The Lance (The PROJECT: Book Two) (14 page)

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Ronnie and Nick met Lamont Cameron at a bar
popular with past and present members of the various SOCOM units. It was crowded. It smelled of stale beer and overcooked frankfurters. No one ever came there for dinner.

Lamont
looked good for pushing forty. His head was shaved and smooth. His skin was dark reddish brown, the color of fresh ground coffee. His eyes were an odd pale blue, a genetic trait inherited from his Ethiopian ancestors. He had even features, square cheekbones, and an aquiline nose.

A thin, jagged ridge of pink scar tissue cut through one black eyebrow and across his nose, a souvenir from Iraq.
He'd left the Seals as a Master Chief. In the Seals that was a real accolade. Lamont was one of the smartest and toughest men Nick had ever met.

He
was at a table in the back. He stood up as they approached. The three men high-fived.

"Hey Nick, you look a little rough around the edges."

"Yeah, good to see you too." Lamont signaled the waitress.

"
Double Jameson's for me," Nick said, "soda back."

"
Coke, with a lime if you've got it," Ronnie told her. Ronnie didn't drink. On the Reservation he'd seen what it could do.

Lamont held up his half empty bottle.

"Another Bud." When the waitress had gone he said, "Saw you on the tube saving the President's ass. What were you doing there, anyway? You Secret Service now?"

"
Nope. That's part of what we want to talk with you about. How've you been, Shadow?"

"
Can't complain. Nobody would listen anyway." He grinned, lifted the beer in mock salute.

"
How's civilian life?"

"
Not what it's cracked up to be. I'm staying at my Mom's for now, keeping her company. Lots of changes since the last time I came home and none of them good. I'm trying to get her to move to a better part of town, but she's stubborn. Her church is there, her friends. She'll never move."

Carter had
been to the house. It was in part of the city where the landscape looked like a war zone. Decent people like Lamont's mother lived with drive-by shootings, gang bangers and iron bars on the windows as part of life. It was one of those places most of America didn't want to know about. Right in the heart of the American dream, the nation's capitol. Even the cops didn't go there unless they had plenty of backup.

The waitress brought
the drinks. Nick downed the Irish and ordered another before she left.

"
You have any plans?" he said. "What you're going to do?"

"
I know a guy who's a commercial diver. I was thinking maybe I'd hook up with him. He wants to open a dive school."

"
Pretty tame." Ronnie lifted his coke, sipped.

"
Yeah." Lamont looked a little depressed. Nick figured it was time to cheer him up.

"
What would you say if I told you there's another option? Not so tame?" 

"
Not so tame, like whatever you were doing in Jerusalem?"

"Yes."

"Tell me all about it, amigo."

During the next hour
they filled him in on Harker and the Project. Nick kept the Irish coming. After the fourth one something let go. He began to relax for the first time since he'd left for Israel.

"
What do you think, Shadow? You want to meet Harker?"

"
You talked with her?"

"
She pulled your jacket and cleared you earlier today. It's up to you. Travel, pay, exotic places, meet new people—what more could you ask?"

He smiled.
"Damn." He held his hands out and spoke in a whispery Marlon Brando voice. "Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in."

"Your Brando sucks, and besides it was Pacino said that."

Cameron shrugged. "Hey. As long as we don't leave the gun. When do I meet her?"

"
Tomorrow. We'll pick you up."

They clinked glasses.

The team was getting stronger.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

M
orning light filtered through the windows of the safe house. Lamont looked spiffy in a light blue suit and lavender tie. Ronnie had on his usual Hawaiian riot. Nick's black turtleneck and gray jacket suited the throbbing hangover he had. The aspirin hadn't kicked in. His .45 felt like it weighed fifty pounds. Something kept squeezing his back. Selena looked fresh and ready to go.

Harker gave
Lamont the pitch, an ID, a Glock and had him sign his life away. He cracked the slide, checked the magazine and clipped the holstered pistol onto his belt with the ease of practice. She briefed him on Dysart and the week's events. She told him about the sunken submarine.

"Yeah, Nick told me about it."

"If we found that sub, could you dive on it?"

"
Thirty-five fathoms? That's two hundred and ten feet down. Sure. Straightforward, unless there are bad currents and poor visibility."

"
That deep you should have a partner, but you're going to have to go it alone."

"
He doesn't have to go alone." It was Selena. "I've got enough experience. I've been deep before."

Something made Nick say, "Is there anything you can't do?" His headache stabbed him.

There was a brief silence. Selena's face closed down. Lamont's expression was unreadable.

Harker
's pen stopped moving. "You're an experienced diver, Selena?"

"
I've done over a hundred recreational dives and two dozen deep, technical dives."

She looked at Lamont.
"I know it's not the same as what you've done. But you need someone with you, in case there's trouble."

"
We're talking seventy meters," Lamont said. "That's not recreational diving. Something goes wrong, it's pretty far to the surface."

"If something goes
wrong and you're by yourself, you won't make the surface."

Strong words. Lamont raised his eyebrows. She went on.
"We're not just talking about diving an old wreck. We're talking about getting inside it, looking for something. We don't even know what it is we're looking for. That's dangerous. You need backup."

"
I could maybe get some ex-Navy guys I know to help out."

"
There's no time for that," Harker said. "Besides, they'd have to be vetted, cleared. It's not an option."

Lamont asked Selena,
"You checked out with rebreathers?"

"Yes.
I've been to three hundred and fifty feet with one."

Steph
said, "What's a rebreather?"

"
It's diving apparatus. It cycles breath and breathing gas within a closed circuit system. We used them all the time in the Seals." Lamont rubbed his palm on his leg. "The advantage is no bubbles going to the surface if you're in a combat situation. You don't need big tanks and you can stay down longer and deeper than with the open circuit stuff. With the right mix the decompression stops aren't as long."

The pen started up, then stopped
. Harker made up her mind. "Selena's right. If you can find the sub, she goes down with you. Nick, you and Ronnie will back them up on the surface. I'll requisition a plane to take you to Mar del Plata. Take weapons. I'll clear you for entry, you shouldn't have trouble. We have an arrangement with the Argentine military and it's friendly at the moment. They have an air base near there."

Lamont
said, "We'll need gear."

"
Tell Ronnie what you need. Mar del Plata is a big fishing port, right on the Atlantic. It shouldn't be a problem to rent a boat down there. I'll arrange for accommodations and a vehicle. Selena, you speak Spanish, don't you?"

"
Fluently."

Harker put her pen down.
"Any other questions?"

"
When do we leave?"

"
Tomorrow."

"
Hey, I always wanted to see Argentina," Lamont said.

CHAPTER FORTY

It was a
warm October morning in the nation's capitol, the sky blue and cloudless. Senator Gordon Greenwood was in his office on the Hill, thinking about an upcoming meeting with a group of deep pocket constituents. His secretary interrupted his thoughts.

"
Senator, Acting Director CIA is on line two."

"
Thank you, Addie."

Greenwood
chaired the Senate Intelligence Oversight Committee. He picked up his phone and activated the scrambler.

"
Wendell, how are you?"

"
Fine, Gordon. A beautiful day out there, isn't it? Have you got a minute?"

Senator Greenwood knew Wendell Lodge well. The two men
often played together at the elite Bull Run Country Club, overlooking the Civil War battleground. From the club it was possible to see the spot where General Jackson had stood immovable as a stone wall, the air around him filled with minie balls and grape shot. At Bull Run the minie balls had been replaced by golf balls arcing toward the blue sky.

CIA was political
. Hearings were coming up to move someone into the Director's slot and Wendell Lodge wanted the job. No one would get to the Director's office at Langley if the senator decided to oppose him. It didn't hurt Lodge's chances that he and Greenwood were Yale classmates and members of Skull and Bones.

All the same,
a little shared information of the right sort went a long way. There were lots of ways to get information in Washington. It came down to who you knew. In the Capitol, power was the name of the game and information was the currency of power. You needed money, a lot of it, but information was the more valuable commodity.

Lodge said,
"There's something that needs your attention as Chairman of the committee."

"Oh?"

"Are you briefed on the Project?"

Greenwood allowed a small laugh. There wasn't much he didn't know about the intelligence community. "You mean the President's attempt to circumvent your agency?"

"That's the one." Lodge considered his next words. "I know the Director of the unit, Elizabeth Harker. One of her people was in Jerusalem. You probably saw him on TV, shooting the man who went after Rice."

"
Yes, I know about Harker."

"
I've just learned she's sent her team to Argentina on some covert mission. She's acting under Rice's authority. I thought in your capacity as Chairman you might be interested in knowing about it. I'm getting a bit tired of her antics. She's stepped into my bailiwick before, and when she does she makes a lot of trouble."

"
Where in Argentina, Wendell?"

"
Their flight plan ends at an Argentine air base near Mar del Plata, on the Atlantic coast. They took diving gear, weapons and underwater communications equipment. I don't think they're down there for a vacation."

Greenwood sipped from a glass of water on his desk. "If
Rice and Harker are in collusion about something and hiding it, a look by the Committee into what's going on might be in order."

"My thought exactly, Gordon.
Right now Rice is riding the popularity generated by that bomb in Jerusalem, but that won't last. If public hearings turned up Presidential involvement with questionable covert operations, it wouldn't hurt your potential candidacy any. It might even help us get you nominated and into the Oval Office. There's strong sentiment you would make a good candidate. You know you can count on me."

"
I appreciate your call, Wendell. Let's get together at the Club next weekend."

"
I look forward to it."

Greenwood set the phone down and looked out his window. After a moment, he picked up the phone again and dialed.

On the seventh floor at Langley, Wendell Lodge placed another call, this time to South America.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

Carter
looked out the window at the endless canopy of jungle greenery passing below. They were somewhere over South America.

He didn't
like this mission. He didn't like deep water. He always imagined something with teeth waiting for him under the surface. Lamont, on the other hand, had probably been born with flippers and a mask and if something with teeth tried to bother him, Nick was pretty sure he knew who'd win. He wasn't worried about Lamont. Selena was a different story.

He didn't want to worry about Selena. He told himself it would be different if she'd come out of an intelligence or military background. It would be different if he'd never slept with her. It would be different if he'd never met her. It pissed him off, having to worry.

He had to hand it to her. Not many people would jump at the chance to dive on a Nazi wreck two hundred feet down. He glanced over at her. She was reading an article on gender specific phrases in proto Indo-European languages. Nick had been reading a mystery about a wise-cracking detective couple in Boston that hung out with a psychopathic sidekick. Sometimes he saw a little too much of himself in the author's fictional hero, but it passed the time.

He
felt a headache starting. He went to the mini-bar for another whiskey. The view from the window hadn't changed. After awhile he fell asleep.

Darkness. It was cold, very cold, a chill that ate into his bones. He was in a small room, pitch black except for a dull, reddish glow coming from somewhere. In the glow, something was lying on the ground. He wanted to see what it was, but he didn't want to see, either.

He
went over to it. It was a corpse dressed in a naval uniform, a seaman. He turned it over. The face was dried and sunken in on itself, eyes open and glazed. The pupils were a splotched milky white. The skin was brown and dry and shrunken like old leather. The lips were pulled back in a horrible smile. Stained teeth grinned at him in the eerie light.

He
stepped back, afraid. The light came from a box glowing dark red in the darkness. He knew he had to see what was inside. He forced himself to walk to it and place a hand on the lid.

Then the lid was open and
he was looking at his own severed head. He screamed.

"Nick!" Selena was shaking him. "Nick. Wake up."

He opened his ey
es. The sound of the engines droned outside the window. The endless jungle canopy passed below. She sat down next to him. "You were having another nightmare."

Nick rubbed his
face. "God, I hate these."

"
I know Israel was rough." She rested her hand on his arm. "I've been thinking about you. About these nightmares and headaches you're having."

He
looked out the window. "I don't know what to do about these dreams. It's getting so I don't want to go to sleep."

"
You haven't been getting much sleep. Maybe that's part of the problem."

"
Catch 22, huh?"

"
Maybe you ought to think about seeing somebody."

"
Like a shrink?"

"
No, not a shrink. A counselor. Someone who could help you deal with the stress."

"
You think I'm stressed?"

She laughed. 
"Are you kidding? Your week wasn't exactly relaxing."

"
Wasn't boring, though."

"
You know about PTSD. You know you've got it. If you talked with someone it could help."

"
You want me to see someone."

"
Yes."

"
I'll think about it."

"There's something else. You're drinking a lot."

He'd been about ready to get another drink when she said that.

"You think I'm drinking too much?"

He started to get angry. It came out in his voice.

"Let me see if I've got this right. You think I need a shrink and that I'm drinking too much. Anything else you want to say?"

"Not a shrink. And yes, you're drinking too damn much. And no, there's nothing else."

She got up and went back to her seat.

Nick got his drink and looked out the window.

He looked at the whiskey in his hand and set it down. His head hurt.