Mike Lawson - House Divided

Yes, it was good to be lucky. But was he lucky enough?

“Do you understand, Alice?” Dillon said.

“Yes,” Alice said.

Alice was so wooden. Claire could be just as ruthless as Alice, maybe more so, but at least Claire showed some emotion. Not this young lady, though. She was a machine. She was his Terminator.

“You can’t lose sight of either man, not for an instant. Use as many people as you think you need.”

“I won’t lose them,” Alice said.

“And the timing has to be perfect. Absolutely perfect.”

“I understand,” Alice said.

“I wouldn’t normally ask you to do something like this but-well, with what’s at stake…”

“I said I understand, sir.”

Dillon had been reluctant to tell Alice everything that he and Claire knew but finally decided he had to.

“I mean, what Charles Bradford is doing-”

“Dillon, for God’s sake,” Claire said. “She gets it.”

It was after midnight when Levy pulled into the parking lot of a small four-story apartment building in Alexandria. He had a two-bedroom unit on the second floor and had lived there for three years. He could have afforded something better but had never seen the need. The apartment was just a place where he slept and occasionally ate. The only reason he had a second bedroom was that he needed space to store his books, all history books, and most of them about the Vietnam War-the war in which he’d lost his father and his brother. He had promised himself that one day he would travel to Vietnam and see the places where they had fought-the places where they’d vanished from the earth.

Alpha, do you have Sentry?

Roger that.

Bravo, do you have Viper?

Roger that. He’s still sitting in his car.

Very well. Stand by.

Levy was exhausted. He didn’t go home after meeting with Bradford, as he’d been ordered, but had continued to hunt for DeMarco. The general had said that finding DeMarco was no longer a priority, yet Levy thought it would be prudent to locate the man. But he failed. Again. He had barely slept in the last two days and if he didn’t get out of his car in the next minute, he’d fall asleep right where he was sitting.

This is Alpha. Sentry is exiting his vehicle.

This is Bravo. Viper is now exiting his vehicle. Viper is approaching Sentry.

Bravo. Alpha. Execute as briefed.

Roger that.

Levy inserted his key into the lock-and at that instant a bullet smashed into the door, next to his head, shattering the glass. He dropped to the ground and rolled away from the door while simultaneously reaching for his Colt. His reflexes were dulled by fatigue and he fumbled clumsily for the automatic as he tried to pull it from its holster. And he was totally exposed. There was absolutely nothing near the doorway to use for cover. Nothing.

Still rolling on the ground and still struggling to clear his weapon, he saw a man standing in the parking lot holding a silenced semiautomatic pistol in his hand. He couldn’t see the man’s face clearly because of the lighting, but he could see that the man, at least momentarily, wasn’t looking at him. For some reason the man who had just missed his head with a bullet was looking over his shoulder, as if he’d heard someone behind him. Levy thought for an instant that he might be able to return fire, but then the man once again aimed his weapon at him.

John Levy knew he was going to die.

And then he heard the spitting sound of a weapon equipped with a silencer, and the man who’d been about to kill him dropped to the ground.

Who fired the last shot? And who the hell had been trying to kill him?

Levy sat there, his back against the wall of his apartment building, holding his gun now, breathing hard, scanning the parking lot and the surrounding buildings. He couldn’t see anyone, but he knew someone was out there.

Finally, he rose to his feet, his gun still in his hand. He was no longer worried about dying, however. The person who fired the last shot obviously didn’t want to kill him or he would have done so by now.

He walked over to the man lying on the ground. He knew the man-and he couldn’t believe who it was. He didn’t understand what was going on.

“Mr. Levy, please holster your weapon.” It was a woman speaking, but he couldn’t see her.

“Mr. Levy, we don’t want to kill you, so please holster your weapon. I’m going to show myself now, but if you raise your weapon you will be shot.”

A young woman stepped out from the shadows surrounding the parking lot and stood beneath the cone of light shining down from the streetlamp above her. She wasn’t holding a weapon.

“Mr. Levy,” she said, “I work for the National Security Agency. You need to come with me.”

Alice took Levy to an all-night diner halfway between Washington, D.C. and Fort Meade. Neither she nor Levy said a word while they were driving there. By the time she arrived, Dillon was already in the diner, drinking coffee. He was the only customer in the place. The night cook was out back having a smoke; he had a hundred-dollar bill in his pocket.

Levy sat down at Dillon’s table but didn’t say anything. He may have been in a state of shock but Dillon doubted that. At this point Levy was just processing things. Waiting for an opportunity. Alice took a seat several tables away, ready to kill Levy if he attempted to harm Dillon.

“General Bradford tried to have you killed tonight, John,” Dillon said. “You do realize that, don’t you? And my people saved your life.”

Levy still said nothing.

“We’ve been following you ever since Hopper was killed. Since the night you tried to kill DeMarco.”

“So you killed Hopper,” Levy said.

“I’m afraid so. He didn’t leave us a choice.”

“What do you want?” Levy said.

“Don’t you want to know why Bradford tried to kill you?”

“The general didn’t try to kill me.”

“Come on, John. Gilmore was your man. The only one who could have given him the green light to kill you was Bradford. You know that.”

Levy shook his head. “I don’t know how you got to Colonel Gilmore, but you got to him some way. You-”

“I want you to hear something,” Dillon said, taking a small digital recorder from his pocket.

Levy said, “If you’re planning to play the recording Martin Breed supposedly made, you’re wasting your time.”

“That’s not what’s on this recording. This is a recording of DeMarco talking to General Bradford today.”

“You’re telling me DeMarco snuck a recording device into the chairman’s office? Now I know you’re lying. DeMarco was checked for bugs before he-”

“John, please. I work for the NSA. Do you really believe I couldn’t record a conversation in Bradford’s office if I set my mind to it? Just listen.”

Levy showed no emotion as he listened to DeMarco and Bradford talking.

Dillon hit the STOP button. “Do you understand what DeMarco said, John? He said that you are the only one who can destroy Bradford. Without your testimony against him, General Breed’s recording is insufficient-and Charles Bradford knows this.”

Levy just looked at Dillon, and Dillon couldn’t help but think that Levy was possibly the saddest-looking man he’d ever met. It was also apparent that in spite of what he’d heard, Levy still didn’t believe that Bradford-his mentor, his commanding officer-had tried to have him killed.

“Now I’m going to let you listen to a very short phone call the general made immediately after you left his office today.”

Dillon hit the PLAY button on the recorder, and Levy listened to Charles Bradford’s words,

Mrs. Cleary, reach out for a Colonel Philip Gilmore. He’s stationed at Fort Myer. I want him to meet me in twenty minutes at the chapel at Arlington Cemetery.