Brad Taylor - The Polaris Protocol

Knuckles said, “It’s not that simple. We’re going to have to come up with another solution now.”

Jennifer came down to the lobby with her luggage, and he said nothing else about the mission. When she reached us, he said, “Hey, your brother’s going to be okay. It’s probably just a miscommunication.”

She said, “I sure hope so.”

I said, “I called your cab. It’s outside.”

I led her out, carrying her luggage and giving her a little pep talk. Before she entered the cab I admonished her about not doing anything stupid.

“Hey, I know you’re worried about Jack, but don’t go hot-rodding to Mexico, no matter what you find. It’s probably just bad communication, and I don’t want you jumping to conclusions. I’ll be back in three days. Four at the most. Promise me you won’t run off like the Lone Ranger.”

Her eyes held nothing but pain and dread. She said, “Pike, I’m sorry I’m leaving. I know I’m hurting the mission. I … I know I’m letting you down. Letting the team down. It’s just not like him to call like that. Something’s really wrong.”

I squared her to me, hands on both arms. “Screw that. Let me handle the team. Nothing here we can’t accomplish without you.” I poked her in the eye to lighten the mood. “Contrary to what you might think, we aren’t all wondering how the hell we’re going to execute if you leave. Just don’t do anything stupid. I’ll contact the Taskforce. Get them to track his phone and send you a grid.”

She said, “You can’t do that. For one, it’s illegal. For another, it’s personal. Don’t get in any trouble over this. It’s not their problem.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t worry about it. You’ve given enough to the Taskforce to earn a little payback. Just promise you won’t go off half-cocked. The trace will probably show up in Dallas.”

She shook her head and said, “You never listen to anything I say.” She put her arms around my waist and stood on tiptoe. “You’re a good man. I won’t do anything stupid. I’m looking forward to seeing you away from the team. These separate rooms suck.”

Then she kissed me full on the lips. I returned it at first, bringing her close and savoring the connection. Then I remembered where we were. Who was watching. I broke it off and said, “Get out of here.”

I watched her drive away, praying Knuckles wasn’t in the lobby. When I turned around, he was still standing there.

Maybe he didn’t see anything.

When I got inside he said, “What. The. Fuck. Was. That?”

Damn it.

“What?” I asked.

“That kiss … what was that?”

“Nothing … that was just a peck on the cheek. She’d have done the same to you.”

“I’ve never had a peck that involved my tongue.” He squinted his eyes at me and asked, “Are you sleeping with Jennifer?” I felt my face flush like I was a teenager caught in the backseat of a car, and he exclaimed, “Holy shit. You are sleeping with her, you damn liar!”

The anger was real, because he thought I’d broken the trust of a teammate. We’d had long talks about the loss of my family, my life, and how I felt about Jennifer, but the conversations were all the same: I was torn apart by their death; I wasn’t ready for a relationship; Jennifer was a teammate, period; nobody could replace my wife, Heather; yada, yada, yada.

All of that was true, except for the last part. While Heather’s death had left a hole that would never be filled, Jennifer had covered it over long ago, hiding the scar tissue and burying the rage that Heather’s loss had engendered. I had realized the connection, but I had been too afraid to admit it. Afraid of rejection. I’d finally worked up the courage, and because of my incredible charm, my fear of rejection had ended up being misplaced anxiety, but that had been only recently.

I said, “Knuckles, it’s not like that. I swear it just started.”

He stared at me, saying nothing. Wondering what else I’d lied about, because at the same time I was baring my soul to him about my family, he’d reciprocated with other very personal things, and now he felt betrayed.

He said, “You can’t sleep with her. She’s a damn teammate. Jesus, Pike, you know better.”

I was taken aback. This was the first time Knuckles had said she was an equal inside the Taskforce. “She’s still a teammate. Nothing’s changed.”

“Everything’s changed. This is exactly what’s wrong with females in combat arms positions. You’ll start favoring her. Doing things to protect her, like you did here by sending her home.”

That poked the wrong sore. “Bullshit,” I snarled. “I’ve felt the same about her since we met, I was just too screwed up to realize it. Nothing’s changed. Six months ago I let her free-climb off a sixty-story building because you said it was a good idea. Then I put her in a position to contract a lethal virus to prevent a pandemic. I thought she was going to die, and I could have pulled her back. Could have protected her. Nothing has changed. Let it go.”

He said, “That time in Lebanon, when she was inside Hezbollah headquarters. You triggered the reaction force… .”

In a low voice I said, “That was because of me, not her. It was my mistake alone. I would have done the same if it had been you inside. Let it go.”

He searched my face, his mind calculating the ramifications. Eventually, he shook his head, coming to grips with the situation, as I knew he would. Knuckles had always been more liberal than most in the Taskforce, down to the hippie haircut he had worn since I’d known him.

I said, “And I need you to keep this between us. I can’t have the entire team second-guessing my decision-making.”

He rolled his eyes and said, “Why can’t you ever do anything the easy way?”

That had been eighteen hours ago, and now I was thinking about losing this game of backgammon as an olive branch, or at least to keep him from getting more aggravated than he already was. I kept my eye on the hallway and waited on the call from the other team. Begging to hear anything, since Knuckles was giving me the silent treatment.

Finally, my radio crackled to life. “Jake’s out. Room’s clear.”

11

Since Jake had passed the secondary team it meant he was headed either to the gym or to the stairs—not to the elevators near us. Given the target, I found it hard to believe he’d use either one, but he did.

“Just entered the gym.”

I said, “Roger. Retro, your ball game. No more than thirty minutes.”

I heard, “Roger. Coming down now.”

After Jennifer left, Knuckles had washed his hands of developing the new course of action, leaving it to me to come up with a plan. I’d basically used the same one he had created, only substituting Retro for Jennifer. With his black hair and seventies porn-star bushy mustache, Retro looked the most like someone from this neck of the woods. He also spoke Russian from his time in the 10th Special Forces Group. Not like a native, but it would be enough of an edge to fool someone who didn’t speak it, like our Saudi Arabian target.

We’d found a suit that fit reasonably well and “borrowed” a hotel name tag with some moniker that was impossible to pronounce, and he looked reasonably enough like hotel security. Actually, he looked a hell of a lot better in the suit than in the dated clothes he usually wore.

The target room was on the third floor, and the hallway had two alcoves, one on either side of it, complete with table, chair, and backgammon game. Neither position could see the room itself, but that was irrelevant, since Jake couldn’t get out without going by one of them. Decoy and Blood, the ones who had triggered, were at the other position on the far end of the hallway.