Ньют Гингрич - Collusion

Another officer in a golf cart drove him through meticulously groomed lawns along a winding driveway to the entrance of a fifty-room stone mansion built in 1909 on the fifty-acre estate. From its front stoop, he could see Long Island Sound.

“I’m Hannah Clements,” a forty-something woman said after he’d entered the center hall, which had a Bourgogne limestone floor and grand curved staircase and was decorated with Victorian-era furniture. She led him through French doors outside to a spacious terrace.

“Valerie’s parents entrusted her recovery to us as soon as she was stable enough to leave the hospital,” Clements said. “We are quite proud of our rehabilitation facility. We only accept fifteen patients so we can focus on individual needs and we’ve been rated one of the most successful in the world. This is your first visit, is it not?”

“Yes.”

“Her parents are very protective and have not allowed many guests. Unless I’m mistaken, you may be the first nonfamily visitor. May I ask how you know Valerie?”

“We worked together before she was poisoned.”

“Ah, so you are that Brett Garrett, the one I read about in the newspapers, just as I suspected.” She nodded toward a woman sitting with her back to them, facing a formal English garden. “There’s our lady.”

He flinched. Garrett had not been warned that Mayberry would be in a wheelchair.

Clements noticed. “The chair is temporary,” she said. “Actually, Valerie is making amazing progress. She is very determined.”

“Yeah, you could say that,” he replied, slightly smiling.

“I must warn you that Valerie still has difficulty speaking and she also becomes tired easily, especially after her morning sessions, so I must insist that your visit last no more than ten minutes.

He thanked her and walked over, taking a seat on the brick waist-high wall that edged the terrace so that he was facing Mayberry.

“Agent Mayberry,” he said cheerfully.

Garrett handed her the flowers. She took them with her left hand, and he noticed her right was knotted awkwardly in a fist and lying on her lap.

“They said you’re doing great with your rehabilitation. Very determined. I don’t think they’ll be able to keep you here for long, which is good news, because the bureau needs you back. Still lots of rabbits in the world for you to protect.”

He grinned. She gave him a curious look. He wasn’t certain she remembered her reason for joining the FBI.

She looked out over the gardens. He did, too. For several minutes. Peaceful. Silence.

“I never got to thank you,” he said quietly. “You stopped a mass murder. Jumping into the Senate like you did, screaming about a bomb, blocking that hole with your finger. Brilliant. I probably would have been poisoned, too, if Makayla had wrestled that briefcase from you. Naturally, I deserve credit as well for throwing the gas mask to you. Probably the best pitch of my life.”

He struggled to think of something else to say.

“Don’t know if you realize how famous you are,” he said. “Della has taped news articles about you on the wall right next to the ‘Cash Tip’s Pleas’ sign in Baltimore. You’re a real celebrity. I suggested they name an omelet after you.” He laughed.

She continued looking out at the garden.

“Listen, Mayberry,” he said standing. “My ten minutes is up, but I came to tell you that I’m going to get the bastard responsible and I wanted you to know something. Something I need to tell you. It’s just not the bureau that wants you back. We’re a good team, even if you do have a lot of really irritating habits. I’d like you back.”

He reached down and gently placed his hand on her left shoulder.

“Thank you, Brett.” Her words came out with a stutter. He realized that she’d never called him by his first name before. Glancing down at her lap, she added, “Your flowers suck.”

She looked up at him and was smiling.

Thirty hours later, Garrett stepped from one of Kim’s IEC jets onto the tarmac at the Bissau Airport in the African Republic of Guinea-Bissau. Thomas Jefferson Kim was waiting behind the wheel of a Range Rover.

“Welcome to one of the world’s most dangerous and utterly corrupt countries,” Kim said. “Not many places to live when you’re a Russian general hiding from the International Criminal Court and U.S. authorities.”

“Gromyko isn’t worried about being put on trial,” Garrett replied. “He’s looking over his shoulder for Russian Zasion forces. How’d you find him when no one else can?”

“I’m better than everyone else at tracking people,” Kim replied as they drove from the airport.

“Have the other members of my team arrived?” Garrett asked.

“Brought them in yesterday. This nation is a haven for international drug smugglers, so cargo planes fly in and out daily without anyone paying attention. Everyone I’ve met here takes bribes.”

He reached behind the front seats for a package that he handed to Garrett. “A little present I picked up for you.” It was a SIG Sauer semi-auto with extra ammunition. “I know you lost the last one.”

“I didn’t lose it. Gromyko’s goons stole it from me when I was ambushed on the train with Pavel and Peter.”

The black oxide-coated handgun felt good in his grip.

“I want to remind you that Gromyko is living under the protection of a local warlord who helped lead a coup d’état against the last government,” Kim said. “You have a limited amount of time to kill him. Otherwise, he’ll call in reinforcements.”

“It will be a piece of cake.”

“I’m not a fan of cake,” Kim replied.

“How reliable is your information about tomorrow?” Garrett asked.

Kim shrugged. “I paid a lot for it to a reliable source, but Gromyko could change his mind in the morning and cancel his trip.”

“Between nine and ten o’clock. That’s when he’ll be on the move, right?”

“That’s what I’ve been told. Get this: he’ll be in a Mercedes-Maybach S650 that he bought off a local drug smuggler. In this hellhole,” Kim said. “Tomorrow’s our best chance to hit him. If he stays in his compound, you’d have to kill your way through a hundred mercenaries.”

“How many bullets did you bring?”

It took them several hours to reach the remote area where Gromyko was hiding. The flat land they entered was barren at points, with only a few scraggly bushes surviving on the brown, dry dirt. Kim pulled off the one-lane road onto a dry creek bed, which they followed for several miles until they came to a more lush area with trees and overgrown bushes. He parked the four-wheeler in a grove of cashew trees, and they continued on foot, using a navigational GPS connected to an IEC satellite to guide them. They eventually reached a clearing about half the size of a football field in the African forest.

“Cost me a fortune to drop your teammates here last night,” Kim said.

“Next time use Amazon Prime,” Garrett replied.

“Funny,” Kim grunted.

“You still got lots of money,” Garrett said. “Stop crying poor.”

They began unstrapping two pallets connected to parachutes. “Now the fun begins,” Kim said. “Time to fire up MUTT-ONE.”

Using a portable computer linked to his satellite, Kim started the engine of a robotic Multi-Utility Tactical Transport, called MUTT by the U.S. military, that he’d customized. It resembled an ATV but had been cut to about half that size. Kim had armed it with a DShKM, a new version of a heavy machine gun first manufactured by the Soviets in 1938 but still being used today by the Russian military.

“I’ve added remote-controlled laser-guided computer sights, GPS mapping, and gyroscopic stabilization,” Kim said proudly. “Now some people mistakenly believe this weapon can fire U.S./NATO .50-caliber ammunition, but that’s not true. The Russian military manual describes its rounds as being .51 caliber, just enough to prevent them from being interchangeable.” He was enjoying showing off his customized weaponry. “I was able to get the records from the company that armored Gromyko’s Maybach. His car was designed to withstand standard 7.62 mm NATO rounds, and a blast from two DM51 hand grenades detonated together. This Russian machine gun’s ammunition will penetrate up to three-fourths of an inch High Hard Armor. Plus, MUTT-ONE will be positioned about fifty yards from the target. At such a close distance, the computer should be able to fire multiple rounds in such a compact grouping that if the first round doesn’t do the trick, the following ones will be enough to penetrate and stop the Maybach’s 621 horsepower V-12 engine.”