Stephen Hunter - Dead Zero

“Do you see corruption, decadence, blasphemy?” asked Khalid.

“Of course not. They keep them hidden. It is internal rot that threatens our world. But yes, they put on a nice show. It’s a handsome capitol, I give you that, but its beauty expresses not love but power, not peace but war, and a hunger to obliterate. I see in its grace and beauty our doom, if we do not destroy it first. In fact, its very hugeness inspires me to what I must do, not that I ever had a whisper of a doubt.”

Khalid sighed.

“Who knew the old buzzard with the horny eyes had a little bit of poetry left in him? Yes, Faisal, that is what I see too. I see and feel in my dreams the need to destroy it as well.”

On that, and that alone, they agreed.

P STREET

GEORGETOWN

WASHINGTON, DC

2208 HOURS

No interrogation.

“That’s why he did it,” Bob said. “He was telling us, ‘I won’t give up my bosses for anything. They don’t deserve me,’ he was saying, but he was doing it by the code of the mercenary, a lot harder to live up to, so he says, than the code of a marine sniper. He didn’t seem to get that right to the end, Cruz outbraved him.”

“Cruz is one hundred percent real, no doubt about it,” said Susan Okada. “He’s as real as Swagger.”

“He’s a lot realer than me,” Swagger said. “He didn’t make the mistake of getting old.”

“But I will,” said Cruz.

“And thank you,” Susan said to Swagger, “for not jumping to the conclusion that these anonymous bosses were Agency,” she said.

“I just learned how to stay on your good side. Maybe it’s not the Agency. But it’s someone with the power to do things and hide from the consequences. It’s someone who gets to snipe without taking no incoming. He’s the bastard I want.”

“Maybe this is the night.”

“If not tonight, tomorrow,” said Bob.

“Swagger always gets his man,” said Nick.

Now they were clustered at the Ford Explorer that the Unidentified Contractor Team had used on its mission. It was shot to pieces, with no window or door or panel unperforated, no tire inflated, on top of a puddle of leaking internal fluids and a spew of glass frags and twisted metal shrapnel.

“Looks like Bonnie and Clyde’s last ride,” somebody said. “And guess what’s inside. The same swag. Look at what these boys were carrying.”

The evidence recovery team busily photographed and tagged the loot: one Barrett.50 M107 rifle with Schmidt & Bender scope, four 9-mm semiauto pistols, one Sako TRG-42, one.338 Magnum bolt-action rifle with Schmidt & Bender 10× tactical scope and a custom Gemtech suppressor, two M4 carbines with Aimpoint or EO Tech optics, at least five thousand rounds of various types of ammo, a Schmidt & Bender spotting scope, dual-spectrum night vision goggles, any number of Motorola mini-radio units, several cells, a half dozen or so SureFire flashlights, some yogurt, some chewing gum, some prophylactics, several bottles of amphetamines, some-

“Look, Mr. Memphis,” said Cruz, “I hate to tell you your business or anything, but I’m not seeing much urgency here. We’re just standing around kind of laughing at all the crap these guys had. But doesn’t that tell you something? Top-of-the-line stuff, all of it, the very best. The Marine Corps isn’t that well equipped. And the fact that even this late in Zarzi’s visit, whoever it is is still sending trained men with high-value tech at risk to protect him, because they don’t think the FBI and the Secret Service are up to it. To me, it all points to the idea that something is yet to happen, and they are therefore locked into a total protective response, even one at some risk. So I see the seconds tick away and nobody seems to care.”

“Earth to Cruz,” said Nick, “evidence collection is the basis of any criminal case, and mistakes made during it can jeopardize the outcome of the prosecution. These evidence technicians are highly trained, methodical, the best in the world. They must be allowed to work, and when they clear what they recover, it will be turned over to us.”

Cruz said nothing but was clearly not satisfied.

“Okay,” said one of the technicians, coming up to Nick, “this is it, right? This is what you’ve been waiting for?”

“That’s it,” said Nick.

“One Thuraya SG-2520 state-of-the-art satellite phone. Tagged and printed, sign on the dotted line, your possession noted in evidence chain, scratch your initials into it with a key or something, and you will sign it in when you are done, according to regulations, right, Mr. Assistant Director?”

“Yep,” Nick said. He looked over at Ray, then to Susan and Bob, as he scratched a crude NM into the plastic. “I think you’ll find this interesting. I’ll put it on speaker and cut all you guys in too. Folks, it’s showtime!”

An assistant brought Nick a cell. He punched a button, waited.

“Agent Jeffrey Neal, Technical Support Division, Quantico,” came the voice.

“Agent Neal, Assistant Director Nick Memphis, we’ve recovered, as you suggested we might, a highly sophisticated satellite phone. Care to open it up for us?”

“That’s what I’m here for, sir.”

“Tell us what to do.”

“Describe what’s on the screen.”

Nick turned the instrument, which looked like a cell any kid in a mall carried, except that it had an aerial folded telescope-style inside. Like any cell, it had the small screen above the keyboard where a message glowed.

“It says ‘Enter Unlock Code.’”

“Okay. Obviously we don’t have the unlock code. So we’ll be going back door, no offense meant to all you gay special agents out there in FBI land.”

“Neal, I’m the head comedian. I’ll make the jokes, okay? Your job is to laugh at them.”

“Got it, sir. I want you to keyboard the number 667723 onto the screen and then hit the star button three times. Do it slowly and carefully. This number was inserted in the CPU by the subcontracted Israeli development team as a request from Mossad. Very few people know about it.”

“Got it,” said Nick, punching in the numbers and stars.

In a second “Unlocked” came onto the screen.

“Okay,” said Neal, “now go to ‘Dialed Calls.’”

Nick punched the choice on the screen menu.

“There’s only one number here,” Nick said. “It’s got a 206 area code.” Nick read him the number.

“Seattle,” said Neal. “They have set up a few remote relay points. Need a sec to trace them. But first, I’m going to put you on hold while I call the U.S. Attorneys’ Office in DC. They’ve been alerted. They will issue a numbered Federal Intelligence Surveillance Court warrant that will enable us to legally trace the linkages and come to the destination phone.”

“Excellent,” said Nick, listening as the phone went dead. “See, Cruz, this stuff can happen pretty fast if you know what you’re doing.”

“Okay, I was wrong,” said Cruz.

“I’m glad you see the error of your ways and I don’t have to have Gunnery Sergeant Swagger kick your ass.”

“I may do it anyway, on general principles,” Swagger said. “Dumb bozo goes into that icebox unarmed to face a man paid to kill him.”

“What an idiot,” said Nick. “Oh, and by the way, that’s the bravest thing I’ve ever seen a man do in my life. I’m betting Swagger thinks the same and I bet these guys do too.”

“Here, here,” said a number of the clustered special agents and SWAT pros.

“He’s got guts, he ain’t got no sense at all,” muttered Swagger.

“Somebody’s sure cranky tonight,” Nick said. It seemed true-all Swagger had said to Cruz on the way over was stuff like, “That was a really stupid decision. You risked your life for a hostage and endangered what we’re trying to do. You don’t own your life, Sergeant, the Marine Corps does. It’ll give you permission to die, and it hasn’t,” and the younger man merely shook his head, almost in comic disbelief.