Huston, James W. -2003- Secret Justice (com v4.0)(html) (17 page)

Nino walked faster down the hill. Hotary followed. Nino pointed to a small gray generator at the bottom of the hill. “There. This is the first.”

Hotary controlled his pace as he descended toward the machine. He scanned the hills and trees for signs of life. He was wary of a trap, but saw nothing that gave him concern. The men rushed to the RTG and surrounded it. The device was completely silent. Hotary could tell it wasn’t operating, and from the looks of it, it hadn’t in some time.

It was four feet tall and perhaps three feet wide. It sat on a concrete slab that had cracked and was sagging in the middle. The generator was made of steel but was showing its age. Long exposure to the elements had caused rust to form at the corners. Hotary turned to Nino. “You remember how to take out the core?”

“We had to do it dozens of times.”

Hotary studied the rusted steel. “Is there any danger?”

“If it’s cracked, or broken, it’ll kill you.”

“How do we know if it’s cracked or broken?”

“You get someone to do it who you don’t like,” Nino said, laughing. “Like you!” He took off his backpack and removed several tools. “Here,” he said, handing a wrench to Hotary. “You go first. You’re the one who wants these things so bad. All I have to do is show you where they are, and take the money you promised me. And if you don’t show me the money now, you’ll never see the core.”

Hotary considered killing Nino now, but Nino knew where the other nine generators were.

Nino’s face grew serious. His beard blew in the wind as he looked down at Hotary. “This is as far as I go without getting paid. You said you had to see the generator first. This is it.”

Hotary reached inside his cloak. “Here,” he said, handing him a stack of U.S. one-hundred-dollar bills.

The Georgian counted them, then looked up. “Where’s the rest?”

“You get it when we’ve taken the core out of the tenth generator.”

“Then we’d better hurry,” Nino laughed as he put the bills in his own grimy pocket. “Move,” he said as he went to the back of the RTG and expertly began loosening the bolts on the access door.

Andrea put her carry-on bag down by the gate at Dulles airport and readjusted her jacket. She put the strap back on her shoulder and walked slowly toward the gate.

Rat said, “You’d better get on board.”

Andrea turned to him and held his hand. “You aren’t upset enough. You should be despondent that I’m leaving. Crushed. Overwhelmed. Unable to control—”

“I am,” Rat said. “Can’t you tell?”

“No, I really can’t. That’s why I brought it up.” She got a frisky look on her face. “I’m going out into the storm, Rat. Into harm’s way, the War on Terrorism. Something that
you
have never experienced. I’ll be in danger and you will probably be up all night every night watching sports and worrying about me. So how can you be so calm?” she smiled.

Rat loved her sense of humor. “I need you to do something for me.” He had wanted to talk to her about it earlier. Each day after he’d thought of it he planned on bringing it up, but each day it was harder. He knew she would think he was using her. He just needed her help. She had offered to do anything, but this had a different feel.

Andrea glanced over her shoulder at the bus that would carry the passengers out to the airplane.

Rat knew what she was thinking. “There’s another bus. And probably one after that. We have a couple of minutes.”

She put her bag down and ran her hand through her hair. “Okay. What is it?”

“When you get to the
Belleau Wood—
well, you’re going to be the flight surgeon, but there are some things going on out there that are important.”

Andrea frowned. “It’s just a bunch of Marines. I’ll just be doing flight physicals, and grounding people who have colds.”

Rat shook his head quickly and looked around the airport terminal for anyone who might be trying to eavesdrop. He moved slightly to stand directly in front of Andrea. He leaned his head slightly down so that anyone trying to listen would have trouble reading his lips. He could also see the entire terminal as the bus was now to his back. “Remember what the President said, that Wahamed Duar was being held in an ‘undisclosed location’? He’s on the
Belleau Wood
.”

“How can that be?”

“That’s where the tribunal is going to be.”

“Wow,” she considered. “What could I do about him?”

“What I want you to do is about me, not him.”

“Your trial?”

“My crucifixion.”

“You want me to stay and help? I really feel like I can be more use to you here. The timing is horrible.”

“No. You have to go. They told you if you didn’t accept now, they were going to fill the job with someone else.”

“The job isn’t that important, Kent. I would much rather be with you.”

“The only reason I’m in trouble is because of a doctor on your ship. He—”

“A doctor? The surgeon? Dr. Satterly?”

“The very guy.”

“How could he have anything to do with you?” she asked.

“He was treating one of the terrorists. The guy who died. Satterly got pissed and decided to make me his personal crusade.”

Andrea shook her head in disbelief. “He has a good reputation in the medical community. He’s supposed to be a good guy.”

“I just know he’s got it in for me. See if there’s anything out there that I can use in my defense.”

Andrea hesitated. She was suddenly feeling a slight pinch she had not felt before. “You want me to spy for you?”

“Just listen carefully. Tell me if you hear anything.”

“I don’t know. The medical community is kind of close—”

“This guy is trying to send me to prison, Andrea. I’m not asking you to go through his underwear drawer. Just pay attention.”

Andrea smiled awkwardly. “I don’t know . . .”

The last bus was preparing to leave the gate for her airplane to Rome. Rat walked toward it with Andrea’s carry-on bag. “You need to go.”

Andrea was silent.

“See if you can figure out why that doctor has it in for me. And if you get a chance to meet Duar, see what you think of him.”

Andrea took her carry-on bag and hesitated. After a moment, a long moment for each of them, she walked through the door of the bus without any farewell, without a kiss or even a reassuring look.

Rat watched to see if she would at least turn around, at least wave. She entered the bus and never looked back.

Rat had only met Sarah St. James once. He had corresponded with her several times by the encrypted e-mails that had probably given rise to the difficulties that he now found himself in. As much as he hated calling in political chips, or asking people to do
anything
for him, it was time.

He assumed Brad Walker, St. James’s assistant, would get to work early. He had been waiting for him for fifteen minutes, since five forty-five. Rat watched each car pull up to the gate of the White House. He recognized Walker in his car, fourth car in line waiting to get into the gate. Rat crossed the sidewalk to Walker’s American sedan and rapped on the window. Walker looked up startled. He didn’t recognize Rat. Walker wasn’t sure what to do. His car was trapped between others waiting to enter the White House grounds. He reached his left hand to lower the electronic window and hesitated.

Rat tapped on the window again. He didn’t look like a homeless man, or some psycho serial-killer, but still . . . Walker glanced at the gate where the security guards were now carefully watching Rat. He lowered the window three inches. “Yes?”

“Mr. Walker, Kent Rathman.” Rat could almost hear Walker searching for that name to generate some recognition.

“What can I do for you?”

“I need a ride through the gate. I need you to take me to see Ms. St. James.”

“I can’t do that—”

“Sure you can. I’m Rat.”

“Of course, sorry. I wasn’t . . . expecting you. I’m still not sure I can just take you in. You have to have an appointment. And then the National Security Adviser doesn’t just have people drop in to see her—”

“Open the door,” Rat said.

The door locks sounded and Rat’s door opened. He climbed into the front seat of the sedan and closed the door behind him. “Thanks. I’ve left a couple of messages for her, but she’s awfully busy. I probably could’ve done this a different way, but I wanted to meet you anyway.”

Walker was clearly uncomfortable. He felt threatened, but knew he shouldn’t be. He knew of Rat’s magical reputation in the special forces and how loyal he had been to Sarah St. James in spite of his reluctance to become entangled in politics. “I wanted to meet you too. You’re sort of legendary,” Walker offered.

“How do you like your job?”

“Great. Tough to get, but very exciting.”

They pulled up to the gate at the White House and Walker showed the guard his identification. “This is Mr. Kent Rathman. He’s with me.”

The guard leaned over and looked through the window at Rathman. “You have any identification, sir?”

Rathman pulled out his active duty military identification and handed it to the guard.

The guard went to the guardhouse and entered Rat’s name into the database. He returned the ID and waved them through.

Rat had never been in the White House parking lot. He got out of Walker’s car and followed him toward the white building that seemed bigger close up. They walked around to the special entrance and went directly in. Secret Service greeted them at the door and checked their IDs again. Walker greeted them by name and went directly through the hallway toward the National Security Adviser’s office. Walker said quietly, “She’s not going to be too happy about your unscheduled appearance. She’s pretty organized and doesn’t like her schedule to be disrupted.”

“This shouldn’t take that long.”

Walker turned into Sarah St. James’s office. “Morning, Millie. Is Ms. St. James at her desk?”

“As always.”

“This is Kent Rathman. Millie Grossman.”

Rat nodded and extended his hand. “Morning.”

“Morning,” Millie said as she studied him with deep curiosity.

“Can we go in?” Walker asked.

Millie nodded.

Walker opened the door and went right into Sarah St. James’s plush office. She glanced up from her desk, expecting to see Walker, but then recognized Rat. “Mr. Rathman. What a surprise,” she said with a tone of annoyance. “Do you know Brad? Is that how you got in here?”

Rathman entered the office and looked around. “We just met. I came here to see you.”

“I’m afraid we have a morning brief in just a few minutes. We don’t really have time for a meeting that was not on our calendar.”

“That’s okay. I have time.”

St. James could tell that he was intent on seeing her, and resistance was going to get her nowhere. “Sit down.”

“No, I need to get going. I just wanted to ask you a couple of quick questions.”

“Do you and I need privacy? Is it okay if Mr. Walker stays?”

“Sure. . . . You have any idea how this happened? Any idea what’s going on—the behind-the-scenes stuff? How did I end up in somebody’s crosshairs?”

St. James glanced at the clock and replied, “What do you think?”

“They think I work for you, and it’s a way to get to you—to short-circuit your little private intelligence network.”

“And who do you think it is?” she asked as she gathered up several documents and placed them in her thin briefcase. She turned to Brad Walker. “Are you ready for the brief? We haven’t even gone over what you’re going to say.”

“I was kind of hoping we could grab a couple of minutes to go over a few things,” Walker replied.

Rat realized his clever idea of seeing Sarah St. James had been misguided. He was irritating her, his only friend in the administration, the only one who might actually do something for him. “I should have called and gotten an appointment. I’m sorry. I may have to go out of town soon. I just wanted to talk to you for a second.”

She walked around the desk without replying, heading for the door and her brief.

“I’ve heard it’s the Secretary of Defense.”

She stopped. “I think so too, but I can’t prove it.”

“Any way you can make this trial stop?” There. He had asked the question he had come to ask. He had done what he hated to do, asked for help.

She put the long leather strap from her briefcase over her shoulder. “Did you have to torture that guy?” St. James asked.

“I wasn’t leaving without Duar. We knew he was there.”

“How did you know?”

“The agent. He would only signal if he saw Duar with his own eyes.”

“So why did you have to almost drown that man?”

He hesitated. “Do you really want me to go into it?”

“Yes.”

He knew better. “Field interrogation. Why such interest in this guy?”

“Because he died! People care when other people die. We try to live by higher standards than the run-of-the-mill terrorist, Rat. Do you not
get
that?”

“How many people were killed in the raid?” he asked.

St. James hesitated. “I don’t know. Ten or twelve.”

“Sixteen terrorists. How many Americans killed or wounded?”

“I don’t know. What difference does that make?”

“Because everybody knows a lot more about this one guy who died of pneumonia than about others who died, or were wounded. Even Americans.”

“You’re missing the point. They have charged you with something. Either you did it, or you didn’t. Pointing out other things that make people look stupid won’t help you advance your cause at all.”

“Are we supposed to be real nice to these guys? We can kill them, but at some point, we can’t even touch them. I want to know when that is.”

“When they stop fighting. When they lay down their arms.”

Rat smiled. “These guys
never
quit fighting. They don’t surrender, like POWs. They just try to find a new way to cut your throat. You ever read about Guadalcanal?”

“Some,” she replied defensively.

“After the first real battle with the Marines when the Japanese had their asses handed to them, the injured Japanese lay on the battlefield moaning. The Marines ran out to help them. We wanted to take them prisoner, give them medical attention, and treat them properly under the Geneva Convention—even though Japan never
signed
the Geneva Convention. When the Marines got there to help, the Japanese soldiers rolled over and handed the Marines live hand grenades killing the Marines and themselves. You aware of that?”