Second Strike

CHAPTER 67

^{MOUNT VERNON, VIRGINIA,}

^{AUGUST 17, 3:20 P.M. EDT}

“What’s your next move, Mikey?” Dwyer asked.

Garin shook his head. “I thought I might be able to get some answers by flushing out Bor’s people, but now I have more questions than answers. And I’m not any closer to finding Bor.”

They were seated in Dwyer’s library with Max, Bear, and Diesel. The others were in the kitchen eating chili. Diesel was lying across Garin’s feet, asleep but with her ears perked straight up. Dwyer pointed at Garin’s arm. “Simple five-step plan, Mikey. Let Coe take care of that for you before it gets infected. Then get some chili, fuel up. Then put the big brain in gear. Then do some of your famous death-and-destruction routine. Then beer.”

Garin pulled the paper with the series of letters and numbers from his pocket, leaned forward, and handed it to Dwyer. Diesel made contented groaning noises.

“Got this off of one of Bor’s men. At least I think he was one of Bor’s. What do you make of that?”

Dwyer studied the paper for a few seconds, head cocked to the side. Then he looked up pensively at the ceiling before looking dramatically at Garin and returning the paper to him with a flourish. “No clue.”

“I’ve got a mental block,” Garin said. “It looks like something I’ve seen before, but I just can’t place it. Maybe one of your tech guys can run it and see if we get any hits.”

“First, let’s get Ike in here to properly dress that monstrosity on your arm. Then I’ll scan that sheet and send it to Quantico while you eat.” Dwyer pointed to Diesel lying contentedly at Garin’s feet. “You want her? She seems to have taken a liking to you. Not surprising. You’re both unmanageable SOBs. In her case, almost literally.”

“Dan, I might need help tracking and stopping Bor.”

“So the president’s not going to officially reconstitute Omega—at least not without Congress. That’s not surprising. In fact, it would be astonishing if he did. Can you tell me what he is willing to do?”

“No.”

“Vague assurances, at least?”

“I can’t make any representations on his behalf.”

Dwyer nodded. “I understand. Once again, if things go south, we’re on our own.”

“Not necessarily, Dan.”

“Mike, I think the world of Marshall. He’s a stand-up guy, unlike his predecessor. Hell, unlike most in this town. But you’ve been in this situation more than just about anyone. You know when the operation blows up, everyone on the White House staff is going to insist that the president plead ignorance. And for the greater good, he’s got to. Because it’s not about his character or honesty or commitment to you. It’s about what’s best for the country. The country can’t afford to think that the president of the United States authorizes secret kill teams—and make no mistake, that’s how it will be portrayed. So even though I believe Marshall’s got the best of intentions, we’re on our own. Again.”

“You’re such a cynic.”

“But I’m way ahead of you, Mikey, as usual. I polled a few of our guys I know I can trust. Asked them whether anyone was interested in embarking on a kill-or-be-killed mission with the Myth, the Legend, the Man All Women Want and All Men Want to Be, to save democracy, the country, and the American way of life. And inexplicably, a bunch of them raised their hands.” Dwyer sported a quizzical look. “Now that I think of it, it’s pretty clear we need to do a better job vetting these guys for mental stability during the hiring process. Anyway, I picked Ike, Ty, and Congo before you even got here.”

“Thank you.”

“You know Congo’s background, of course. Ike is former Six. He was a corpsman at one time. Ty was Delta and spent a little while with Special Activities. They’re at your disposal. For liability purposes, they’ve consented to take a leave of absence, so this won’t be a DGT matter. They’ll be freelancing. If the operation succeeds without you blowing up half of D.C., I’ll give them a nice bonus. Nothing in writing. Matt will coordinate any logistics you need.”

“I owe you one.”

“Lima Charlie. Although you did save my life once upon a time.”

“Yes, I did.”

“But you still owe me.”

“Obviously. Your life isn’t worth all that much.”

“Now,” Dwyer said. “Just one condition.”

“Which is?”

“Bring them all back in good condition. These guys are superstars, the best of the best. But even they have never been pushed to Garin extremes. So be considerate.”

“If you insist.”

Dwyer turned toward the doorway and shouted, “Coe, the beast is ready!”

A startled Diesel sat up. Coe appeared seconds later carrying a small satchel.

Garin said, “Thanks for volunteering, Ike.”

“Join the Navy, see the world.”

Coe removed a syringe from the satchel. “I’ll give you a local. This is going to hurt big-time.”

“No.”

He examined the wound. “Looks like it’s third-degree, Mike. Some skin’s going to come off with the tape. This is serious.”

“No.”

Coe looked to Dwyer. “Dan, say something. Talk some sense into him.”

“I’ve been trying since BUD/S, champ. Not happening.”

Coe looked back to Garin. He appeared intractable. Coe shook his head, returned the syringe to the satchel, and removed a pair of tape cutters. “Brace your forearm on the armrest, Mike. You may want something to bite on; otherwise, you’ll scare the puppy.”

Garin remained silent.

Coe shrugged and sighed. “Okay. Here we go.”

He slipped the bottom edge of the tape cutter under the duct tape at the top of Garin’s wrist and sliced through to the elbow.

“Okay. That was the easy part,” Coe informed him. “Hold on.”

Garin remained impassive.

“Stop that this instant,” Luci demanded, having appeared at the door. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Coe blinked uncomprehendingly at Luci.

“You’re about to take off the duct tape, aren’t you? And I bet he refused a local, right?”

“Well… yeah,” Coe stammered.

“Not on my watch,” Luci declared, striding toward Garin. “He gave you his executioner’s look, didn’t he? He does that when he’s obstinate. You’ve got to ignore him. Step aside. I’ll do this.”

Coe looked to Garin, who nodded permission.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” Coe asked.

“I’m his trainer. I’m not letting you or anyone else do this. He’s going to be ready for CrossFit or Badwater if I have anything to say about it.”

Dwyer looked exasperated. “Geez, Mikey. CrossFit or Badwater? You’re still on that? Give it up already.”

“He owes me,” Luci said. She examined Garin’s arm for a moment, then pulled the tape apart and unwound it from Garin’s arm, not fast, not slow. Portions of the shirt fabric Garin had used as a dressing had melded into the burnt flesh and peeled off with the tape, causing blood to ooze from parts of the wound.

Luci looked at Garin’s face. Other than a tightness in his jaws, he remained impassive.

“I’m going to debride and disinfect the wound now,” Luci warned him.

Luci used a short, bladed implement from Coe’s bag to scrape dead tissue and debris from the wound. Tiny beads of blood bubbled up from the deformed skin as she did so. Dwyer averted his gaze.

Luci blotted the affected area with an antibiotic cream and then applied a treated wrap that she secured with strips of adhesive. She observed Garin’s stoic demeanor. “You are one serious badass. But you need to get to a hospital soon. In the meantime, we’ll need to change the dressings regularly so you don’t get an infection.”

Garin flexed his arm a few times. “Thanks. It doesn’t hurt much. Maybe the nerves are dead.”

“Like the ones in your cranium.” She leaned forward and kissed the top of his head.

Diesel took her place atop Garin’s feet again, appearing at once both protected and protective.

“Chili time, Mikey,” Dwyer said. “In the meantime, I’ll send the list to Quantico for analysis. We’ll figure out what Bor’s up to and where. Then, you do death and destruction.”

Garin looked up as Matt strode quickly into the room. He was almost breathless and had a look of urgency on his face. “We just got a hit on one of the license numbers Mrs. Ponder gave us,” he said. “We think we might know where Bor is.”