relayed the facts of the failed mission.

“Captain Crockett radioed that he believed enemy combatants were in the vicinity just before he was killed by an explosion on the ground.”

“Mine? IED? Grenade?” asked Connor. “Can you give me any more detail?”

“It wasn’t no mine or grenade,” said the crew chief in a slow Texan drawl. “We were hovering directly above him, telling him to get his ass back into the wagon. The flight conditions were horrendous, Mr. Connor. Half the guys had already thrown up, and Major McMurphy, our pilot, wanted to get the hell out of there. We’d used up more than half our fuel just trying to find the bad guys. Anyway, there I was yelling for Crockett to exfil and suddenly he radios back for us to get the hell out of there. He must have seen what killed him, ’cause three seconds later the place went up. Ask me, it was C4. Had that bright orange color to it. The friggin’ blast nearly took us out of the sky, I kid you not.”

“What do you mean, the place? Was he inside something?”

“Yessir. A tent. Didn’t I tell you? That’s why he went down there in the first place. There was some dang tent right there on the mountainside.”

Connor shot a glance at Erskine and said, “He found the damned thing.” Then, to the crew chief, “Did he tell you what was inside the tent?”

“No, sir. Didn’t say anything, just that he was sure the bad guys were close by.”

“Did you have any indication that the combatants were in the area beforehand?”

“We caught a blip on the infrared screen for about twenty seconds, but when we got closer it was gone. We turned on the spotlight and Captain Crockett saw the tent flapping in all that wind.”

“Were you able to confirm that the heat signature belonged to a human?” asked Erskine.

“No, sir. Like I said, it was just a blip. Coulda been anything, but you tell me what kind of animal might be out in that kind of blizzard. Only a goddamned Marine’s crazy enough. I’ll tell you that for free.”

Or my best operative, bent on retrieving a WMD, thought Connor. “Did you see anything on the ground afterward?”

“Nothing but fire. Crockett was gone, too. But there must have been something inside that tent. Our helo took a hard shot on our belly. When we landed I found a piece of steel three inches square dug into our skin. If it had hit the rotor, we would’ve been toast.”

“Shrapnel, maybe?” asked Erskine.

“No, sir. Wasn’t shrapnel. This was heavy milled steel, least an inch thick. That’s all I can tell you.”

Connor requested that the crew chief remove the steel and send it to Division by courier, then sat up in his chair. “How soon can you mount a mission to get back up that mountain?”

“That’s up to Sergeant Major Robinson, but the weather has to clear first. Ask me, I don’t see the need. Whoever was up there is long gone by now.”

Connor ended the communication. It was late in the afternoon in northern Virginia. He looked out the window and noticed for the first time that it was a lovely day. He stood, thinking of Crockett and wondering what the Marine had found.

“She’s got it,” he said.

“You can’t be sure,” said Erskine. “We have no idea what was in that tent.”

“I’m not in the mood for the devil’s advocate routine, Pete. I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours, and that boy’s death is weighing on my conscience. If there was a tent on that mountainside, then Emma put it there while she was retrieving the nuclear warhead from that missile. She blew the evidence to kingdom come, just as I expected she’d do. Sometimes I think we trained her too well.”

“Would you like me to call the secretary?”

Connor turned on Erskine. “And say what? One of our agents has been turned by terrorists and is in possession of a WMD? Because if I do, that is the day this agency ends. No, Pete, this is still our play. We made the decision to handle this thing. We’ll do it to the end or until someone takes it away from us. I don’t trust anyone else with this.”

Erskine frowned sourly. “Frank, I think it’s time we took this to someone higher up. Someone with more resources.”

“We already had this discussion,” said Connor. “Resources take time, and that’s the one commodity we do not possess.”

“But-”

Connor silenced Erskine with a liverish glance. “We can still get this done.”

Erskine slumped in his chair. “So what’s the next move?”

“Get me a plane to Zurich. I want to talk to Jonathan Ransom.”