Dale Brown - Edge of Battle

“Apparently not.”

“Don’t give me that shit, Sergeant Major!” Jason exploded. “Don’t even think about making Ari a target just because of what that flakeoid O’Rourke has to say!”

“Sir, the White House has already called for an investigation,” Jefferson said. “The FBI and Army Criminal Investigation Command have already been directed to bring Ari in and do a complete background…”

“She is not going to be arrested, Sergeant Major—I guarantee that!” Jason cried. “I’ll bust the head of any federal agent who tries to lay a hand on her! She’s a hero, for God’s sake! She’s been injured and almost killed in the line of duty!”

“Jason, the best place for her is with the FBI. Director DeLaine knows her—I’m sure she’ll handle her case personally.”

“No way! She’s not a criminal! Tell the FBI to back off, Sergeant Major!”

“I’m not going to do that, sir,” Jefferson said. “If she broke the law, she has to come in. The longer she stays out, the more she’ll be suspected of being a spy. She’ll have to—”

“A spy?” Jason retorted. “Are you insane? No way in hell is she going to go down as a spy! I’ll kill anyone who tries to charge her with that, I swear to God…!”

“Major Richter, shut up, sir, now, ” Ray Jefferson said. “Listen to me, sir: Dr. Vega will get all the protection and legal help we can offer her…but not if you or she tries something crazy. Get her back on base and keep her there.”

“Sergeant Major, under my authority as deputy commander of this unit—”

“You’ve been relieved as deputy commander of TALON, Major. Director Watts is in charge—”

“—I am directing elements of Task Force TALON to immediately deploy to southern California to set up surveillance on Dr. Vega’s family, who I believe will be the target of an assassination or kidnapping attempt by the Consortium,” Jason said. “I am requesting that you notify the FBI and Justice Department of my orders and have them contact me through my headquarters so we can coordinate our efforts, but you can advise them that I am fully prepared to take whatever steps I feel necessary to accomplish my mission. Unless I receive valid countermanding orders, my unit is in target pursuit mode. TALON out.”

Jason saw a truck pull up to the CV-22 Osprey, and crews started loading Cybernetic Infantry Unit backpacks and weapon canisters aboard the tilt-rotor aircraft. At the same time an Air Force Suburban roared up the taxiway and screeched to a halt in front of him, and Bruno Watts jumped out. “I just got a call from the National Security Adviser, ordering me to keep you on the ground!” he shouted over the roar of the Osprey’s massive turboshaft engines. “What is going on? Where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“I’ll submit my ops plan in the air,” Jason shouted back.

“Like hell you will, Major!” Watts snapped. “This equipment is not your personal property! I am in command of this unit! Until I get clearance from Washington, I’m ordering you…”

“Excuse me, sir,” Jennifer McCracken said, stepping up to Watts. “I’d like a word with you.”

“Not now, Lieutenant.” Then, with surprising speed, Watts grabbed Jason’s left wrist with his left hand and lifted his sleeve with his other hand, revealing the remote control wrist keypad for the CID units. “And don’t even think of trying to summon one of your robots to grab me, Major,” he growled. “Sergeant Major Jefferson warned me about you. He said you’re not above doing anything to get your…”

With equally surprising speed, Jennifer McCracken swatted away Watts’s grasp on Jason, twisted his arm upward and backward, rotated her hips, and flipped Watts back over her right leg and down onto the tarmac. With one leg on his left arm and his other arm twisted behind him in a come-along hold, Watts was immediately immobilized. “What in hell do you think you’re doing?” Watts shouted. “Let me up, McCracken, now! ”

“Sir?”

“Hold him there until we’re airborne, Jennifer.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Are you two crazy?” Watts retorted. He tried to struggle free, but it was quickly and painfully obvious that the somewhat nerdy, quiet, and very businesslike young Marine knew exactly what she was doing. “I’ll have you all court-martialed!”

“You’re messing with a member of Task Force TALON, sir,” McCracken said. “You can court-martial us after Dr. Vega has been brought to safety.”

HENDERSON, NEVADA

A SHORT TIME LATER

“We suffered almost a half-million dollars’ worth of damage that our insurance probably won’t cover,” the station manager moaned, checking reports filed by the police and the insurance adjusters. “The ambulance company sent us a bill for transport of seventeen persons to the hospital for a variety of injuries; and every one of our Latino maintenance workers have left.”

“But the show had the highest ratings in the history of talk radio,” Bob O’Rourke’s agent chimed in immediately, “and all but a couple of our sponsors have asked for multiyear advertising contract extensions. I’m expecting a call from the syndication folks, asking for the same—they might even be interested in doing a TV show. Congratulations, Bob.”

“Thanks, Ken, thanks very much for the news,” Bob O’Rourke said, ignoring the station manager. As he usually did after a show, Bob O’Rourke relaxed in his office with his producer, Fand Kent, and the show’s other staff members; he would have one beer, discuss upcoming topics and research assignments, and then O’Rourke would move on to the half-dozen other promotional functions he had scheduled most afternoons, usually golf games with sponsors, speaking engagements, personal appearances, or commercial tapings. He clinked glasses and bottles with his staff, took a deep pull on his beer, then looked at his heavily bandaged right hand. “If I had known just a few broken fingers would get me all that, I would’ve done it long ago.” The laughter was a little strained, but no one in that room ever failed to laugh at one of Bob O’Rourke’s jokes, no matter how lame or unfunny—they all valued their jobs too much.

“Bob, the district attorney, the FCC, the mayor, the sheriff’s department, the state Department of Public Safety, the FBI, and even the White House are screaming mad at you,” the station manager said. “They want to talk with you right away, especially about this Vega thing.”

“I have nothing to say to any of them except I stand by my information and will refuse all requests to reveal my sources,” O’Rourke said.

“That’s all you need to say, Bob—I’ll get your attorney on those calls right away,” the agent said. “Don’t worry about a thing. All those people don’t do a damned thing whenever some nut job like Comandante Veracruz wants to speak, but when a proud American wants to talk, they all want to squash him like a bug.” O’Rourke tipped his bottle in thanks. “I’ve got a car waiting outside to take you to the CNN affiliate, and then we’ll come back here for a few more satellite pieces with Fox News and the BBC. Then…”

“Can’t. I have that match with Jason Gore at two at the country club.”

“Jason said he’d be glad to slip it to tomorrow if you’ll autograph a bunch of visors for him.”

“Deal.” He looked worriedly at his agent. “About the car…”

“Don’t worry about your Excursion. The insurance company will total it, I’m sure, and I’ve already put out feelers to a few charities to auction it off on eBay.”

O’Rourke gave his agent a shake of his head, and he bent down closer so he could whisper, “No, Ken, I mean the car for this afternoon.”