John Gilstrap - Threat warning

“I saved three lives that night.”

“But to do it, you took five lives that the NCA deemed more important than the ones you saved.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Jonathan spat. “Your whim is not the National Command Authority. We were in position, we’d taken four days to get there, and they were going to execute those kids.”

“I gave an abort order, and you ignored it.”

“It was a bogus order. You misunderstood it.”

“Jesus, Digger, do you want to go through the whole court-martial again? We can’t retry it, but even if we did, the fact will remain that you disobeyed an order.”

The door from the hallway flew open with enough force to make a dent in the wall it slammed into, and Boxers stormed into the office. Born as Brian Van de Meulebroeke, Boxers stood closer to seven feet than six, and likely bent the needle on most bathroom scales. When anyone that big moves that fast, you know that damage is going to be done. His eyes showed murder.

“Box, no!” Jonathan shouted as he shot to his feet. JoeDog slinked under the coffee table.

Rollins scrambled to rise from the depths of the sofa, but he never had a chance. Boxers closed the distance in five quick strides. He grabbed a fistful of Rollins’s shirt in one hand, and his hair with the other, and effortlessly lifted the colonel over the back of the sofa. He heaved him onto the floor with enough force to make two table lamps jump and tumble over.

“What did I tell you last time I saw you?” he shouted.

Rollins landed on his back, his head bouncing off the carpeted floor. He looked stunned. Or maybe terrified.

“Box!” Jonathan yelled. He’d never seen Big Guy this spun up. This homicidal. As he vaulted the back of the sofa to intervene, the conference room door flew open again.

Venice yelled. It wasn’t a scream, exactly, but rather a guttural expression of surprise.

Jonathan dove for his friend, catching him by his belt and pulling to restrain him.

Boxers whirled on Jonathan, his fist cocked. He was that far gone. When Jonathan winced-a full-force blow from Big Guy could be fatal-Boxers’ eyes changed. Horror replaced rage.

In the hallway, Rick Hare and Charlie Keeling-two of the full-time security guards at Security Solutions-appeared at the door, hands gripping their sidearms. What they saw was clearly not what they’d been expecting.

“Everything okay in here, Mr. G?” Rick asked. His eyes shifted to the various parties, trying to decipher it all.

Jonathan kept Boxers’ eye. “You okay?”

Big Guy whirled to Rollins, pointing two fingers like a weapon.

“Look at me, Box,” Jonathan said.

“I told him I’d kill him next time I saw him,” Boxers said.

The security guards stepped in to take positions around Rollins. With the bad guy identified, they knew who to target.

“And you damn near did,” Jonathan said. He smiled and winked.

Venice stood with her hands on her head, her mouth slack. “What is this?”

Jonathan held up a hand for silence as Gail Bonneville arrived in the doorway. Her hand was poised near the Glock on her hip, but then she relaxed. “Oh, there’s got to be a good story here,” she said.

With reinforcements in place, JoeDog felt secure enough to bark. Just once, as if to remind everyone that there was a four-legged killing machine in the room. The absurdity of it made Jonathan chuckle in spite of himself. He directed his attention to the security team. “Thanks, guys. We’re all okay here. Just a flash of anger.”

Rick Hare looked unconvinced. “You sure, boss?”

Jonathan nodded. “I’m always sure. Not always right, but always sure. How about you, Roleplay? Are you hurt?”

Colonel Rollins eyed Boxers with ill-disguised hatred as he rose to his feet and brushed himself off. The front panel of his shirt was torn at the buttons. “I’m fine,” he said.

The guards clearly sensed the tension, but they also understood their order to leave. “We’ll be at our posts,” Rick said. “Just give a shout if you need something.”

Jonathan smiled. “If anyone out there asks what happened, tell them that a bookcase fell over.”

Charlie Keeling touched two fingers to his brow as acknowledgment. Gail pulled away from the door to allow room for them to depart, and then asked Jonathan if she was to stay or leave.

“I want you here for this,” he said. “Let’s gather in the War Room, where we will all keep our hands to ourselves.”

Boxers nearly vibrated with anger, but when the tension left his shoulders, Jonathan knew that he was back with the program.

As they filed into the War Room, Venice pulled Jonathan to the side. “I’ve never seen Boxers like that.”

“Did you find the video?”

She clearly wanted more, but knew better than to push. “Cued up and ready to go,” she said.

Tension remained heavy in the air as they filed into the War Room. Jonathan wasn’t sure where the nickname for the space originated, but given the activities that were often planned in this space, it was apropos. Detailed in teak and mahogany and featuring calfskin-soft chairs, the War Room offered all of the latest in communication and presentation technology. On the far end, Venice had already retracted the panels in the wall that housed the 106-inch projection screen, where the frozen image of the terrified Nasbes stared at them, frozen in time. He’d already seen it, of course, but it was time to pay attention.

He asked, “Colonel Rollins, would you like to catch us up on what you know before we start watching?” By using his official title, Jonathan hoped to defuse the tension.

Rollins leaned forward and cleared his throat. “The people you’re going to see are Christyne Nasbe and her son Ryan, sixteen. We don’t know how they ended up in the custody of terrorists, but we suspect that they were somehow taken after the Wilson Bridge incident last night. They live on Bragg when Boomer is home, but they’re apparently up here visiting her sister in Mount Vernon.”

“Does Boomer know the family has been taken?”

“He was the one to tell us. He found out purely by chance. He thought he recognized them despite the masks, and when he tried to establish contact with them, he couldn’t. They weren’t at the address where they were supposed to be staying, and both of their cell phones were turned off. We did a little checking and discovered that the SIM cards had either been disabled or removed.”

Jonathan asked, “Is he just going by the voice?”

“That was the first thing that caught his attention. But then he looked closer. It turns out that the son, Ryan, has a birthmark on his belly. It shows on the video.”

Gail asked, “Why are you coming to Security Solutions? A case like this has FBI written all over it.”

Rollins hesitated. “I’d rather we discuss this in private, Digger.”

Jonathan shook his head. “My team gets to know what I know.”

The colonel took a moment to think it through. “Here’s the thing,” he said at last. “The FBI is a civilian agency. I’m sure they’re fine at what they do, but they’re pretty damned distracted right now, and we want the Nasbes’ safety to be the first and only priority, not just one of many.”

Gail started to object, but Rollins held up a hand to signal that he wasn’t done yet.

“There’s also the Unit connection. The FBI can’t know that, and I think it’s clear that the kidnappers don’t know it, or they would have mentioned something about it in the video.”

Gail didn’t get it. “And why can’t the FBI know?”

“Because the FBI is packed with unnamed sources,” Rollins answered. “Deep Throat, anyone? What isn’t leaked to the press is revealed though congressional hearings. I owe Boomer more than that.”