David Bruns - Weapons of Mass Deception

Hashem’s breath fogged the glass as he leaned in. “They’re finished?” he said.

Valerie nodded gravely.

Hashem squinted at the nearest device. A small metal tag was glued to the base of the unit, next to the explosive sphere. The tag looked hand drawn. “What is that?” he asked, pointing to the label.

Valerie pursed his lips. “I’ve named each of the bombs after my family, Colonel. That one is Raisa, that’s Tanya, and Little Valerie.” Tears seeped out of his eyes, and were lost in the gray nest of his beard. Hashem wondered how much he’d had to drink already tonight.

He gripped Valerie’s arm. “Your vengeance will come, my friend. I promise.”

The Russian nodded, the tears flowing freely now. “When, Colonel? When?”

When. That was a good question. He had one completely functional nuclear missile now, but the launchers were the one thing he could not steal from the Iranian weapons program. It had been nearly two years since he’d ordered three mobile launchers from the North Korean agent, Pak Myong-rok — and paid cash up front.

Everything depended on Pak now. Without those launchers, his missiles were no more than giant paperweights. The thought made his stomach churn. He forced a smile.

“Soon, Valerie. Soon.”

Going to Sine’s Irish Pub the night before the election had been a mistake.

Don scanned the packed bar from his high-top table. Already he’d had to fend off three guys who wanted to take the empty chair opposite him. He flagged the waitress down.

“I’ll have another. Harp,” he said, holding up his empty glass. She eyeballed the empty chair and the standing-room-only bar. “And I’ll have a grasshopper for my friend.”

Don had only a vague idea what a grasshopper was, and no idea if Liz would drink one, but at least the waitress would know he was meeting someone. She raised her eyebrows in a “whatever” expression and pushed back into the crowd.

Sine’s was the place for happy hour on Pentagon Row. People from all over the government circle migrated here for drinks after work, and no small amount of deals were done over beers at Sine’s.

But not tonight. It was all about the election tonight. The Republicans smelled blood in the water and the Democrats were already making apologies for “off-year election” results. The TV over the bar had the sound muted — not that Don could have heard it over the din — and was showing a graphic of election issues: jobs, economy, healthcare, the list went on. Afghanistan was number ten and Iraq wasn’t even on the list. The surge was over, troops were coming home, and the public had moved on. Out of sight, out of mind.

Don wished she would get back with that beer. This afternoon’s briefing had been a complete disaster. With the off-year election looming, the only thing less interesting than Iraq to the Washington establishment was Iran, and his briefing had been on the Iranian nuclear threat. The admiral had sent his aide and the CIA guy hadn’t even shown up. Not that he’d had that much to tell them anyway. The Iranians certainly had the wherewithal to go into the nuclear weapons business, he just didn’t have any evidence that they actually were doing it.

He spied Liz in the crowd. She was jumping, trying to see over the taller people as she looked for him. Don half-stood on the rungs of his chair and waved to her with both hands.

Liz squeezed between two fat lobbyist-looking guys fawning over a middle-aged man who looked vaguely familiar, like Don had seen him on TV before. She hugged him fiercely, and Don felt her powerful shoulders under his hands.

Liz had matured since he’d seen her last. Her dark hair was longer, and pulled back into a silver barrette at the nape of her neck. Her features had sharpened into a square jaw and defined cheekbones that set off her dark eyes and the slight hook of her nose. She wore a dark blue suit that flattered her blocky frame.

The waitress arrived with his drinks. Her eyebrows went up again when she saw Liz was there. “One Harp.” She dropped the beer in front of Don. “And for the lady,” she said, placing the martini glass filled with green liquid on Liz’s side of the table. “That’ll be fifteen.”

Don dropped a twenty on her tray. “Keep the change.”

Liz waited until the waitress moved away before she leaned across the table. “What is this?” she asked.

Don flushed. “It’s a grasshopper. I thought you might like it…”

Liz leaned all the way over and planted a kiss on his cheek. “It’s perfect, Don. Thank you. It’s been awhile since a man bought me a drink.”

He knew she was just saying that, but it felt good all the same. The lobbyists noticed the kiss and Don sat up straighter in his chair, sucking in his gut a little.

“What do you mean?” he asked, pointing to her engagement ring, a two-carat beauty in a platinum setting. “I thought you were engaged.”

Liz held out her hand, staring at the ring for a long moment. “Oh, I am. James is a dear. Our families have known each other since we were kids.” Her voice trailed off.

“How long have you been engaged, Liz?”

Her brow knit together, and she pursed her lips. “Three years and change, I guess.”

“What’s he like?”

“He’s a great guy. A dentist, maxillofacial surgeon, actually. He just got back from a trip to South America where he fixed cleft palates for indigenous people. He’s a great guy.”

“So when’s the wedding?”

Liz blew out her breath and took sip of her drink. “It’s complicated, Don. James’s work keeps him busy and my deployment and training at Quantico keeps us apart.” She brightened and sat up. “Oh, but I have news. I’m getting transferred to LA when my training’s done. I got a slot at the JTTF. James went to school there and has lots of friends. It’s perfect for us.”

“Joint Terrorism Task Force, huh? I thought maybe you’d go for something in the Midwest, maybe Minneapolis… that’s where Brendan’s from, you know.”

Liz avoided his eyes as she sipped her drink. “Have you heard from Bren lately?”

Don leaned forward. “Liz, what’s stopping you two? You were perfect together at the Academy and then it all just fell apart.” He paused when he saw Liz’s eyes start to fill up with tears — he’d never seen Liz cry before. He held up his hands. “Look, it’s none of my business, but you two should—”

“Riley!” The voice that cut him off made Don want to scream. Clem Reggins slammed his drink down on their table, spilling a little in the process. He positioned his arms on the high-top so his tanned biceps curved at just the right angle. He leered at Liz. “Are you going to introduce me, Riley?”

The only thing worse than Clem Reggins was a drunk Clem Reggins, and he seemed well on his way to drunkdom already. Clem snagged the waitress’s arm as she passed by. “I’ll have another Jack and Diet Coke — make sure it’s Diet, babe — and whatever these two are having.” He pulled a wad of bills from his pocket and peeled off a twenty. He dropped it on her tray. “If you make it back before I finish this one, there’s more where that came from.” He watched the waitress’s ass as she plunged back into the crowd.

He turned back to Don and Liz. “Where were we? Oh, yeah, Riley was going to introduce me to this lovely lady.” He raised his eyebrows at Don, and winked at him with the eye that Liz couldn’t see.

Don gritted his teeth. “Liz, this is Clem Reggins, my boss at NCPC. Clem, Liz, an old friend.”

Liz extended her hand. “Nice to meet you, Clem.”

Clem gripped her fingers and flexed his pecs at Liz. He bent over to kiss her hand. Liz tried to extract her hand but Clem hung on. Don felt the table shift as Liz’s foot kicked out. Clem’s eyes bugged out for a second, and he released Liz’s hand.