Page 65 of Cross Down
“Says you,” I say.
Much later, in a far corner booth at a McDonald’s on the Massachusetts Turnpike, I’m having coffee with Deacon, who has an odd habit of tearing the brown paper napkins into long strips. She’s got a pile of the strips in front of her.
The place is busy with travelers stopping for food, coffee, and bathroom breaks, and there are three flat-screen TVs hanging from the ceiling, broadcasting the troubled news of the world.
“It’s been at least four hours,” I say. “We’ve been monitoring the radio news stations in New Hampshire and Massachusetts, and therehasn’t been one report of a gun battle breaking out in Healy, New Hampshire.”
She nods and picks up another napkin.
I go on. “We both saw state police cruisers and army Humvees responding to the scene. What does that tell you?”
Deacon focuses on the paper napkin. “You tell me.”
“What—is this an exam, Professor Deacon?”
She doesn’t answer.Rip, rip, rip.
“It means that we’re up against opponents, either foreign or domestic, who have great resources and focus,” I say. “And they’ve been proving what Mel told me: These terror attacks, from snipers to bombings, are connected to what we saw in Afghanistan. And our skilled and determined opponents have eliminated all the witnesses to that except you and me.” I reach over, grab her napkin strips, crumple them up, and toss them to the side of the table. “Got your attention now?” I ask.
Deacon says, “I’ve been paying attention. I can multitask. And for what it’s worth, I agree with your analysis.”
“Good,” I say. “Hope you agree with what I’m about to say next. We’ve been spinning our wheels, going around and around, trying to figure things out here. All that’s gotten us is a few scraps of information and some dead companions. We need to go back to the ’Stan, get to the root of everything.”
She gives me a hard stare. “I hate to mention the obvious, John, but there aren’t many Western flights going to Kabul nowadays.”
I shake my head. “Don’t want to go to Kabul. We need to get back to that base in Tajikistan, find our way across the border, and recon the place. Locate the village that was bombed. Talk to any witnesses that might still be living. If that bombing and our presence there is the source of our troubles, that’s where we’ve got to go.”
She reaches for another napkin, stops, pulls her hand back. “Fine. How do we get there?”
I pick up my coffee. “Why, through you, of course. The mighty CIA. You’ve recovered Russian subs, overthrown governments from Guatemala to Iran, smuggled people across various borders, and accomplished plenty of other things that have never been brought to light. Getting the two of us to Tajikistan with arms and communications should be a piece of cake.”
“I’m only a consultant.”
I sip my coffee. “So get consulting and get us over there. As soon as you can.”
“You in a hurry to get to a third-world country?” she asks.
I point to a TV showing a CNN report of a car bombing in Seattle. There’s smoke billowing up, and firefighters, surrounded by heavily armed police officers, are hosing down the burning vehicles.
“No,” I say. “I’m in a hurry to get over there and do our job. If we wait much longer, we’ll be forced to stay there as refugees, because there won’t be a United States to come back to.”
Chapter
75
Bree Stone wakesup and instinctively reaches over to touch Alex before it all comes back to her—her Alex, her man, is still in the ICU. She rolls over and checks the time. It’s 2:10 a.m.
What woke her up?
A creak of a floorboard, and she sees a tall shape silhouetted in the bedroom doorway. Before she can react, her stepson Damon says, “Bree?”
She sits up. “What is it? Did the hospital call? Is something wrong with your dad?”
He steps in and she sees he’s carrying something. A pump-action twelve-gauge shotgun. In most homes in DC, seeing one’s college-age stepson carrying a weapon would be frightening. Not here, not now. Because of the lives they live, she and Alex have made sure all the children respect firearms, and they’ve taught the oldest, Damon, how to use them.
“No, Bree, nothing like that, but there’s somebody out there. I don’t like it.”
“Okay, stay right here.”
