Charles Henderson - Terminal Impact

“Yes, I know,” Gray said, and began pouring beer. “Semper Fi, brothers. You too, sister. Even though you’re like an illegitimate stepchild to us Marines.”

Liberty smirked at him and drew grins from her crew.

A tired and disgruntled waiter came to the table, impatiently tapping his notepad to take the orders.

“What’s good?” Liberty asked him.

“Nothing here, but it’s all safe to eat. You won’t get sick from it,” he said in a strong Brooklyn accent. “Probably the shepherd’s pie’s your best bet. If you like Irish. I pretty much live on it and Mulligan stew.”

The four new people all raised their eyebrows, fully expecting to hear an Iraqi accent to go with the waiter’s dark hair, complexion, and need for a shave.

“You’re American?” Liberty asked.

The waiter nodded. “I run the place. Name’s Kelly. That’s my twin brother Henry behind the bar, and my younger brother Jim does the cooking out back. We got a subcontract from Kellogg, Brown and Root. Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Regrets?” she asked.

“We’re making good money but hating life,” Kelly said.

Liberty searched the table. “I don’t see a menu.”

“Behind the bar.” Kelly pointed with his pencil.

After looking at the short list of mostly soup, stew, and potpie, she said, “No chicken breasts or fish fillets?”

Chris Gray laughed, then stopped himself.

Kelly smiled and shook his head. “Like I said, lady. What you eat here is safe. We make sure the meat is fresh and untainted. Vegetables likewise. Everything kept clean and cold until we cook it. Unfortunately, if we went to adding chicken or fish, we run some risks. Beef just costs too much to offer. We’d love to serve hamburgers, but keeping it in supply is hit-and-miss. Once in a while, we get some beef chuck and make stew. We’re at the mercy of what KBR puts in the pipeline. For some reason we have an abundance of lamb, so we make it work. Our mom gave us some of her good home-cooked Irish recipes. We do our best, and don’t hear complaints. And nobody gets sick. We run a clean, safe place.”

Liberty eyed her crew and got nods back. “Looks like shepherd’s pie all around.”

“You too, Chris?” Kelly said, glancing down at the CIA operator.

“Yeah, why not,” Gray said.

When Kelly had left, Liberty looked at Chris Gray for a long time, watching him get uncomfortable.

“What?” he finally said.

“Tell me more about your association with my boss,” she answered. “I don’t see how you and Jason could have served in the Marine Corps together. You’re so much younger.”

“Not that young,” he answered. “I served in Second Force Recon in the Gulf War, back in ’91, first time we came over here. Did four years, graduated college, came back to the Marine Corps as a lieutenant but got lured off by the CIA. My partner in crime here, another Marine, former captain and EA-6B Prowler pilot named Speedy Espinoza, recruited me.”

“And Jason Kendrick?” Liberty asked.

“New York, just after the Gulf War,” Gray said. “I finished out my tour there working on an intelligence mission with Jason and Jim Kallstrom. Also did some ninja training with their tactical agents. We roped down onto rooftops in the Bronx from black helicopters in the middle of the night. Counterterrorist and hostage-rescue stuff.”

Liberty laughed. “Oh, I’ve heard a lot of stories about Jason’s life in New York with that bunch.”

“Some of the best people who ever walked this earth, in my opinion,” Chris Gray said. “When I worked with them, both Kallstrom and Kendrick were legends.”

“I agree!” Liberty said. “They still are legends.”

Just then, Kelly brought a tray with large bowls of shepherd’s pie stacked on it. Each shepherd’s pie had a golden crust baked on top of it.

“Wow!” Special Agent Bob Hartley exclaimed. “I hope it tastes as good as it looks.”

“We try,” Kelly said, setting out the meals.

Hartley was the senior agent on Liberty’s team. The other two agents were Casey Runyan and Clifford Towler, both of them junior to Liberty. Though Hartley was senior, he and his men had the single mission of supporting Liberty Cruz.

Hartley dug into his pie as soon as Kelly had slid it across the table to him. Likewise, Towler and Runyan plowed into their bowls, forks blazing. The aroma of the lamb, potatoes, onions, and carrots in thick brown gravy, with just the right amount of spice, filled the air.

Kelly set down a basket filled with fresh-baked Irish soda bread, warm from the oven, and a bowl of butter with it. Then he watched the people react to the food.

Liberty put her spoon through the crust as Chris Gray watched, then took a cautious bite.

“Wow!” she exclaimed, and looked at Kelly, who was all smiles. “I thought you said nothing here was good.”

“Compared to the way my mother cooks, it’s not good at all,” Kelly said, smiling. “Yet, it is like I said. Nobody complains.”

“This is delicious!” Liberty said.

“I live on it, like anyone else working here with half a brain,” Gray said. “Irish home cooking. Hard to beat.”

Kelly brought a fresh pitcher of beer and left while the five customers inhaled their dinner.

As they scraped the bottoms of their bowls, Liberty looked at Chris Gray once again.

“Now what?” he said.

“I have a friend who was in Second Force Recon about the time you said you were there,” she said. “He also went to the Gulf War with Second Force Recon. You wouldn’t happen to know Jack Valentine?”

“Oh yeah.” Gray laughed. “As lance corporals we were hooch mates. Then Elmore Snow grabbed him for that corral of snake eaters that he runs. I never saw him again until this week. We’re involved in a battalion operation with one-five out in the Denver Area of Operations. Speedy and I will be working with Jack and his MARSOC crew, on the intelligence side of the house. Small world.”

“Has Jack already gone?” Liberty asked. “I was hoping to surprise him. He’s someone special to me.”

“I have no idea if he’s left yet, but you’d better hurry if you want to catch him. Otherwise, I expect you won’t see him for two weeks or so,” Chris said, then sighed with a smile. “Someone special, huh?”

Liberty smiled back, her eyes saying everything.

“Now I’m envious of that worthless bastard.” Gray laughed.

“You don’t happen to know Cesare Alosi?” Bob Hartley interrupted, moving the discussion to business.

“I know of him.” Gray nodded back to the agent. “Never met him, though. He cut a deal with my boss yesterday and got a crew of his security operators assigned to support our intelligence mission. I didn’t object because they’re three of Elmore Snow’s old guys from back in the drug-interdiction-program days. Guy named Hacksaw in charge. You know him?”

“Hacksaw Gillespie?” Liberty asked.

“Yeah, that’s him,” Gray said. “He has a gold grill that puts most rappers to shame.”

“Oh yes. I heard Jack tell many unflattering tales about him,” Liberty said.

“How about Kermit and Habu?” Gray asked.

“Them, too.” Liberty smiled. “Jack speaks highly of all of them. Anyone Elmore Snow has under his command, you don’t need to worry about.”

“Yeah, probably so,” Gray said. “These boys seemed pretty dependable. Rough around the edges, but a cut way above any other security contractors I see wandering around these parts.”

“How much did Mr. Kendrick share with you about my operation?” Liberty asked in a low voice so no one could hear beyond the table.

“No more than I needed to know, and that’s the way I want it,” Gray said. “I know you’re on something all cloak-and-dagger, very hush-hush and shush-shush. Jason asked me to watch your back, should any security contractors or other hinky sportsmen come sniffing your trail. And my secret-agent stash of gee-whiz double-oh-seven stuff, and anything else among my resources you need are yours for the asking. You’ve got an open ticket, no questions.”