Dale Brown - Shadows of steel

“I’ve told you what your mission is, Patrick,” Freeman said.

“Your mission is to protect your fellow ISA agents. If the job calls for a military response, we’ll send in the military, but we’re going to send in ISA and other NSA assets before the military, just as we did before you went in as a HAWC bombardier, so we can gather as much intelligence information as possible.

I’m just looking for a way to protect those men and women who will risk their lives to avert war.”

“You haven’t convinced me that we won’t be called on as the President’s private little gang of thugs and assassins,” Patrick said warily.

“Colonel, I listened to the entire proposal, and I’m for it,” Marcia Preston interjected. “I’ve worked for the NSA in the past, and we’re not a private mercenary group for the White House or the CIA. We’ve got an honorable mission, Patrick. Our mission is to stop war. Iran is butchering our agents in-“

“in where?” Wendy asked. “What’s happened?”

“It’s classified,” Freeman said. “I didn’t want to bring it up Preston looked at Freeman for permission to continue; he granted it with a slight nod. “Happened not long ago,” Preston said.

“The ISA intelligence vessel Valley Mistress—you’re familiar with it, of course?”

“Paul White’s group?” Patrick exploded. “What happened?”

“They were flying a stealth reconnaissance drone over the Klionteini battle group, trying to keep an eye on it,” Preston replied. “Drone had a malfunction, and the Iranians tracked it back to the ship … and sank it. Thirteen crew members missing, including Colonel White …” Freeman held up a hand, ordering her to stop.

“My God …”

“We do what we do to beat up on the bad guys, Patrick, not against innocent persons,” Freeman said. “We do the job to fix the problem at hand—we Worry later about the long-term consequences.

That’s the unfortunate aspect of our work: we don’t have time to analyze or determine the effect of our actions. A problem needs fixing, we fix it; a crisis develops that needs attention, we attend to it. We know what we do is necessary and vital for the national security and safety of Americans—we pray that what we do is for the long-term benefit of all.”

Patrick paused for a moment, and now even Wendy was looking at him with a thoughtful glance. But still he said, c’

“No. I … I’m sorry about Paul and his crew … but I can’t.

Sorry.”

“Then we’ll be off,” General Freeman said, rising to his feet.

“Thank you for your time, both of you. I don’t need to remind you. I’m sure, that this entire conversation, this entire interaction, is of the highest secrecy …”

“General, tell him the rest,” Preston said. I think not.” What is this, some kind of game? A ‘good-cop-bad-cop’ routine?”

Patrick said, rising to his feet as well. “I said I’m not interested. That’s final.” ‘Tell him, General.” ‘No. “It’s about Madcap Magician,” Preston said quickly. Freeman whirled at the Marine, but she finished her sentence: “One of the ISA agents attached to Madcap Magician—”

“Colonel, that’s enough!”

“He wasn’t killed, but he’s going back in to look for Colonel White and anyone else who might have been captured.”

“Preston, what in hell is it?”

“Colonel Preston, no!”

“One of the Madcap Magician agents is Major Hal Briggs,” Preston said. “Hal Briggs is with ISA? With Madcap Magician?” Patrick exclaimed.

“At the risk of breaking a major rule of survival with ISA—yes,” Philip Freeman replied, after giving Marcia Preston one last warning glare. “Individual technical units aren’t supposed to know any members of other units—one captured agent can put hundreds of others at risk. But … yes, Hal Briggs was recruited for service by my predecessor shortly after the James spy incident. In fact, he’s going to be named its operations commander, if the unit survives and is reconstituted.”

“Where is he?”

“He’s … in-country,” Freeman admitted. “Major Briggs … er, has a valuable contact, an intelligence officer from the United Arab Emirates who assisted him in the raid on Abu Musa Island.

Major Briggs is awaiting clearance to go back in to make contact.”

“That agent’s gotta be a woman,” Wendy said with a smile.

“I must warn you again, Colonel and Dr. McLanahan,” Freeman said, pointing a finger at both of them, “that all this information is highly classified—I don’t need to tell you what would happen to the persons involved if word as to their identities of position was released.” Freeman nodded at the Secret Service agents in the room, and they headed for the door. He extended a big, rough hand. “It was a pleasure and an honor to meet you, Patrick McLanahan,” he said. “The country—maybe the entire world—already owes you a tremendous debt of gratitude. I’m sorry we couldn’t put your talents to work again. Dr. McLanahan, it was an honor to meet you as well. Good day to you both.”

But Patrick was looking into Wendy’s eyes—and she saw it, the sudden hot spark of energy, the old cock-sure hellfire-and-damnation blaze in his eyes that had attracted her to him ten years earlier, back at that bar in Bossier City, Louisiana. Briggs had tipped the scale, she knew—Briggs and White and the memories of their old friends and comrades-in-arms.

His gaze was also a question—he knew there was no time to converse, no time to talk it over as they always had before, but he was asking her opinion, asking her permission She knew—and she responded: Do it, Patrick, her eyes told him.

You want it, I want it for you, and men out there need you. Do it, but don’t do it their way—do it your way!

And Patrick understood, because when Freeman tried to release the handshake, Patrick held firm.

Freeman looked at McLanahan with a puzzled expression. “Colonel McLanahan, does this mean …?” Freeman started—but McLanahan’s grip suddenly tightened. Freeman couldn’t let go. “Yes, very well, Pat-“

“We use Disruptors,” McLanahan interrupted, still clutching Freeman’s hand tightly. “Non-lethal weapons only, unless there’s a declaration of war—then we go in with everything we’ve got, and I mean everything.”

“Ah …” McLanahan’s grip tightened suddenly; it surprised Freeman. “Agreed,” Freeman replied. “That was the plan all along, of course.”

“We operate overseas only, not over U.S. or allied territory unless there’s a declaration of war or an invasion.”

“Agreed,” Freeman said again, hiding the pain. “Now if we could, I’d like to have Colonel Preston give you-“

“We support ISA operations only—no CIA, no other agencies or operations. No DEA, no ATF, no FBI,” McLanahan continued. “Full disclosure, full verification, open access.”

“Colonel, there’s time to run down all the options …”

The grip suddenly doubled in strength—Freeman didn’t think it was possible. He was starting to sweat. “Agree to it, General!”

McLanahan said loudly. The Secret Service agents warily took a step toward McLanahan. McLanahan’s grip was crushing, making Freeman see stars. “Sweat it! Or is all of this some kind of bullshit agency snow job right from the top?”

“What in hell do you think you’re doing, dammit?”

The Secret Service agents started to rush over to Freeman’s side.

“If those sons of bitches touch me or Wendy, the whole deal’s off!” McLanahan shouted. Freeman held up his left hand, halting the agents. “Tell me the truth, Freeman, damn you, if you have the balls!”

Something was going to break—his hand, or the Secret Service agents’ patience All right!” Freeman cried out through gritted teeth, “I agree!”