Hide and Seek (20 page)

“And broke into the hardware shop to get the mask.”

“Yep,” Aliki said. “A woman like that just has to be saved.”

“And we’re the guys to do it. Mount up.”

COLONEL MAC AND SERGEANT
Alan Kinkaid were escorted to the Oval Office, something former Chief of Staff Helen Brown did on previous visits but since becoming vice president, that job fell to someone else. In this case, Mona Willard, the president’s private secretary, did the honors.

Mac stood as straight as a rifle barrel, his blue dress uniform perfectly fitted to his frame. Mac considered himself lucky because the president was in DC instead of in some other corner of the earth; and because he agreed to an unscheduled meeting, something normally requiring at least two stars and a key position in the Joint Chiefs of Staff to pull off. But he and Ted Huffington had history. Not many months earlier, the president ordered Mac to send his best team to Siberia to recover or destroy a fallen spy satellite. Before that, the same team was tasked with finding the leader behind a series of female suicide bombers. In the course of that mission, the team saved the lives of the president and his wife. They also saved the lives of twenty key leaders of some of the world’s most powerful countries. He was sure that was the only reason he was able to elbow his way into this meeting.

“The president has been expecting you.” Mona was a pleasant, unflappable, middle-aged woman.

“It was good of him to see us on such short notice.” Mac walked with purpose, his cap tucked under his arm.

“He wondered what took you so long.”

He turned to look at her. “So long?”

“He told me to expect your call any minute.”

“Really? Interesting.” Mac looked at Kinkaid. “And here I thought you were some sort of genius.”

“Even geniuses get lucky sometimes, sir.”

“Let’s hope it holds.”

Mona led them to her office and opened the door to the adjoining Oval Office and stepped aside. She closed the door behind Mac and Kinkaid.

President Ted Huffington sat behind his desk. He was on the phone but waved them in. He motioned to the seating area at the center of the room. Sofas and white leather chairs were situated around a blue carpet with the presidential seal woven into its center. They stood, waiting for the president to finish his phone call.

“Just give it some thought, Mr. Speaker. Once, just once, let’s present a unified budget effort to the public.” He listened. “Mr. Speaker, the public is weary of both of us. This is my last term. After that, I’m going to write books and make a fortune on the speaking circuit. You, on the other hand, still have years of opportunity before you. Let’s be unique. Let’s be bold and get a workable budget on time.” He listened some more. “I know you have to talk to your party leaders. I expect that, but . . . Let me be frank: Instead of asking for permission, take the bull by the horns and tell them what’s going to happen. Be the dog, not the tail.”

He rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Speaker. My best to your lovely wife.” He hung up then rose from his chair. “And to think I wanted this job.”

When Huffington stood, Mac and Kinkaid came to attention.

“As you were, gentlemen. Please, sit.”

The president lowered himself into one of the padded chairs. He looked a half-decade older than the last time Mac was in this room. The world continued to be a troubled place; the country continued to teeter on economic collapse; and party infighting was never more intense. One thing Mac enjoyed about the Army was its structure. Orders were given; orders were followed. In politics there were no orders, just ideas and desires batted back and forth like a tennis ball. Mac had no patience for it.

“Thank you for seeing me so quickly, Mr. President.”

“I knew you’d come. I owe you a meeting.” His eyes softened. “I-I was sorry to hear about the lost team. Colonel Weidman tells me it was J. J.’s team.”

“Yes, sir. We have two issues. First the FAO Amelia Lennon is still missing and we need to recover her. Second . . .” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Second, I want the bodies of my team back.”

“I can’t send another team, Mac. Technically, they should not have been there in the first place.”

“With all due respect, sir, there are many missions where we went where we were not welcome.”

“I’m well aware of that, Mac. I called for a few of those, but every situation is different.”

“I understand that, sir, but every mission has one thing in common: they’re conducted by brave men who love this country more than their own lives.”

Huffington closed his eyes for a moment and Mac realized two things: one, he had crossed the line; two, he didn’t care.

The president opened flint-like eyes. His jaw had tightened. He spoke softly. “Mac, I admire you, I respect you, and I consider you an important adviser. I like to think you and I are friends, at least as much as our positions allow, but I want to advise you against playing the patriotism card with me.”

“Sir—”

“I’m not finished.” Those words had more heat. “It took me a long time to decide to run for president. It seems like forever ago but I never gave a second thought to the hatred I would face, the lies, the political backbiting, the media misrepresentation of my policies, or the fact I might one day be assassinated. Water off a duck’s back. What did give me pause was the idea of me sitting behind that desk over there giving the go-ahead to a suicide mission. For weeks I wondered if I had the spine for it. It turns out I do. I find no pleasure in it, and yes, it has kept me up at night. That doesn’t matter, no one takes this job unless they can send men to their deaths. You know what that’s like, Mac. You’ve had to do it.” Huffington brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his dark trousers. “Do you know the difference between our work, Colonel?”

“I believe so.”

“The way I see it, you focus on a mission. Well, in your role as head of spec ops, you focus on several missions. Your objective is success in the field. You get in and get out, hopefully safe and sound. You don’t have to be concerned with the long-ranging ramifications. I do. I have to deal with the other heads of state. My decisions and responsibilities don’t end with a mission. They continue and the ramifications can resonate for years to come. I’m dealing with problems left over from a president two administrations back.”

“I know your job is difficult, sir, and I have no desire to make it worse, but we need to finish the mission and get the bodies of our men back.”

“You will not send another team in, Mac. Nor will the SEALS nor any other spec ops group.”

“Sir, these are men you know—”

Huffington shot to his feet. “That is enough, Colonel. Do you think a part of me didn’t die with J. J. and the others? He and Tess were married right out there.” He pointed out a window to the Rose Garden. “I was at the wedding, remember? J. J. and the others rescued the son of my former VP. Don’t think for a moment I’ve forgotten that. I know every one of their missions in detail. I care about those men. I care about their families, and yes, I believe this country owes them. I would ask for their bodies back but that would mean admitting that we were running a military operation in a country considered an ally, one that provides a strategic base of operations.”

“I do understand the importance of Manas, sir. I’ve been there many times.”

“But what you’re forgetting, Mac, is that the base is needed for more than what we’re using it for now. Sure, we need it to stage the delivery of men and equipment to Afghanistan, but that’s not all. Our presence in that country is winding down but you know as well as I that terrorist activity is on the rise. It was what killed the team members of the men now in J. J.’s unit. Again, info you already have in pocket. What you may not realize is that we need that base for problems on the horizon.”

Huffington returned to the sofa and sat. “Pakistan grows more distant. Too many American drone attacks on their soil. It’s their fault for letting terrorists set up camp there, but nonetheless, we may have a problem with Pakistan in the near future. That’s just one problem. Throw in unrest in the Baltic nations, unsettled peoples in several other Central Asian countries, and then you’ll see why it is so important for us to keep Manas open. The Russians want it. The Chinese want it and have offered a huge chunk of change to have us evicted so they can move in. We don’t need that.”

The president continued. “Kyrgyzstan is a troubled, impoverished nation with an unemployment rate that makes ours look infinitesimal. It is a key country in the region, important to Russia and China. Most of the population hates us. Yet, I doubt one in fifty people on an American street could find the place on a map. I doubt half of Congress could find it. It’s hard to get additional funding for operations in a country most people don’t know exists.”

“Yes, sir.” Mac had much more to say, but he knew a brick wall when he ran face-first into one. “The FAO?”

“Captain Amelia Lennon.” The president said the name as if making sure Mac understood how much he knew about the happenings. “Her service jacket is exemplary. A good soldier. A good diplomatic asset.” He took a breath. “I’ve been led to believe that local law enforcement is conducting a search for her and the president’s daughter.”

“Do you believe that, Mr. President?”

Huffington didn’t answer straightaway. Then, “No. The government has too much on its hands at the moment.”

“Do you know who killed our team?” Mac pressed the words through clenched teeth.

“Not yet, but when I find out . . .” Huffington crossed his legs as if relaxing in front of a Washington Nationals televised game, but the posture could not hide the tension in his body. “Last year, when your men were in eastern Siberia, I was an inch and a half away from sending a Navy cruise missile to destroy that satellite—the satellite your men found. It would have killed them all.” He looked at the carpet. “I still get chills thinking about it. Still, I would have done it had the team failed.” He looked into Mac’s eyes. “I would have sacrificed them for the mission and carried on.” He lowered his voice. “Mac, I wish I could do what you asked, but I can’t.”

The president stood, indicating the meeting had ended. Mac and Kinkaid stood.

“Mr. President, if I may.” It was the first words Kinkaid had uttered since shaking hands with his commander in chief. “I have a favor to ask.”

Mac looked at his aide. Normally the man was a mute in such meetings unless called upon to speak.

Huffington raised an eyebrow. “Say it.”

“The news video showing the bodies of our team. Something doesn’t fit.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, sir. This is one of those ‘gut’ things. Could you get someone to analyze the video? The Army has some specialists, but I’m thinking a police agency.”

“You’re thinking the FBI?”

“They’re the best at analyzing video of crimes; we’re better at analyzing battle scenes.”

The president’s eyes narrowed. “And you want me to do this on a hunch?”

“Yes, sir, I do.”

“You good with this, Mac?”

“Yes, sir. Master Sergeant Kinkaid’s hunches are better than most men’s logic.”

“I’ll see to it.”

MAC STARED OUT THE
window of the Cessna UC-35A corporate jet as it knifed through the air. The low roar of the engines normally relaxed him, but this trip the sound was a major annoyance. His mind tumbled like a shoe in a clothes dryer, bounding from the meeting with the president, to an unnamed street in Bishkek, to the horrible, soul-shredding work ahead of him.

The president had a point but that didn’t mean Mac had to like it. The president had bigger issues, but Mac refused to look past the loss of six good men and the people they left behind. On the other side of the jet sat Kinkaid, his hands folded in his lap, his head forward, his eyes closed.

“Sleeping, Sergeant?”

Kinkaid’s eyes snapped open. “No, sir.”

“It looks like it.”

“Prayer sometimes looks that way.”

Mac felt a moment of remorse for his comment. Kinkaid had been Mac’s aide for several years and he knew the man went to church on occasion but that was it. Just recently, he learned the man was more committed than Mac knew.

“Maybe you should have prayed before the team was killed.” The comment was harsh, but Mac’s patience was gone. Maybe he had been “in this man’s Army” too long. Maybe he was getting too old. He progressed through the ranks and served in his share of special operations. Being on mission was, in some ways, easier than sending operators into danger. He would rather lead a team than conduct operations from a desk, but he was too long in the tooth to keep up with the young guys. He was the fittest and youngest fifty-something man he knew, but keeping up with guys in their mid-twenties was just this side of impossible. “Sorry.”

“No need to apologize, sir. For the record, I did pray for them before the mission. I pray for all the teams.”

“Yet the team is dead. And J. J. was a dyed-in-the-wool Christian. Does God not know where Bishkek is?”

“He knows, sir.”

“Then why . . . never mind. I’m just looking to vent.”