Deadly Weakness (Gray Spear Society) (23 page)

"How the hell did you do that? Am I on drugs?"

"No." She shook her head. "It was a miracle. You'll see plenty of them tonight. Aaron, continue."

Aaron shuffled his papers. "Of particular interest is Hanley's last mission as a Navy Seal. I think it summarizes his military career. It took place in the Gulf of Oman, north of Muscat. That's a city at the northern tip of Oman."

"Wait," Hanley said. "That's classified information."

"I know. This whole damn report has top secret stamped all over it. Hanley was leading a team of Seals. They were pursuing a ship suspected of transporting terrorists in and out of Iran. The ship was flying a Russian flag, which made for a diplomatically challenging situation. Any action the team took would have to be covert and deniable."

Hanley couldn't believe he was hearing this report. It was supposed to have been buried in a file cabinet deep in a sub-basement of the Pentagon.

"Aaron," Ethel said, "our friend looks uncomfortable. Cut him free."

"Yes, ma'am," Aaron said.

He spat across the room. A sticky glob of yellow material struck the ropes holding Hanley's right arm. Immediately, the liquid started to foam and produce greasy smoke. Hanley desperately tried to pull himself free before the acid got onto his skin, but he was tied too tightly. He could only watch as the ropes were eaten away. When the liquid hit his skin, it didn't do anything. There was no pain. The ropes parted and he wiped his arm on his shirt. The fabric dissolved but the flesh underneath was unharmed.
What the hell?
He had now seen two impossible things tonight.

He used his free hand to finish untying himself. He could stand now.

"Remain seated," Ethel said in a stern tone. "Aaron, go on."

Aaron nodded. "The Seals waited until the target ship had stopped for the night. They were two miles south of the Iranian coast. Hanley and his men swam over and climbed onto the deck."

"Wait," Hanley said. "Let me tell the story. I want to get all the facts right."

"Go ahead."

"I had four men with me. We hid for twenty minutes and listened. The crew spoke Russian and the passengers spoke Persian. There were a lot of enemies on the ship, a lot more than we expected. We realized it was much too big a job for us. We were about to withdraw when they spotted us."

Hanley took a deep shuddering breath. He had clear memories of that very bad night.

"Continue," Ethel said.

"The shooting started right away. We kept falling back, and the enemy kept coming at us. They chased us through the guts of the ship. Two bullets ripped up my right knee. We eventually barricaded ourselves in a cargo hold. By that time, two of my men were dead and the other two were hurt. The Iranians were trying to burn through the door with torches. There seemed to be no way out. That's when we saw canisters of enriched uranium. Somebody was going to build an atomic bomb with that stuff."

"But you did escape."

Hanley nodded. "I knew we had to scuttle the ship, even if we didn't survive. I couldn't let that uranium reach its destination. There were boxes of C-4 in the hold. I put a detonator on a box and set the timer for ten minutes. Then I took one stick of C-4 and put it against the hull on the other side. I formed the charge to make a hole big enough to escape through."

"But you were probably under water," Aaron said.

"That's right. When I blew the charge, water flooded in. We had to wait until the pressures equalized before we could swim out through the hole. It was a close call. We were still underwater when the main charge went off. The concussion almost knocked me out. By the time I reached the surface, only one of my men was left alive. The plan worked though. The ship sunk."

"Nice job."

"Thanks," Hanley said. "We swam back to our boat and discovered the enemy had destroyed it. We ended up swimming all the way to shore. Two miles of open ocean, and I only had one good leg. We spent two days on a beach without food or water until a rescue team finally found us."

"Did your knee heal?" Ethel asked.

Hanley shook his head. "It still hurts every day. That's why I left the Navy."

"Smythe and Odelia, fix him."

The big man with rust colored hair came over. He drew a long knife.

Hanley tensed. "Are you going to cut me?"

"No," Smythe said. "Just your pants."

With the deft touch of a surgeon, Smythe sliced off Hanley's pants above his bad knee.

Smythe tapped the joint. "That's a lot of scars."

"There are more inside," Hanley said.

"I'm going to need you to hold very still. No matter what you see or feel, don't move around, or I might not do a good job. I'm a real doctor. You can trust me. Got it?"

"What are you going to do?"

"Fix you," Smythe said. "Ready?"

Hanley grimaced. "Not really."

Smythe pushed his hand into the knee. It was the most disturbing thing Hanley had ever seen. It took all his self control not to scream and jump away. Smythe's hand was actually moving around under Hanley's skin. It looked like a magic trick. Hanley was shivering but he held still.

"What a mess," Smythe muttered. "I'm surprised you can walk at all."

He pulled out a handful of pins and screws. He dumped them on the floor and went in again.

"How the fuck are you doing that?" Hanley said in a shaky voice.

"Shh," Smythe replied.

He seemed to be pushing things around inside the joint. Hanley could feel his bones and tendons being adjusted. It didn't hurt but it was a frightening sensation.

Finally, Smythe pulled his hand out and stood up. "The knee is structurally sound now, but there is still a lot of inflammation and damage to the cartilage. Odelia, you're up."

The woman with white hair came over and knelt before Hanley. She put her hands on his knee.

She smiled at him. "This is going to look strange. Just stay calm."

"Are you kidding?" he said. "You can't possibly do anything stranger than what that guy just did."

Her skin began to glow with a bright white light. Her hair looked like it was on fire. The red in her eyes burned like tiny embers.
I was wrong,
Hanley thought.
This is stranger.

He felt a powerful tingle inside his knee. His heart started to race, and his whole body became warmer. She was certainly doing something to him. It felt good. In fact, it felt wonderful.

After a couple of minutes, her skin stopped glowing and she stood up. "All better."

She walked over to Smythe and held his hand.

The pain in his knee was gone. He squeezed the joint and it felt completely normal. He stomped his foot, cautiously at first and then with some force, but it didn't hurt. He wanted to jump and dance for the first time in years.

"Remain seated!" Ethel said.

Hanley couldn't believe what was happening. It had to be a dream.

"Can you do a trick?" he asked Marina.

She held up her pointed fingernails. A drop of clear liquid formed at the tip of her index finger. "I'm venomous."

That revelation didn't shock him. Anything was possible in a dream. Hanley looked at the big black man and said, "What about you?"

His face turned lime green and his lips became neon red. He looked like a circus clown. "Me? I'm the normal one here." He grinned.

"Don't tease him, Jermaine," Ethel said. "You were in his situation once, and you were just as scared."

"Yes, ma'am." Jermaine sounded remorseful.

"Aaron, finish up the background information."

"Yes, ma'am." Aaron flipped through his papers. "After his discharge from the Navy, Hanley joined the FBI. The bureau wanted an agent with his skills despite his minor disability. He worked on several important cases and built a reputation as a man who consistently got things done. Four months ago, he was appointed chief of the top secret Special Missions Unit, a very prestigious assignment. The Unit was created to battle the most dangerous terrorist threats inside the United States. Half of them are soldiers on loan from the Army, mostly Army Rangers. They're equipped to conduct military-style operations."

Hanley looked down. These people seemed to know everything.

Aaron continued, "The reports state that Race Hanley is a very brave and compassionate man. A natural leader. However, a lack of formal education has held him back throughout his professional life. He went straight from high school into the military. His career in the Navy had already reached its limit when he was discharged. These days officers are expected to have college degrees. He overcompensates for his lack of education by working too hard and by taking too many risks."

Hanley frowned. Aaron was absolutely right.

"It's finally time for us to get down to the real business of this meeting," Ethel said. "What did Xavier tell you about us? I need all the details."

Hanley faced her. "Do you seriously expect me to cooperate? I'm not telling you anything. This is just a dream anyway."

She sighed. "Jermaine, wake him up."

Jermaine walked over and slapped Hanley across the face. The blow was so forceful it knocked him out of his chair. He lay on the floor, gasping in pain. The whole side of his face was stinging.

"Are you still dreaming, Mr. Hanley?" Ethel said. "Does Jermaine need to ring your alarm clock again?"

"I'm awake," Hanley mumbled. A dream couldn't possibly hurt so much.

"Get back in your chair."

He considered trying to run. With his knee fixed, he could move fast now. One look around convinced him it was a bad idea though. He was in a room full of very dangerous people, and all of them were watching him. He wouldn't get far.

He returned to his chair.

Ethel nodded. "Now, answer the question."

"I don't cooperate with terrorists." He looked at the floor.

"You could be useful to me, so I don't want to torture you. What will it take to make you behave? If the director of the FBI ordered you to answer my questions, would you?"

"Maybe." He gave her a confused look. "Why?"

She took a notepad and a pen from a breast pocket. She flipped through the notepad until she found the right page. She made a call on a gray cell phone that was so bulky it looked like a model from twenty years ago.

"Director Clarence Felt?" Ethel said. "This is Ms. Pickenpaugh. Yes,
that
Ms. Pickenpaugh. I'm very sorry about getting you out of bed at this awful hour, but there is an urgent matter that requires a few minutes of your time. I have one of your men here. Race Hanley, chief of the Special Missions Unit. I need his assistance with some important business, but he's being very difficult. I was hoping you could encourage him to cooperate. Thank you."

She walked over and gave the phone to Hanley.

He put it against his ear. "Director Felt?"

"Yes, it's me." Felt's voice sounded right. "Are you really in the same room with Ms. Pickenpaugh?"

Hanley looked at Ethel. "I guess so. You know her?"

"I've never met her, but I know about her. The entire White House staff knows about her. Listen to me. Do whatever she tells you to do, and be very polite. You want to be on her nice side."

"Why?"

"Because nobody fucks with Ms. Pickenpaugh. Nobody! Do you understand? That's not just friendly advice. It's a scientific statement of fact." Felt sighed. "Please, give the phone back to her."

Hanley returned the phone to Ethel.

She sat down and continued her conversation with Director Felt. "Thanks. What's wrong? Really? That's awful. Three times? Unbelievable. Such behavior must not be tolerated in a free society. Give me his name." She took some quick notes on her notepad. "It will be taken care of on Monday. Of course, your hands will be clean. Don't gush like that. I enjoy performing good deeds for my good friends. We'll just remember this favor the next time I call you in the middle of the night. Go back to bed and rest easy." She put her phone away.

Hanley stared at Ethel. "That wasn't really the director."

"Do you want me to call him again?"

He thought about it for a moment. "No." He looked away. "But I'm still not cooperating with you. You may have the director in your hip pocket, but I don't have to be there with him."

"You're risking a lot more than your own life with that stubborn attitude. The Gray Spear Society operates according to very strict rules, and one of the most important is secrecy. We can't allow anybody else to know we exist. Unless you can convince me otherwise, I have to assume the entire Special Missions Unit has heard about us. All of them have to die."

He looked at her in shock. "You can't do that. Not the entire Unit."

Aaron walked over and handed several sheets of paper to Hanley. "Here are the names."

It was the most recent monthly report. Hanley knew it was accurate because he had written it himself. The report included the complete list of who had worked for the Unit that month and how many hours.