Internal Threat (3 page)

After the death of Katie, his world was reigned by sorrow and confusion. Emotions battered his soul and threatened to tear his mind apart. His sole salvation had been his son, Luke. After the memorial, a simple service in the chapel with Katie’s framed photo since her body had not been found, the tiny boy had taken Matt’s hand and squeezed.

“Daddy,” he had said simply, his liquid eyes focused on Matt’s.

At that moment, Matt realized that he would have to put away the dark depression that had engulfed him since Katie’s call. He had been shutting himself off from the one person that needed him most, the only thing that Katie herself had specifically requested to be looked after with her dying breaths.

Matt squeezed back, noting the strength of the young boy’s grip. “I love you, buddy. We’re going to be fine.”

He continued the day-to-day dreariness of his existence, shuffling papers and making calls in the base offices and then spending the nights with Luke. To keep his mind fresh, he kept tabs on the internal investigation examining the death of Katie and her unit. Having led previous supply missions in hostile territory himself, he soaked up as many of the facts as he could. As much as he tried to suppress the anger, each discovery brought a fresh wave of rage with it.

Mistakes were made across the board.

The second lieutenant, a young man named Wilson, who had ordered the supply run was fresh out of officer school with little field experience. He had apparently thought that the quickest way to get supplies from their base to the next one was a simple straight line. In war, however, nothing was ever a simple straight line. Had the man bothered to check reports from the previous week, he would have seen that the road he was sending Katie’s supply caravan on had been a hotbed of insurgent activity. All of it so far had been directed at locals, but an experienced commander would have known that it was only a matter of time and opportunity before American troops became targets.

As the months wore on, Matt became more and more frustrated with the inaction of the investigation. When a decision finally came down, he was floored.

No improper conduct.

No disciplinary action.

Not even an apology.

Second Lieutenant Wilson, who was on base for the perfunctory hearing, refused to meet Matt’s eyes in the conference room where the news was delivered. A few moments later, Matt sat in the tiny windowless room by himself, bitter fury coursing through his veins. Everything that he had believed in had let him down – the military, its justice system, his country.

That night, he had gone to the officer’s club at the edge of the base to drown his anger in a pool of beer and whiskey. The alcohol had done nothing but sour his mood even more and, when he saw a smiling Lt. Wilson push through the front door of the club with a group of friends, something snapped inside his head.

He approached on legs that were much steadier than he anticipated. As Matt arrived at the table, conversation ceased and Wilson looked up at him.

“Captain Weatherly,” Wilson addressed him warily, his voice cracking slightly.

Matt stared at Wilson for a silent beat, trying to sort out exactly what he expected from this young man. At last, the answer came to him.

“I want to hear you say it,” Matt said calmly.

Wilson blinked twice in confusion. “Say what?”

“That you killed my wife.”

“I’m sorry, Captain. But I didn’t kill your wife. A group of hostiles did.” Wilson’s voice had ditched the nervous shaking and adopted a haughty, imperious tone.

Matt shook his head. “They pulled the trigger,” he told Wilson, voice thick. “But you lined up the shots for them, didn’t you?”

There was a squeak as chair legs scraped across the floor. A large soldier wearing major’s stripes stood up from Wilson’s table and planted himself in front of Matt.

“That’s enough, sir. I suggest you step back from this table. It’s obvious you’ve had a little too much to drink tonight.”

“I’m not leaving until I get an apology,” Matt repeated, his eyes never leaving Wilson’s. All conversation in the bar had stopped, everyone now tuned in to the drama unfolding at the table.

“Then I’m going to have to show you the way out,” the intimidating major said. His palm clamped down on to Matt’s left shoulder.

Matt’s right hand shot up, forcing up and under the major’s elbow. There was a satisfying pop and a howl of pain as the man’s grip loosened instantly. Matt ducked the clumsy punch the major threw and landed one of his own in the soldier’s gut, sending him to the floor gasping.

The rest of the incident was a series of blurry flashes in Matt’s memory.

Him leaping across the table, grabbing on to Wilson’s shirt.

The flurry of punches he delivered to the young lieutenant’s face.

His hands soaked with blood.

The scuff of boots, pain exploding on the back of his head as a glass pitcher shattered across it.

Blackness and silence.

The next morning, in the base jail, Matt blinked awake to see General Arnold Peltin staring at him through the bars.

“Rough night?” the older man smiled thinly.

Matt rose up on the cot he was laying on, wincing from the throbbing ache in his skull. He was unsure if he should be glad to see Peltin or not. Although the man had praised Matt’s soldiering skills in two tours of duty and was someone he would almost consider a friend if it were not for their disparate ranks, Matt had not spoken to him since the general had arrived several weeks ago at the base.

“You could say that, sir,” Matt replied, finding his voice hoarse.

“Cut the ‘sir’ for now. I’m here as a friend.”

Matt nodded.

“You understand you’re in a world of trouble right now, don’t you?” the general asked.

“I was stupid,” Matt nodded again. “Is Wilson alright?”
“He’ll be eating through straws for the next month but otherwise he’s fine. From what I hear around the base, most people think he had it coming.” Peltin sighed, ran a hand across the top of his shaved head. “Matt, do you remember when you were assigned to protect me in Kabul?”

“Sure. Not every day I get shot.” There had been

a clumsy attempt on the general’s life by a streetside shooter. Matt had reacted in an instant, placing himself in harm’s way. The bullet passed cleanly through his shoulder but left a puckered scar that Katie had once admitted she found incredibly sexy.

“You took a bullet for me then. I’m going to take one for you now.”

Matt looked at him in confusion.

“I’m going to get the charges against you dropped,” Peltin continued. “You’ll get a general discharge. It’s the best I could do under the circumstances. That is, of course, unless you want to continue your service to your country?”

“No,” replied Matt without hesitation. “I’m done with that.”

Peltin nodded as if he expected the answer. He stood up, indicating the conversation was over.

Matt rose with him, snapping a salute. “Sir.” Peltin turned to go. “General Peltin, sir?” The elder man faced Matt again. “Thank you for everything.”

The general merely returned the salute and exited.

After Matt was released, he headed straight to his house and began to pack up the meager belongings. He and Luke climbed into the dusty Ford Escape that served as the family car. As it pulled out of Fort Bragg, Matt only knew that he would keep driving until he felt far enough away from the pain.

He did not stop until he hit the Pacific Ocean.

As he and Luke sat in a Starbucks facing the pearl white Santa Monica beach, he knew in his heart that he had arrived in their new home. Now, he wondered, just what in the world he was going to do to make a living here?

The answer came in a simple posting on an internet job board. “Top Commissions!” the headline screamed. After applying for a multitude of jobs and hearing nothing, Matt’s cell phone rang mere minutes after he responded to the ad. The following day found him sitting in a small office in downtown Los Angeles, listening to a swarthy, pot-bellied man with salt-and-pepper hair describe the vagaries of the server space real estate business.

He started a few days later, landing his first sale with relative ease. People had always felt comfortable under Matt’s command and he found that there was no difference in the world of sales. His looks seemed to help, too. In a land of gym-toned muscles and plastic smiles, Matt’s square jaw and natural broad shoulders stood out and instantly endeared him to clients.

When he received his first commission check, Matt shook his head, wondering where all the money had gone. Dubious deductions from his employer and his subsequent checks caused Matt to realize that he was far better striking out on his own as soon as possible.

Within a year, Matt had established himself and his company, Server Solutions, as the go-to place for top spaces at reasonable prices. He had moved himself out of the small Northridge apartment he and Luke had shared and into an architectural gem in the Hollywood Hills. There was something about Los Angeles that Matt found utterly enchanting. Everyone here seemed to be a transplant that had reinvented themself and Matt was no different. Nobody in his adopted home knew him as Captain Weatherly and that suited him just fine.

Someone honked their horn behind him, bringing Matt back to the present. He pulled forward as his Blackberry chirped. Matt allowed himself a smile as he saw the name and answered.

“Ashley Kane, what are you doing working this late?”

“It’s only seven o’clock. That’s the middle of the day for me, Matty.”

“I asked you not to call me that,” Matt grumbled. It had been a nickname Katie had used occasionally and was thus considered sacred in his mind.

“I know, that’s why I still do,” she answered sweetly.

For two years now, Ashley had been Matt’s main competitor. If he had to admit it, she was his only
serious
competition at all but he would never give her the satisfaction of knowing that opinion. He and Ashley’s company consistently went after the same corporate clients, with Matt having always managed to retain a slight lead on the number of closed deals.

“I heard about your heroism today at the beach,” she said. “Very impressive.”

Matt flinched in annoyance. “They weren’t supposed to say anything. How did you hear?”

“As I repeatedly remind you, I’ve got friends all over this town. My eyes are everywhere.”

Matt signaled for a left turn, approaching his street. He spotted a bus bench on the corner sporting a newly plastered ad with Ashley’s face on it. Blonde hair and intelligent blue eyes smiled out at him.

“Your eyes really are everywhere,” he muttered.

“Oh, you must almost be home. I just had to get that bench the second it opened up.”

“Listen, Ashley, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a home, a life – you know, the things you so desperately crave.” He smiled at the irritated exhale she made at the dig. “Speaking of things you so desperately crave, I closed Iwahita Tech yesterday.”

“What? How? I have a meeting with them tomorrow!”

“Not anymore. Have a good night.” He clicked off, a chuckle escaping his lips.

Within a few minutes, Matt was walking through the door of his home. Ana exited the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

“He’s in the living room,” she said to Matt. “Finished his dinner about an hour ago.”

Matt thanked her, waved as she gathered her purse and headed out. He found Luke sprawled on the leather couch in front of the plasma screen. Super Mario Kart blasted its noises from surround sound speakers.

Matt watched him for a moment, a swell of emotion hitting his chest. Maybe it was the events of the day but he felt the usual protective urge to grab Luke and hold him tight, not letting anything hurt him. Guilt over snapping at him earlier made Matt want to apologize. As hard as he tried to fight it, Matt could feel the distance growing between him and his son, one which he knew would only deepen with the arrival of teenage years. Katie would have known how to handle it but Matt was at a loss.

Instead of apologizing, he took the seat next to his son, thinking that actions speak louder than hollow words. Luke paused the game.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hey, buddy. Everything alright?”

“I’m about to break my record.”

“That’s my boy.” He reached for the other controller. “Let’s see if you can beat me, too.”

Across the street from the Weatherly house, Colin Nemec’s killer adjusted the long-range microphone he had aimed at the living room window. His vantage point from the surrounding shrubs provided a perfect view for his small nightvision binoculars. He watched and listened as Matt playfully mussed Luke’s hair, then paused. Placing a hand against the boy’s cheek, Matt said, “You feel a little warm.”

“Ana took my temperature. Said it was a little bit above normal.”

“Must be the flu shot,” Matt reasoned.

The killer smiled.

The boy was running a temperature.

That meant all was going to plan.

S
ergeant Eric Hollander ducked as a rocket-propelled grenade screamed past his ear. It planted itself in the dunes directly behind him, sending a geyser of sand into the air.

“Stay down!” he yelled into his throat mike.

Cutting his eyes to the left, he saw the rest of his Army Rangers lying flat on the ground, suddenly just mere shadows in the night. Two more grenades lofted above and landed behind them, detonating loudly but doing no bodily damage.

Hollander offered up a silent thanks to his maker for not having his head taken off a moment ago and then shook off the religion. There was a job to do here and he would be damned if these bastards were going to keep him from doing it.

“Gonzalez, you flank left. I’m gonna take Kowalski and Hackman and move right. Watch out for mines.”

“Roger that,” a voice answered in his ear. He watched as Gonzalez, a mere patch of darkness shifting on the moonlit sands, moved out from behind the dirt mound he was lying behind and led another soldier forward.

“Good man,” thought Hollander. Gonzalez had proved his mettle in other missions so Hollander trusted him as second in command. He knew he would need a man of his caliber for such a classified operation.