enemies of the state (38 page)

Ethan swallowed hard. Well, it wasn’t like he didn’t know that he was breaking the rules and violating the regulation, and that the book would be thrown at him when it all came crashing down. But none of that mattered now. Only saving Jack.

“Let’s hear the rest.”

They headed back to Faisal and Colonel Song. Cooper was kicking at the couch debris, a twisted scowl on his face. Doc had collapsed onto one of the torn cushions, plucking at the stuffing. The rest of the team stood in a half circle, some watching Ethan warily, others scowling at the colonel.

“What’s this about a package? And an invite?”

Colonel Song turned back to the television, calling up a new window and pushing more documents from his phone to the screen.

Two news articles described a devastated base in Kurdistan. One, a western magazine specializing in strange stories, wrote 300 words about the devastation, comparing the base’s slaughter to a demonic attack. Much attention was paid to the level of bloodshed and the lack of bodies.

The second article wasn’t actually an article. It was an internal memo from the Peshmerga, Kurdistan’s military forces, describing the brutality found at the deserted, devastated base. The same amount of blood. The same sense of terror left behind. But no talk of Jinn or demons. Instead, the military officers of the Peshmerga asked what military force had come into their base and murdered their people, and what they had done with the bodies. Given the proximity of the base to Iran, the officer cautiously pointed their fingers toward the Islamic Republic.

“You think Black Fox destroyed a Kurdish military base? Why?” Cooper shook his head.

“Because of this.”

A final article exploded onto the screen, this time from the Washington Times in DC. “President to host Kurdish Peshmerga Unit in White House at Ceremony Honoring American Allies.”

“Oh shit,” Collard breathed.

“They’re going in the soldiers’ places.” Ethan’s heart pounded. He was sure it was going to explode. “They’re going to infiltrate the White House. Attack the president.”

Faisal stepped forward. “That’s not all.”

“You said Nairobi was just a test.” Cooper’s tone softened as he spoke to Faisal. The two men had a working relationship and a clear history together. “What did you mean?”

Faisal swallowed. He adjusted the long robes falling over his arms, twitching them just so. “Official reports say that the bomb blast in Nairobi was a five kiloton nuclear warhead recovered from abandoned Cold War stockpiles.”

Cooper nodded.

“That’s not entirely true,” Faisal sniffed. “There was a robbery at one of Saudi Arabia’s military bases.”

“But Saudi doesn’t have nuclear weapons,” Collard protested. “You don’t have any reactors or any refineries.”

“But we have money. And money buys anything, especially nuclear warheads that aim at Iran. Bought from abandoned Cold War stockpiles.”

Cooper didn’t seem surprised by this revelation. “Someone stole your nukes?”

“Someone stole a three kiloton bomb, a five kiloton bomb, and one ten kiloton bomb. We tracked the signal from the device’s control panel into Iran. Then we lost the trail. We were searching for the nuclear weapons when the blast hit Nairobi.”

“And you didn’t tell anyone?” Cooper’s dark eyes bored into Faisal, who, to his credit, stared right back.

“So you found one of them.” Ethan’s mind whirred, trying to sort through the plots and machinations. “And another one is the package Jeff asks about in the call,” he growled. And the package, like the fake Kurds, were heading to Washington and the White House. Heading for Jack. “The third?”

Faisal looked sideways at Colonel Song. The colonel took over, crossing the room until he was standing in front of Ethan and looking him square in the eyes. “Black Fox has maneuvered all of America’s enemies into the Middle East. China has troops on the ground. Russia has troops on the ground. The Islamic Caliphate is locked in the battle. Where would you detonate a nuclear warhead if you wanted to take out all of your enemies in one blow?”

“Right in the middle of the bunch,” Ethan breathed. “Inside Iraq.”

Colonel Song nodded, once.

“But why?” Collard grunted through gritted teeth. “Why is anyone crazy enough to do this? A nuke in the Middle East? And a nuke in the White House? Why kill Americans? Why kill the president?”

Ethan saw the brutal logic to it. He saw the clean lines and the harsh decisions, the reasons for murdering so many people. It was a means to an end, an end that Madigan and Gottschalk were working toward. He understood, in a primal, bloodthirsty way, why they were doing this. “Because if you want to control the world, you first hurt everyone. Make sure they’re terrified. Rip away their reality.” He turned to Collard. “How better to do that than to slay the president in the White House? Obliterate the most protected place on earth?”

Collard paled.

“And then, you destroy your enemies. And you’re on top of the world.” Ethan swallowed back bile rising in his throat, almost choking on the taste of hatred swirling over his tongue. “And the people will love you for it.”

Fear choked the air in the room, like a damp towel trying to smother a fire. Cooper kicked at the broken armrest of the couch, sending it sailing into the courtyard. His men cursed, and Faisal shot them pinched, scolding glares.

“What’s our plan to stop this?” Ethan grunted.

“Black Fox doesn’t work alone.” Colonel Song drew up a list of cell phone numbers, each one connected by a black line to the mystery caller’s. To Jeff Gottschalk’s number. “These are other people that Black Fox has been calling. All in Washington, DC. We know some of these people. Others are off our radar.”

Ethan peered down the list. He knew most of the numbers. As detail lead, he’d known of everyone in the administration. He saw the vice chairman’s number, Porter Madigan. The deputy director of the CIA. The director of the NSA. Other numbers he didn’t know, junior officers and aides within organizations.

And one number he knew very, very well.

* * * * *

They spent the rest of the afternoon and half of the night working out a plan.

“Are we really doing this?” Doc asked as they began planning. “We’re working with the Saudis and the Chinese to…what? Infiltrate America? Attack the White House?”

“We’re stopping an attack on the White House, and on the president,” Ethan corrected.

“But it’s the working with the Chinese and the Saudi’s that I’m stuck on.” Doc shook his head. “Isn’t this treason? That’s what this is called, right? Working with an enemy of the state? Against the state?”

“Enough. We are not the enemies of the state here.” Cooper shot Doc a long look, and Doc threw up his hands and headed out to the courtyard, where Faisal’s men were helping Cooper’s men to the bulk of their armory.

Afterward, Cooper, Collard, and Ethan collapsed in the sunroom, leaning on pillows and destroyed couch cushions and chugging bottles of water. Faisal had long since disappeared, retiring to his bedroom with a stiff and formal good night. Colonel Song sat in the corner, typing away on his tablet as holograms hovered in front of his face.

“Get some rest.” Colonel Song shut down his tablet and stood. He hadn’t once raised his voice, or yawned, or looked anything more than mildly intrigued by their sometimes-raucous and argumentative battle planning. “We will fly you to Riyadh in three hours.”

“I hope I never see you again,” Ethan called out to Colonel Song’s retreating back. It was the best thanks he could offer.

Colonel Song glanced back over his shoulder. A grin turned up the corners of his mouth. “We’ll see, Agent Reichenbach.”

* * * * *

They flew to Riyadh and then waited in the prince’s plane, hunkered down, while Faisal’s sleek jet was maneuvered into the same hangar as a commercial Saudia air transport. Money passed between hands, and the hangar was deserted for ten minutes. They moved over to the commercial transport, settling into the cargo hold between crates and boxes and stacks of misshapen cargo strapped to the frame of the transport.

An hour later, they were in the skies, smuggling themselves into America like blacklisted terrorists. The transport was bringing material to the Saudi embassy in Washington, DC, ostensibly, and they made the thirteen-hour flight direct to Dulles mostly in silence. Doc started a game of poker with the team. Cooper slept, his legs propped up on a cargo crate and a hat over his eyes.

Ethan and Collard cleaned their rifles and then the rifles given to them by Faisal’s men. They were American made M-16s and Russian made AK-47s.

“This is insane,” Collard grunted. “Do you really think we’re going to survive this?”

“I don’t care if I survive.” Ethan rolled his neck, trying to crack the stiffness from his joints. “It’s Jack I’m worried about.”

Collard shook his head. “You’re disgustingly in love with the man.”

Ethan chuckled. Who would have ever thought that he would fall so head over heels for anyone? “I will tear the world apart for him,” he said, sobering as he looked up. His eyes burned into his friend, and he saw their dark shine, an almost crazed sheen, reflecting off Collard’s shades resting on his head. “I will tear apart the planet. Cross continents, oceans…” He shrugged. “Nothing will keep me from him. And nothing will stop me from protecting him. I’ll die for him. In a heartbeat.”

Whistling low, Collard leaned back, appraising Ethan. “And I thought I loved my wife when I took her to Bermuda for her fortieth birthday. She's going to kick my ass when I get back. And I can't wait for it. I can't wait for her to scream at me. But the point is, I want to be there for it. I want to come back and live through this. To be back with her.”

Ethan went back to cleaning his rifle.

“Ethan, the point is not to
die
for him. Okay?” Collard forced his gaze. After a long moment, Ethan nodded. “Good. ’Cause I’m sure he wants you back alive. No one wants to bury their lover, and no one wants to have to do that twice.”

* * * * *

When they landed at Dulles, the same setup happened—money changed hands, and the hangar the freighter parked in was deserted. They clambered out of the cargo hold, stretching aching joints and sore backs.

“There should be a car waiting for us outside.” Ethan took the lead, shouldering his gear pack and turning for the side entrance

Instead, the main doors to the hangar buzzed and started to retract, folding upward and letting in the early morning sunlight of Washington, DC.

Ethan and the team froze.

Standing outside of the hangar was Director Irwin.

“Hello boys,” the director called. He gave a simple wave before shoving his hands back into the pockets of his flannel coat. “The prince said you needed a ride?”

* * * * *

“I’m the director of the CIA,” Director Irwin chuckled at the team’s wide-eyes and dropped jaws as he climbed into the driver’s seat. In loose jeans, a long-sleeved button-down, and his flannel coat, he looked more like a country farmer than a director. “Well, I was.” He frowned as they pulled away from the hangar.

The team huddled in Director Irwin’s Suburban, behind the black-tinted windows, and downed coffee from two thermoses Irwin had packed. An empty box of donuts, demolished by the team, lay on the floorboards.

“I’ve built up a number of contacts over the years. Prince Faisal’s doctor is one of those contacts. As is the head of Saudia’s freight transport.” Irwin’s raised eyebrows met Ethan’s gaze in the rearview mirror. “It’s important to know what’s flying into the country, don’t you think?”

Ethan nodded. DC flashed outside the SUV’s window as they drove on. In the distance, the Washington Monument reflected dawn’s light. “You said you
were
the director of the CIA?”

“President Spiers canned me after Ethiopia. Said the failure of intelligence was on me.” Irwin signaled a lane change, the click of the indicator overly loud in the silent vehicle. “He was beyond furious. Now…” His eyes sought Ethan’s in the backseat. “I know why.”

Ethan swallowed. He’d watched Jack’s broadcast in Riyadh. Doc had pulled it up on a tablet Faisal had loaned the team. They all crowded around, watching the news on Al Jazeera and listening to the blistering commentary from the international pundits.

Everyone had tried their best not to stare at Ethan, looking down and away and sideways and up at the paneling above. He still felt their stares later. They already knew about him and Jack, of course. They had heard Gottschalk’s call to Al-Karim. They saw Ethan’s raw fury over Jeff, and his desperation to save Jack. But still, having the president announce to the world that they were lovers—that Jack
loved
him—was something no one knew how to deal with.

Hearing the absolute agony in Jack’s voice made it all the worse. He was alive, and Jack thought he was dead. Would Jack forgive him for this deception?

Ethan shook his head, clearing his thoughts.
Enough
. He had to focus. “Director, we know why there was no intelligence on Ethiopia. Your deputy, Gary Luss, is working with General Madigan. He scrubbed the intel and set up the whole operation. Probably worked with Black Fox to get the jihadis in-country.”

Irwin frowned, deep lines creasing his old face. Gray hair had replaced his dark mop long ago. He kept it cut in the Washington, DC, conservative style, though, fluffy and combed over to one side.

They inched through DC’s morning traffic as Ethan filled Irwin in on the pieces of the plot that had come together in Faisal’s palace. His temper surged as he relayed Jeff’s duplicity, and the betrayal stretching from Jack’s chief of staff to the vice chairman of the Joint Chiefs, the director of the NSA, and the deputy director of the CIA.

As Ethan spoke, Irwin seemed to age a decade, collapsing in on himself as his shoulders sagged and drooped. His lips pursed, and he stared out over DC’s panorama as they crossed the Roosevelt Memorial Bridge. Arlington stretched behind them, rows and rows of marble headstones glinting over the hills. The Lincoln Memorial rose ahead and the Washington Monument beyond, with the domed roof of the Capitol Building barely visible in the background.