Meltdown Page 26

  “Atlas Shrugged,” John muttered.

  “Exactly. I did what I did for the good of the country. And besides, it was time for me to make a change.” He looked at the young man seated next to him. “John, I’d like you to meet my son, Michael.”

  John cocked his head to one side. “Your son?”

  Lafontaine sighed. “His mother and I had a relationship in the late eighties when I was stationed here. But I only found out about him a couple of weeks ago.”

  “And so you dragged him into this?”

  The older man bristled. “He had no knowledge of the ITEB whatsoever. He will come to live with me here once he’s completed college.”

  Sweeney snorted. “I hate to break it to you, Colonel Lafontaine, but you’re going to be spending the rest of your days languishing in a Panamanian prison.”

  Lafontaine’s calm expression returned. “Perhaps, except that Panama doesn’t have an extradition treaty with the United States. And it recently passed a law stipulating that prisoners over a certain age may serve their sentences under home confinement.” He took in the room with a sweep of his gaze. “Gentlemen, welcome to my prison.”

  John’s incredulous look took on a tinge of disgust. “Colonel, I’ve always thought you were a great man, my entire life. But now I see that your sense of right and wrong has become corrupted. You’ve become no better than the terrorists you claim to oppose.”

  Sweeney could see the color rising in John’s cheeks being matched in the face of Michael Lafontaine.

  The colonel almost shouted. “How dare you!”

  “No! How dare you, Michael!” John bellowed. “You’ve given in to the thinking that the end justifies any means. Tell me how that’s different from bin Laden. Tell me!”

  Lafontaine started to sputter out a response, but John stormed out of the room, stomping by a huge birdcage with a giant squawking macaw inside.

  Sweeney watched him go. How could he help his friend?

  Mary stepped forward and leaned close to Lafontaine. “Guess what, Colonel? Our government has already been on the phone with the president of Panama. And they are willing to make an exception for us in this case.” Her voice dripped with contempt. “Since your crimes took place outside of Panama, your penthouse jailbird over there will probably get a little bit lonely.”

  Now it was Lafontaine’s turn to go pale.

  Sweeney never would have imagined wishing jail time on Michael Lafontaine, but now the thought seemed just right.

  Outside Fort Bragg, North Carolina

  Mary squinted into the bright afternoon sun, which was just beginning to fade to orange. The large orb dropped in the sky over Valley Pond, a thirty-acre lake just outside the edge of Fort Bragg’s northernmost training area. The line of pine trees that ringed the lake’s shore was broken only by a large plantation house nestled in mature hardwoods, and a run-down caretaker’s cottage with a brand-new deck that overhung the water’s edge.

  In the grass next to the small cabin was a rectangular sand-pit volleyball court, now occupied on one side by the men of Task Force Valor in shorts and T-shirts, and on the other by four nimble women, who were beating them.

  “Service!” Mary swung her arm back and expertly struck the volleyball with her open palm, sending it flying over the net. It headed for a spot right between Rip and Sweeney.

  Sweeney, whose sweat-stained Army PT shirt was already covered in sand, yelled, “I’ve got it!” and dove for the ball.

  He barely tipped it up to the team medic, Doc Kelly, who then set the ball just above the net for Frank. Frank was already in the air ready for the spike.

  Mary took two quick steps toward the net. “Get it! Get it!”

  But she needn’t have worried. Major Williams’s fourteen-year-old daughter, Denise, was already there. With a primal shout, the gangly teenager lunged upward with both hands over her head just in time to block Frank’s attempt. The ball bounced harmlessly back over his head.

  Rip and Sweeney both dove for it but only managed to end up in a tangled heap in the sand. The ball bounced before rolling out of bounds.

  A chorus of female cheers went up from seven other girls on the sidelines—six of whom were Major Williams’s other daughters, and the remaining one a beautiful black-haired teen who had just been introduced to Mary as Rip’s younger sister, Gabi. The girl had apparently come to live with her older brother to get away from the gang influence in L.A.

  On the court, Denise was being lauded with hugs and high-fives by John’s girlfriend, Liz Fairchild, and another raven-haired Latina whom Mary had met in Panama: Fernanda Lerida. Mary joined in the celebration, patting the freckle-faced Denise on the back and pretending not to notice across the net the dejected commandos who were brushing the sand off their shorts.

  Buzz Hogan sat in a lawn chair near half court, keeping score. “That’s seven points for the girls’ team, and three for these here highspeed special operators.” He laughed.

  Doc Kelly wiped sweat from his eyes. “Whew. The major was right. That Denise is a killer!”

  Rip laughed. “Man, you’re not kidding! Where’s John? We need reinforcements!”

  Liz shook her head. “He said he had to run to the store for some ice. But that was an hour ago.” She shrugged. “Then again, he’s easily sidetracked.”

  A sharp whistle sounded from the direction of the cottage. Major Williams, wearing a white paper chef’s hat and his torso covered by an apron emblazoned with “May the Forks Be with You,” waved from the deck. “Burgers are ready!” he shouted. “Come get ’em!”

  “All right,” Buzz said, rising stiffly from his chair. “Let’s eat. We’ll pick this game back up later.”

  “Awww, we had you all right where we wanted you too,” Sweeney said, winking at Mary.

  As the crowd drifted toward the cottage, Mary took in the beautiful lake, the trees, and the amber-tinged clouds in the blue sky. The scene was marred only by a single Black Hawk helicopter buzzing around high above, probably ferrying some troops around Fort Bragg for training. She sighed. This is just what I needed.

  Sidling up to the other two girls, she smiled at Liz, whose gentle face and doe-brown eyes now reflected a slight concern. The two of them had really hit it off, even though they had only met several hours earlier. She put an arm around the athletic shoulders of her new friend. “Don’t worry, Liz. I’m sure John’s okay.”

  Liz smiled up at her. “Oh, I’m not worried. God’s in control. If God can protect John through all the dangers of his job, I’m sure He can get him back from an ice run in one piece.” Her grin widened. “I was just worried that he’s going to miss supper!”

  Mary laughed, impressed with the confidence and joy she saw in Liz. She looked past Liz, who was a brown-haired journalist, to the supermodel-thin Fernanda, whom she had met several weeks earlier in Panama. The lithe Panamanian had shown up unexpectedly at the party, and Rip hadn’t stopped smiling since. “So, Fernanda, you came all the way here from Panama just to see Rip?”

  The Latina’s long black curls rippled down her shoulders as she shook her head. “Not exactly.” Her accent was as beautiful as her appearance, though her tone was somber. “When we found out that my uncle Edgar had been found dead outside of Las Vegas, I came with my aunt to help identify the body. And since I had never been to North Carolina, I decided to stay an extra week and come see Rip.”

  Liz hooked her arm through Fernanda’s. “She’s my roomie this week in the luxurious La Quinta Inn while we help John pack up and find a new apartment.”

  Mary’s eyebrows shot up. “He’s moving? But this place is so beautiful!”

  “Yes, and John loves it,” Liz said. “But the man who owns this property is none other than Michael Lafontaine.”

  Mary gaped. “I didn’t know that! Ooh. I guess that is a problem.”

  When they reached the cottage, Major Williams stood on the raised wooden deck and addressed the group in his best street-preacher voice. “Ladies and gentlemen
, before we partake of this meal of fine southern barbecue and coleslaw, it is fitting that we offer thanks to God for His protection and provision during these last few months, which I’m sure you will all agree have been some of the most challenging of our careers.”

  A murmur of agreement rippled through the group. Mary noticed that even Sweeney gave a hearty “Hear, hear!”

  The major doffed his chef’s hat and continued. “But before we say the blessing, there’s one minor point of business that needs to be attended to. If you will please direct your attention to the skies above us, you will notice a Black Hawk helicopter.”

  Mary looked up as the major pulled a Motorola walkie-talkie from his apron and whispered into it.

  Then, high above, she noticed a black speck leaving the helicopter and dropping toward them. The speck grew larger until she could just make out that it was a man. A billowy gray parachute appeared above him with a pop.

  “It’s John Cooper!” Denise exclaimed, pointing skyward.

  A cheer went up from the crowd, and Mary looked at Liz, who was gaping up at the descending commando, speechless.

  The parachute traced a lazy arc across the sky, then dropped down and came across the lake straight for the assembled group. Before John had made it halfway across, Mary could see the wide smile on his face. She watched him pull on both toggles, which created just enough lift for his feet to skim across the surface of the water as he approached the shore, heading straight for Liz.

  The group fell into a shocked silence when he deftly landed at the water’s edge, only feet from them.

  Sweeney and Rip were already there, collapsing their team leader’s parachute as he dropped to a knee in front of Liz and held up a black velvet box, opened to reveal a diamond solitaire engagement ring.

  “Hi, Liz. Wanna get married?”

  Liz screamed. The crowd went wild. Mary teared up. When she looked up at Major Williams, she realized she wasn’t the only one.

  John was still on his knee, beaming. “Well?”

  “Yes! Yes!” Liz cried, throwing her arms around John Cooper.

  Once the excitement died down and everyone had gotten some food, Mary took her plate and Dr Pepper bottle and walked over to a Royalex canoe that lay inverted by the water’s edge. She sat on it and put her plate beside her, savoring the smell of the barbecue and the beauty of the sunset, but not half as much as she savored the warm feeling in her heart. She wished she could always have that feeling, like everything was working out just as it should. Maybe Rip was on to something when he said it was better to not have to control everything.

  I wonder if that’s something I can learn?

  She was happy for John and Liz. It was obvious by looking at them that they were deeply in love. Mary was jealous in a way too. Not that she wanted to be engaged at the moment—though that would be nice at some point. Instead she envied the way Liz could be so confident and so feminine at the same time. For some reason, Mary had never felt very good at striking that balance. To her, to be strong meant being tough. Femininity meant being vulnerable, weak. But Liz seemed to be so strong and so feminine. How did she do that?

  She watched the shadows lengthen across the lake and pondered what Liz had said earlier. “God is in control.” Could it really be that simple? Was it possible the reason they’d gone to Ukraine had nothing to do with the ITEB but was so they’d be in the right place to thwart the catastrophe at Chernobyl? Did God work that way?

  The canoe rocked gently, and Mary turned to see Sweeney sitting down beside her. The edges of his mouth curled into a slight smile that radiated the same vulnerability she’d seen when they’d shared the train car a week earlier. “Hey,” he said.

  She smiled softly at him. “Hey.”

  “The major says Lafontaine admitted to purchasing all of the remaining ITEB that was cranked out by Edgar Lerida’s lab in Panama. The colonel claims he wanted to keep it out of the hands of terrorists.” He gave a snort. “Whatever. Now that ITEB is off the streets, we’re going to go back to being plain ol’ Special Forces soldiers. No more CIA spook stuff.”

  Mary nodded, looking out over the lake. “For now. It really didn’t end up the way I thought it would, you know?”

  Sweeney nodded. “You remember when we hit that warehouse in Lebanon? On the way there, I was sure that was going to be the ITEB factory. I figured we’d mop it up and that would be the end of it. Things sure turned out to be a lot more complicated than that.”

  Mary nodded. “They always are, aren’t they?” She looked over to see his blue eyes watching her and realized she wasn’t just talking about the CIA. She shook her head. “I just can’t believe Lafontaine was behind this. I got an e-mail saying they found out that the Israeli they arrested in DC used to work for him. Security coordinator or something.”

  “Yeah. It’s kind of scary, actually. I mean, Michael was one of the most patriotic people in the country. If he can get his thinking that twisted, is there hope for any of us?”

  Mary took a sip from her Dr Pepper. “John was telling me he thinks it’s the same mind-set that caused things like the abuse at Abu Ghraib. Americans assuming that because we’re the good guys, we can justify doing bad things because our ultimate purpose is to make things better.”

  “Hmm…” Sweeney appeared to think about that for a minute. “It doesn’t work like that, does it?”

  “Well, it shouldn’t.”

  “So…” He cleared his throat. “Are you…? I mean, are we going to see any more of each other?”

  She huffed. “After this mission, you’ve already seen more of me than I ever planned for.”

  Sweeney laughed. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  She shrugged and looked at him. “I don’t know, Sergeant Sweeney. That decision is above my pay grade.”

  A look of frustration flashed in his eyes. “Just call me Bobby, would you?”

  She tilted her head. “Are you flirting with me?”

  “I’m trying to.” He held her gaze. “But you’re not making it very easy.”

  Now it was her turn to laugh. “Okay, ‘Bobby’ then.” She reached out and ran a finger under the Arabic tattoo on his arm. “That says, ‘Infidel,’ doesn’t it?”

  He blushed a little. “I’m impressed. You speak Arabic too?”

  “Not really. Just a few words. Why’d you choose to have that done?”

  Sweeney’s face darkened a little. “I don’t know, really. Guess I was just…” His voice trailed off.

  “Just what?”

  “Nothing.”

  She frowned. “Now look, if you’re going to flirt, you have to do it right. Step one is to open up, share a little bit of the real Bobby Sweeney underneath all those muscles.”

  He chuckled. “Tough guys don’t impress you, huh?”

  “Nope. Dime a dozen where I come from.”

  Sweeney sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. I guess I was going to say I got the tattoo to be rebellious. But saying it that way, it sounds like a stupid thing to do.”

  She raised an eyebrow at him. “Maybe. But I think it looks nice. A good conversation starter if nothing else, right?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Sure. It definitely did that when I went home for my brother’s wedding. Come to think of it, I’ve got some apologizing to do when I get back.”

  She tapped her chin with an index finger. “A man who can say he’s sorry? Now that’s impressive.”

  He smiled. “Great. Well, if you really want to be impressed, there’s a place on post that rents four-wheelers. How about we go riding sometime?”

  She pursed her lips. “You know, that sounds like fun. But I get to drive one of my own. That way we can really see who’s the better driver.”

  Sweeney shrugged and gave a sly smile. “That can be arranged. And I promise to apologize when I beat you.”

  Author’s Note

  ON EASTER EGGS

  In the world of entertainment, an Easter egg is an intentional messa
ge, inside joke, or other hidden meaning written into a story. One of the fun things about writing fiction is the chance to insert little personal messages to people you know. Most people will miss the messages, but they will cause a laugh when your friends read it. This book is full of them.

  For example, chamomile tea shows up in each of the three Task Force Valor novels. While I was working on the first book, Allah’s Fire, my editor challenged me to get in touch with my feminine side. I joked, “What, you think I need to include more girly stuff, like knitting and chamomile tea?” I observed how it would be dangerous to include chamomile anything in a novel, because it was far too feminine and would earn me an epic ribbing from all my manly Ranger buddies. She challenged me to live on the wild side. So, chamomile tea makes an appearance in all three novels.

  If you look closely, you might see my friend Lynne Thompson chasing her son, David, through JFK airport. Lynne is “the official soccer mom” and author of The Official Soccer Mom Devotional.

  Easter eggs can also bring deeper meaning to a story. For instance, each of the main characters in the story is named after one of the nineteen U.S. servicemen to have earned the Congressional Medal of Honor twice, with the exception of Rip Rubio, whose namesake earned “only” one. Phoenix was named for Mary Edwards Walker, a Civil War doctor and the only woman ever to receive the Medal of Honor.

  This is one little way I try to honor real-life heroes with my fiction. I encourage you to go Google the names of the Task Force Valor team and read about the courageous exploits of their namesakes.

  And if you’re a friend of mine and notice something familiar when reading this book, there’s a good chance I was thinking of you when I wrote it. Consider it a gift—hidden from most and meant only for you in thanks for your friendship.

  ABOUT THE BOOK

  Writing fiction is hard, especially when it’s a series written over the course of four years. Each book in the Task Force Valor series has been more complex, because each is constrained somewhat by the one before.