Уильям Дитц - Seek and Destroy

“You’re welcome,” Huntington said, as the Colt slid into its holster. “Some things need killing. He was one of them.”

Mac’s hand was on her pistol. She allowed it to fall. The warlord of warlords was dead… But what about his prisoners? “The people from the town of Wright,” Mac said. “Did they survive? And if so, where are they?”

“ I’m from Wright,” the girl answered. “And yes, most of us survived. Come… I’ll show you.”

As they made their way deeper into the mine, the girl explained that the prisoners had been brought down into the mine when the planes arrived. And sure enough, there they were, all penned up behind a chain-link fence. They cheered when they saw the girl, and Tyler sent soldiers forward to free them. “I’m looking for a girl named Sissy,” Mac told them. “Is she here?”

“I’m Sissy,” a girl in a ragged dress said shyly. She looked to be seven or eight and was standing next to a young woman.

“I met your grandfather,” Mac said, “just before he died. ‘Tell Sissy I love her.’ That’s what he said. And I promised I would.”

That was a lie, of course… But some lies are better than the truth. Tears ran down Sissy’s face as Mac turned away. The cost had been high. But a battle had been fought—and a battle had been won.

FORT KNOX, KENTUCKY

Sloan was lying on his back, staring at the wedge of light that was leaking out through the bathroom door. And, even though she shouldn’t be, Beth Morgan was sleeping next to him. They weren’t going to have sex. Not while she was working on the Pickett story. That’s what she’d told him, and that’s what he had agreed to. Yet there they were… And Sloan knew that the decision to renew his relationship with Beth was a horrible mistake. Not just because of the ethical problems involved, but because Beth was still OCD and still a pain in the ass.

But what to do? The reporter was working on a story that, if true, would destroy Senator Pickett’s candidacy. What would happen if he dumped her? Would Beth seek revenge? Of course she would. What was the saying? Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

Sloan cursed his own weakness. You shouldn’t have gone to bed with her, and she shouldn’t have gone to bed with you. Both statements were true… And both were meaningless. What was, was.

Hang in there, Sloan told himself. The FBI investigation is nearly complete. If the proof is there, Beth will break the story, and the public will learn that the Confederacy is feeding money to Pickett. Once the truth is out, you can back out of the relationship slowly, and everything will be fine.

It felt good to have a plan, and Sloan fell asleep. When he awoke, it was to find that Beth was gone, a lipstick kiss was centered on his mirror, and his shirts had been reorganized. And not just tidied up but hung according to type and color. Sloan knew that was just the beginning. If Beth were allowed to, she would apply the same degree of precision to every aspect of his life. He sighed.

After a shave and a shower, Sloan got dressed and left his underground quarters for the brightly lit executive dining room down the hall. It had all the charm of a military prison. But his breakfast was waiting, along with the news summary that Wendy Chow’s staff prepared each day. The first item grabbed his attention. The subhead read: WARLORD OF WARLORDS KILLED IN RAID.

Sloan was painfully aware of the fact that Robert Howard had sent assassins to kill him and had come close to getting the job done. He was also aware of the fact that some of the Whigs claimed the assassination attempt was an indication of how unpopular he was. A thinly veiled call for him to resign.

Sloan sipped his coffee and began to read. He hadn’t gotten far when a familiar name popped up. Captain Robin Macintyre! The officer who led a convoy of Strykers deep into rebel-held territory in order to rescue him. He could still see the amused smile on her face. And something else, too. Interest? Maybe. But no more than that. It would take a lot to impress a woman like Mac. More than a title.

Sloan read on. It seemed that Macintyre’s CO had been murdered by a rebel spy. Rather than sit around and wait for a new commanding officer to arrive, she went looking for Robert Howard, found him, and released thirty-two hostages. All while the Confederate Air Force dropped bombs on her. Where the hell had the Union’s interceptors been? Sloan made a note to look into that.

Robert Howard’s death was, according to the reporter who had written the story, more than a victory. It was a sign that the administration’s efforts to restore order in the wake of the May Day disaster were working. That put a smile on Sloan’s face.

Sloan placed a call to Chief of Staff Chow, told her what he wanted to do, and hung up the phone. His breakfast was good.

CASPER, WYOMING

Mac was exhausted and for good reason. Two days had been spent chasing the surviving members of Robert Howard’s horde. Many were captured, some were killed, and a few got away. But even if a dozen bandits were still on the loose, the people of northern Wyoming were free from Howard’s tyranny.

But nature abhors a vacuum. And if Mac wasn’t careful, some other warlord would move in to take Howard’s place. So before she could return to Fort Carney, she had to establish a forward operating base just outside of Buffalo and bring Alpha Company up to man it. That took two days.

Then it was time to return to Casper. And there, much to her surprise, was Crowley’s replacement. Colonel Marcus Owen was young for his rank and raring to go. He wanted to review every roster, eyeball the supplies he was being asked to sign for, and personally verify the money in petty cash. All of which was appropriate, and all of which required assistance from Mac.

Once those chores had been taken care of, Owen turned his attention to the troops. Mac was relieved to discover that he didn’t share Crowley’s suspicions where the Southerners were concerned—and wanted to make sure that those who deserved recognition would get it.

That meant Mac had to write up recommendations for a dozen medals and, in the case of those who had been killed, letters of condolence that would go to their loved ones. One such letter would be sent to Mrs. Lightfoot, who’d run off with a man from town and hadn’t been seen since.

All of those activities took time. So now, a full week after her return, Mac still felt tired. The duty runner found her drinking black coffee in Bravo Company’s command shack. Owen’s style was a lot more laid-back then his predecessor’s had been. “I have news for you,” the note said. “Drop by when you can.”

Mac thanked the runner and let him go. What sort of news did Owen have? Good news? As in, “Reinforcements are on the way.” Or bad news? As in, “No replacement Strykers are available.” There was only one way to find out.

After emptying her cup, Mac made her way across the compound to the underground command center. Two sentries were on duty and, even though they knew the XO, were still required to check her ID.

Once that was accomplished, Mac walked down the ramp, took a left, and made her way to what had been Crowley’s office. The rawhide curtain had been replaced by a wood door. It was ajar. Mac knocked and heard Owen say, “Come in.”

She was about to come to attention when Owen waved the formality off. His head was shaved, his skin was brown, and he had perfect teeth. They were on full display when he smiled. “Take a load off, Robin… Thanks for all the hard work. Just for the record, I tried to keep you, but the brass said no.”