Part 22 (1/2)
”I'm afraid the evening's already been ruined ...” She hung up and told Heidi to turn the car around; they were going back to Heidi's apartment.
Hussein began pounding on the trunk part.i.tion. ”I want out of here! Right now!”
Chopra sat up. ”I a.s.sume our little clandestine exit has been canceled?”
”Quiet,” the Snow Maiden told him.
Heidi suddenly pulled over to the curb. ”I need to know what's going on right now. I'm sure Hans back at the coffee shop has called the police.”
”You're right. So maybe we're not going back to your place,” said the Snow Maiden. ”You can check us into a hotel. That'll work now.”
”I'm not doing anything.”
”Heidi, I never told you this, but Aldo was working for the CIA. That's why he was killed. And the same men who tried to kill him are trying to kill me.”
”No, that's not true.”
”Come with me, and I'll explain. I'll tell you everything. Just help us get a room.”
”I don't even know who you are.”
”I want to tell you. I really do. But it's important that you just do as I say. All right?”
”No, no, I won't do this, I can't,” cried Heidi. ”I don't know if you're a criminal or a prost.i.tute or who you are!” She reached for the door handle and opened the door.
The Snow Maiden bit her lower lip, drew her pistol- And as Chopra shouted, ”No!”
-she killed her old friend.
SEVENTEEN.
MacDill Air Force Base U.S. Special Operations Command Joint Strike Force Command Headquarters Tampa, Florida Brent sat in the reception area outside General Scott Mitch.e.l.l's office. Mitch.e.l.l was the man, head of the entire JSF. You couldn't go any further up the ladder.
And you didn't get a meeting with a guy like that by just whining that you disagreed with a superior's decision.
You got a meeting by showing ... audacity. A word much in the news during the past year or so.
So Brent had made the call and had informed the general's staff that he wanted to strike a bargain.
The general had initially declined, but his curiosity won out when he learned that Grey had denied Brent permission to go over her head, and Brent retorted that he wasn't seeking permission; this was just a courtesy call advising her of his intentions.
Dozens of framed wartime photographs of Mitch.e.l.l in action covered the walls, and as Brent studied them, he began to understand the enormity of what he was doing, the enormity of this man's position.
Who in the h.e.l.l was Brent to try cutting a deal for another chance? The mere act was going to incite every officer above him: most notably Grey and Dennison.
Moreover, Mitch.e.l.l had been a Ghost Recon legend, arguably the unit's greatest living officer. Many of the techniques, tactics, and procedures that Brent had learned had been developed by Mitch.e.l.l himself during his own time at the JFK School. Brent wasn't even sure if he could speak intelligently let alone make a persuasive argument once he faced the man in the flesh.
And worse, he'd have to do that on two hours of sleep. He'd spent most of the night arranging to get his b.u.t.t back to Tampa, and as he checked his watch, he expected his cell phone to ring at any- There it was, ringing. After a long sigh, he answered.
”Captain Brent, this is Colonel Grey's office. It's oh eight ten, and we're wondering where you are.”
Brent tossed his head back, closed his eyes, and saw himself standing before a general court-martial. No, his punishment wouldn't be that severe, of course, but his imagination always took him straight to h.e.l.l first.
”Captain Brent? Are you there?”
”Ah, yes, I'm here, here as in I'm at MacDill AFB for a meeting with General Mitch.e.l.l.”
”Uh, all right, I'll inform the colonel.”
”Thanks.”
As Brent hung up, he pictured Grey's face when she got the news. Heat waves would billow from her brow.
”Captain?”
Brent rose and was escorted into the general's office by Mitch.e.l.l's a.s.sistant.
The general had divided the room into two areas: a rather regal-looking work zone with rich dark furniture, bookcases, and unit flags hung from the walls, the other area a high-tech observation post with a coc.o.o.n of monitors displaying battlefield operations. The station was, in effect, a miniature version of the JSF's more elaborate command center. Mitch.e.l.l was seated at that station, wearing virtual-reality gloves and manipulating holographic data bars that only he could see via his VR gla.s.ses. His fingers flicked right and left, and he made the O shape with index and thumb several times to close open windows. He suddenly wrenched off the gla.s.ses and gloves and bolted from the seat as though it were on fire.
”All right, all right ...” he muttered, clearing his thoughts aloud.
The general sported a snowy white crew cut that complemented his angular jaw. Brent guessed he spent as much time in the gym as he did in the VR chair, and an unmistakable twinkle in his eye seemed infectious.
”Captain Brent, you're a persistent man,” said the general, taking Brent's hand in his own. ”That much I admire. The rest of your record looks inconsistent. You, son, have been on a roller coaster ride instead of a career ladder.”
”I just take it as it comes, sir.”
Mitch.e.l.l hardened his gaze. ”So what the h.e.l.l's the matter with you?”
”Sir?”
”Forgive my candor. Dennison tells me she pulled the plug on your mission. And Grey doesn't want you on it. You've come here to ask for a second chance in the guise of some deal regarding a low-life warlord in Afghanistan that you want to hand over to me.”
”Sir, I've had sources there for years, and I'm finally calling in all my favors.”
”At a rather convenient time.”
”Sayyaf has links to China and the Russian Federation. There's a rumor that he's in bed with the Green Brigade, too. He's a piece we need to take off the board.”
”And you're handing him to me in exchange for another chance to go after the Snow Maiden.”
”What would you do?”
”I wouldn't come in here and insult my boss's intelligence.”
Brent glanced away and smiled. ”Sir, in the grand scheme of things, I'm just a little guy. I know that. And at my level, this is the best I got. The deal might be insulting, but you'll have Sayyaf.”