Mike Maden: Drone Threat

“Lane needs to stop this war.”

“Too late, I’m afraid.”

“If I can talk to him, tell him what’s really going on, he’ll stop it.”

Myers glanced away. “He’s asked about you. He’s worried about your health.”

“But he won’t talk to me.”

“He’s unavailable until after the Asia summit.”

Pearce saw something else in her eyes but decided to let it go. “So fill me in. What did you find out while I was napping?”

“Ian’s been busy putting the pieces together. After he hacked into Pike’s computer he found some interesting connections.”

“Like what?”

“It turns out the outfit he was contracting for in Iraq was owned by a shell company. Can you guess who owned it?”

Pearce frowned, connecting the dots. “Al-Saud?”

Myers smiled. “You know, even with your brain bruised, you’re pretty good at this analytical stuff.”

“Was Pike still connected to al-Saud?”

“Ian believes Pike was al-Saud’s drone operative.” Myers laid a hand on one of Pearce’s. “He also confirmed that Pike killed Tamar. I’m so sorry.”

Myers saw the sadness fill his eyes. She wished she could take it away. “He also killed Daniel Brody, and at least two other Israelis over the last few years.”

“That explains the Mossad connection.” He wished Werntz had clued him in. Pearce’s eyes narrowed. “What’s Pike’s status?”

“Disappeared. But Ian’s still on the hunt.”

“What about al-Saud?”

“Still under ‘house arrest.’”

“We’ve got to get that sonofabitch and put him on trial.”

Myers shook her weary head. “Not going to happen. If the American people suspected the Saudis were behind the recent attacks, they’d demand we invade them first.”

“That’s bullshit. He’s guilty. He needs to be brought to justice.”

Myers’s face darkened. “I’m afraid al-Saud skates on this one — at least for now. I hate what he did to you. I’m tempted to go over there and put him down myself.”

“Where’s Pike?”

“Missing.”

“Tarkovsky?”

“Recalled to Moscow.”

“Which makes him out of reach. Convenient.”

“Your friend Vicki Grafton has made a move, too.”

“Where?”

“She’s made partner at Seven Rivers Consortium. They only bring on serious rainmakers at that level. My guess is that they gave her the brass ring for helping launch the war. Their biggest clients stand to make a handsome profit.”

“What’s wrong with this country?”

“There’s more. Your friend Werntz told Ian that Grafton was ‘friendly’ with both Tarkovsky and al-Saud.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“I’m afraid not. A lot of business in Washington is done on the horizontal.”

Pearce winced, shutting his eyes. He wanted to scream. He pressed his palms to his throbbing forehead. “Can you get me a couple of Tylenol?”

Myers stood and snatched the call button, pressing it. “I’m getting the nurse.” She dropped the call button and sat on the bed next to Pearce, rubbing his head. “I’m so sorry. What else can I do?”

“Get me in touch with Lane right now. Please.”

She didn’t have the heart to tell him that Lane didn’t want to speak with him. “His mind’s already made up on the war. There’s nothing you can do about it.”

“I’ve got to try.”

“Let it go.”

“I can’t.”

The anguish in his eyes broke her heart. She put her hand on his. “Trust me, you don’t have a choice.” She stroked his head. His eyes closed but his brow still furrowed with pain.

Where was that nurse?

Pearce was frustrated that he hadn’t been able to reach Lane in the last two days. He’d left messages with Lane’s chief of staff but his calls were never returned. The meds that Dr. Guth had prescribed allowed him to sleep a lot more than he was used to. Once Myers got him settled back in at her place she went to her lawyer’s office to finish up the last of the paperwork needed to complete the German deal. She made Pearce promise to not turn on the television or Google anything about the war — at least not until she got back later that afternoon. She also gave strict orders to Ian that no Pearce Systems employee was to answer any of his calls, texts, or e-mails for forty-eight hours. Pearce was too groggy to fight back.

When his head cleared up enough, he made his way back down to Myers’s kitchen. He opened the cabinet beneath the sink and knelt down, fishing around until his fingers secured the half-pint bottle of whiskey in the back. It was time to clean house.

He pulled it out, only to find a Starbucks card taped to the front of it, along with a note from Myers: “Green tea is better. Refills are on me.”

Pearce grinned. She was always one step ahead of him. He pocketed the Starbucks card and opened the bottle over the sink, pouring out the last few ounces into the drain, then tossed it into the trash can.

His phone rang.

Pearce checked the number. “Unknown.” He thought about Margaret’s admonition to avoid outside contact. He stared at the screen. He couldn’t help himself.

“Pearce.”

“Troy, it’s Clay Chandler. It’s wonderful to hear your voice. You gave us quite the scare.”

Yeah, right , Pearce thought. Chandler’s honey-sweet Georgia accent soured his stomach. “What do you want?”

“Blunt as always. I admire that. So I’ll cut to the chase. President Lane asked me to call you directly. Under the circumstances he feels it’s best for him to accept your resignation.”

“My resignation? Why? Because I got a knock on the head?”

“Hardly. But I think you know that.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That business with Werntz you were caught up in.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Moshe Werntz is Israel’s top spy in North America. He used you on a mission to find two missing Mossad agents. Technically, that makes you an Israeli spy.”

Pearce couldn’t believe his ears. How did Lane and Chandler find out? Did Werntz rat him out? No, not Moshe. Not without reason. He was an Israeli patriot but he was also a friend. Werntz must have a bad apple in his barrel.

“Bullshit. I was doing a favor for a friend. And unless I’m mistaken, Israel is still an allied government in the War on Terror.”

Chandler clucked his tongue. “That doesn’t give you permission to do spy work for them.”

Pearce felt the old demon grabbing him by the throat. “Are you accusing me of treason?”

“Not at all. But it’s optics we’re worried about. We’re trying to fight a war. The president can’t have one of his closest advisors appear to be a puppet of the Israeli government. The public wouldn’t stand for it.”

“That’s idiotic.”

“Perception is reality. Besides, you never really wanted the job. Why pretend you want to keep it?”

“Because it keeps me close to the president, and gives me a chance to stop the killing before more damage is done.”

“You’ve read history, Pearce. Good wars often start for the wrong reasons. You said yourself we need to exterminate ISIS.”

“I said you either exterminate them or leave them alone. We knocked AQ out of Afghanistan and they metastasized. They’re in over one hundred countries now. Same thing will happen if we knock ISIS out of Syria and Iraq. You’re better off letting them all congregate in one place. Like Pia said, containment might be a better option. But half a war is the worst possible action.”

“You’re being naive. Containment? Political correctness will never allow us to contain the Islamic threat. Extermination is the only option. Half a war, as you put it, sets us on that road. Eventually the people of this country will accept that reality.”