Dale Brown - Act of War

“At least I taught you something.”

A few moments later a dark Suburban was admitted to the hangar, and soon the President of the United States and Harold Kingman emerged from it, surrounded by Secret Service agents with submachine guns. The three snapped to attention. “At ease,” the President said immediately. He shook hands with all three. “I wanted to see you off personally. I would’ve had the meeting in the White House, but it’s going to be closed for a while for renovations. Unfortunately it’s going to be even more of a fortress than it had already become, but that’s a sign of the times, I guess.” He turned to Ray Jefferson. “Sergeant Jefferson, I’m going to ask you a favor…”

“Before you do, sir, one correction: it’s Sergeant Major, not ‘Sergeant,’ ” Jason corrected him.

The President shot an exasperated glare at Richter. “Of course, Major. Sergeant Major, it’s going to be tough for me to trust anyone from the private sector anymore, and I’ve never trusted politicians because I know they’d be gunning for my job. I’m going to nominate you to be National Security Adviser. Will you accept the nomination and work with me in the White House?”

“Me, sir?” Jefferson asked. “There’s got to be hundreds of better-qualified candidates…”

“I can’t think of any, Sergeant Major,” the President said. “I just ask one thing from you: be straight with me. Talk to me, any time, day or night; tell me I’m full of shit; tell me I’m wrong; tell me I’m naïve—I don’t care. Just be straight with me. That’s all I ask.”

Jefferson glared at the President of the United States with that same evil-eyed stare that Jason always interpreted to mean “Are you bullshitting me or what?” before apparently deciding he wasn’t, snapping to attention, and nodding. “It would be my honor, Mr. President,” he replied.

“Good.” He turned to Jason and Kelsey. “Special Agent DeLaine.”

“Yes, sir?”

“As effective as you’ve been in Task Force TALON, your talents are required elsewhere,” the President said. “As you may know, Secretary Calhoun has resigned from her post as Secretary of Homeland Security, protesting the Oval Office’s treatment of her during this whole debacle. Frankly, I don’t blame her—I didn’t back her up like a good chief executive should have. FBI Director Lemke privately told me he was going to resign as well, but I convinced him to stay…by offering him the position of Secretary of Homeland Security, which he’s accepted. That leaves a vacancy at FBI Headquarters. I want you to fill it.”

“Me?” Kelsey blurted out. “You want me to be director of the FBI?”

“You’re a career investigator with an emphasis on antiterrorist operations—exactly what we need at the top of the FBI,” the President said. “You’re young, tough, dedicated, and have an outstanding record—the perfect choice. The Attorney General agrees. What do you say?”

She hesitated…but only for a second, then stuck out her hand. “I’d be honored, Mr. President.”

“Excellent.” He then turned to Jason. “I have to apologize to you, Jason, on behalf of your team members who died, and especially to Kristen Skyy,” the President said. “I was totally sucked in by Robert Chamberlain. I believed and trusted in him, and it got thousands of innocent persons around the world killed.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. President.”

“Don’t be—you saw right through him, or at the very least your gut was trying to tell you something, and you listened,” the President said. “I have to tell you, Jason, that I didn’t believe you. I was so blinded by my faith and loyalty to Robert Chamberlain that I didn’t believe you…right up until he led us into Zakharov’s trap, and even then I thought he might still be in charge of the take-down. I heard what you said about him authorizing Kristen Skyy to meet with you in Egypt, and I listened to all your other disconnects revolving around him, and I still didn’t listen. I’m sorry. I’m truly sorry.”

He clasped Jason’s shoulder, then straightened up and said, “You two, Major Richter and Dr. Vega, won’t be getting a promotion or a new office in Washington. You are heading right back to Cannon Air Force Base. I want you to build CID units and whatever else you can come up with and put together the world’s premier tactical strike force. You’ll report directly to the President’s Special Adviser on National Security Affairs, Sergeant Major Jefferson. Your mission will be to discover, locate, track, attack, and destroy the bad guys—clean, quick, simple, and deadly. You’ll have all the resources of the United States of America at your disposal. But I’m not talking about a traditional army unit—I’m talking about the next generation, whatever it is. I think I saw a glimpse of it out there at the White House: I want to see more of it, soonest. Your first task will, of course, be to track down Yegor Zakharov and kill that murderous sonofabitch before he strikes again. Interested?”

“Yes, sir,” Jason said happily, without hesitation.

“Dr. Vega? Interested in joining him as deputy commander?”

Ariadna looked at Jason, and Jason could see a slight shadow of doubt or fear in her face as she thought about returning to New Mexico to where she and Doug Moore became friends. But she smiled at Jason and nodded. “Count me in, Mr. President,” she said. “Count me in.”

“Good. You start immediately. Good luck, all of you. Sergeant…er, Sergeant Major Jefferson, Special Agent DeLaine, you two are with me.” He nodded, turned, and headed back to his armored SUV limousine.

Kelsey DeLaine stopped, made like she was going to shake hands with Jason, then gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m sure I’ll be talking to you again very soon, Jason,” she said. “Try to stay out of trouble, will you?”

“Sure…Miss Director,” Jason said, giving her a sly smile. “You know me.”

“That’s why I mentioned it, Major.” She smiled and headed off to the President’s SUV.

Ray Jefferson stopped before him, smiled, then nodded. “I’ll be talking to you first thing in the morning, sir,” he said.

“It’s not ‘sir’ anymore, Sergeant Major—you’re the boss now,” Jason reminded him.

Jefferson made a show of nodding in complete agreement. “Why, I believe you’re right…Richter,” he said, feigning his most deadly growl. “Call me at oh-eight hundred hours tomorrow morning with a full report on regenerating your unit and with a plan to expand your operations capabilities. That’ll be all.” He smiled. “And one more thing, sir: thank you. Thank you for sticking with what you believe in. You’re a good man. It’ll be a pleasure working with you again.”

The last to shake hands with Jason was Harold Chester Kingman. When he clasped Jason’s hand, he said in a low voice, “We need to talk, Jason. Your technology and your talents will go to waste in the army. Come work for me.”

“I’ve got a job, Mr. Kingman.”

“I’ll put you in charge of a laboratory with a budget that’ll make the Army Research Lab look like a preschool playground,” Kingman said. “And you’ll still be protecting America—just doing it without being tied down by government red tape and regulations. You’ll be the power to be reckoned with in the world. You’ll be in charge of an invincible force that will put all of the armies of the world to shame.”

Still clutching his hand so he couldn’t squirm away, Jason pulled Kingman toward him and whispered directly in his face, “Mr. Kingman, I’m not interested in a job with you. And if I see any of your ‘ultimate army’ gadgets on any of my battlefields, I’ll take them apart and then come and stuff them down your throat piece by piece. Do I make myself clear?” Kingman blanched and retreated to the safety of the President’s armored car as quickly as he could.