Don Pendleton - Decision Point

She thought he was probably lying. This man might have dozens of identities. But the President trusted Brognola, and this was the man Brognola said could get the job done. “Fair enough—for now,” she said. “But if you aren’t as capable as Hal Brognola convinced the President you are, I’ll figure that out. I won’t have anyone risking Heather.”

He shook his head slightly. “Agent Peterson, you’ve just summed up the problem with your involvement rather nicely. This mission isn’t about Heather. She’s secondary, and even President Daniels knows that. If you can’t get your head around that idea, hit the road right now.”

“Heather may be secondary to you, Matt Cooper or Colonel Stone or whoever the hell you really are, but she’s primary to me!” Peterson’s voice started rising slightly toward the end of her rant, but she noticed it and toned herself down. “I don’t care about the LTTE or pirates. I care about her. This family means a lot to me, and I will not fail them.”

“Take a deep breath, Agent Peterson,” he said mildly. “One step at a time, okay? I plan to save Heather, but we can’t do anything until we understand what we’re walking into. I don’t mind going into the den, but I’d like to know how big the lions are before we jump into the black.”

She pushed the eggs around on her plate as she contemplated the mess she was in. There were few situations in life she couldn’t handle, but Heather being held captive seemed to be putting her over the edge. She’d known the Daniels family for years—before he became President—and had been around the family so long that they were her family. She’d been there when Heather graduated. And she knew what captivity meant.

She also knew that Cooper was right, she needed to slow down and take one step at a time or she would spend the entire mission running in circles.

The slow, gnawing anxiety of prefield work that once made her adrenaline pump was now almost paralyzing. She was determined not to allow it to control her or the outcome of this mission, but she wasn’t so prideful to only rely on herself. She needed Cooper, or whatever his real name was, and needing anyone was really against her nature. If he really was as good as Brognola had told President Daniels—“He’s the best special operations man I’ve got and if he can’t get it done, no one can.”—then he’d be invaluable.

Cooper’s phone rang and Peterson rolled the fork along the edge of her plate anticipating that this would be the call that would get them moving in the right direction. She was determined to control herself, but inside she could feel the clock ticking and her imagination had no trouble whatsoever filling in the details of what might be happening to a young woman she cared about deeply.

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