Maden Mike - Tom Clancy Firing Point

“A scratch. It’s nothing, really.”

“I spoke with Captain Asensio. It must have been terrible.”

“Can I have a word with you privately?” Brossa asked.

“ Por supuesto. Let’s go to my office.” He led the way.

Brossa endured more hugs and handshakes with a weary smile as she passed through the lobby. She was, indeed, grateful for their reception despite her bone-deep fatigue.

Peña motioned for Brossa to take a seat. He plopped down in the chair behind his desk.

“I wish you would have taken the day off, Laia. You must be exhausted from your ordeal. Besides, you’re a hero. You deserve it.”

“I’m no hero, and there is still so much work to do.”

Peña chuckled. “Which is why I knew you’d be in here today. Still, work fills the time allotted. Another day wouldn’t matter, now that those cabrónes are dead, thank God. You must be very proud.”

“I’m glad that none of the Guardia Civil were killed. Those idiots in the farmhouse shouldn’t have attacked us. I was surprised when they did.”

“Captain Asensio said that you were very brave. Of course, the news footage showed us that.”

“Asensio and his men led the charge. They were the brave ones. I just followed behind them.”

“Still, I think you can expect nothing less than a commendation for heroism. Perhaps even a promotion. I’m recommending both to Madrid later today.”

“That’s very generous of you, but really, I was just doing my job.”

Peña pointed a fatherly finger at her. “That’s why I like you so much, Laia. So humble! But don’t sell yourself short. A promotion means better pay, and a commendation for heroism moves you up the career ladder even faster.”

Brossa shrugged and smiled a little, uncertain as to what she should say. She took a sip of water.

Peña leaned forward on his desk, clasping his hands together. “Asensio gave me a brief report about what happened. What’s your take on it?”

“Things went very fast after we arrived on scene. For a moment, I thought everything would resolve itself peacefully.”

“Those animals didn’t want peace. They wanted revolution.”

Brossa ignored his comment. “They asked for a lawyer and promised to surrender peacefully if the warrant proved valid, which it was.”

“I assume the captain saw through their deception—”

“I’m not sure it was a deception.”

“You think they really would have surrendered peacefully?”

“We’ll never know, will we?”

Peña waved a dismissive hand. “Well, if that was the case, it falls on Asensio, doesn’t it? He was the commander in charge. But any review board will defer to his combat experience, though I doubt there will be one. The case is closed now that the threat is removed, and justice is served. Madrid is happy. I am happy. You should be happy, too.”

“I am. But I can’t help thinking that a lot of young Spaniards died yesterday.”

“Not Spaniards. Terrorist killers. They just happened to have been born in this country. Don’t forget, they bombed a civilian target, and killed and wounded many civilians. And for what? Politics? It’s beyond stupid. Seriously, Laia, I wouldn’t lose a minute’s sleep over them.”

“I suppose you’re right. Still, it would have been better to arrest them and extract intel from them.”

“Yes, I agree. But you know how it is. We train. We take precautions. We make plans. We execute those plans. But in the end, you can’t control outcomes, especially if the other party is intent on suicide. Dios mío.”

“It’s so strange to me that they would rather commit suicide than fight their battles in court. They would have earned free publicity for their cause for months, maybe years, here, and all around the world.”

“If you want my opinion? They wanted to be martyrs. And I think those bastards wanted you to charge in before they exploded that bomb to take the entire team out. That’s why they threw the grenade. One of them must have panicked and triggered the bomb inside too early. You are all fortunate to be alive.” Peña quickly crossed himself in the Catholic manner, but sloppily.

“Yes, I know. Very lucky. I’m just frustrated that the case died with them. Hopefully we can pull more intelligence out when the rubble is cleared. I stayed until dark, but the stones and timbers were hard to move and there were no lights. And the blood . . .” Brossa’s voice trailed off.

“I saw such things years ago when the Vasco ”—Basque—“were bombing the country. I know how you feel. It is quite distressing. You really should take some time off. Spend time with your father.”

“I’m fine. There are just some loose ends I still want to tie off. I think there’s a possibility the Brigada Catalan was working with another group. We still haven’t identified one man who was killed at L’avi”—she was referencing Runtso, only Jack still hadn’t told her his name—“and then there’s this guy.”

Brossa reached into her purse and pulled out her phone. She opened up her message app and pulled up Jack’s picture of the guy who broke into his place. The paper mask was on his face and the black Nike ball cap was on his head, but the hazel eyes really stood out. She handed her phone to Peña.

“Who’s this?”

“No idea,” Brossa said. “But he was near L’avi when the bomb went off. I have reason to believe he might be involved.”

“Reason? What reason?” Peña brought the phone closer to his face and expanded the picture.

“Maybe ‘reason’ is too strong a word. More like a hunch.”

Brossa shifted in her chair. “I thought perhaps he was with Brigada Catalan. But those eyes are hard to forget, and I have not seen them before. I’ve been back over the files of known Brigada members. He wasn’t among them.”

“Yes, I see what you mean about the eyes. Perhaps our files are incomplete.”

“I was hoping you might recognize him.”

“I don’t, but then again, my memory isn’t what it used to be. But I agree with you, I don’t recall this man in any of our Brigada files.” He studied the picture again. “Where did you say you got this photo?”

“Jack Ryan sent it to me yesterday.”

“Ryan?” Peña rolled his eyes. “I thought you told him to go home.”

“I did. He decided to stay a few more days.”

“I don’t care what Madrid says. That American is a pain in the ass. The sooner he leaves, the better.”

“He’s a nice man, even if he is a little pushy.”

“Where did he get the photo?”

“He didn’t say. I was hoping this man with the hazel eyes was at the farmhouse and to interrogate him. But then the firefight happened. I tried going through the rubble to see if he was among them. But it wasn’t possible, given the situation of the building and the condition of the bodies.”

“Do you have any reason why you think this man was in that building?”

“Ryan thinks he’s the bomber.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. But it’s a lead, and I’d like to find out, one way or another. If he was in the farmhouse, that means he was connected to Brigada, either directly or indirectly.”

Peña smiled with relief. “That’s an easy problem to solve. Once the remains are fully recovered and brought here, I’ll tell the coroner to search for a pair of hazel eyes. Even if they are no longer attached to his skull, that will tell us something, right?”

“If his remains haven’t been completely vaporized, we might be able to ID him, and perhaps link him to whatever organization he’s with.”

“He might have been a loner.” He held up her phone. “Will you forward me a copy of this photo?”