“Logan, you look awful and smell like whiskey. What the hell happened? I thought you’d been sober for the last six or seven months.” Sarah stared at him, expecting a response resembling the truth but not all of it. Trustworthiness hadn’t been one of his strong suits in their relationship over the past few years.
Logan looked at Sarah. He struggled to find words that could accurately convey his emotions. He was full of sorrow at the loss of Daly, rage at the intruders, and disgust with himself. How do I explain that?
He wasn’t an expressive man. Conversations like this one weren’t easy for him. He almost preferred getting shot to discussing his feelings.
He contemplated his response when he remembered that one of Alcoholics Anonymous’s Twelve Steps said something about “honesty.” After everything that had occurred, there was no point in denying the truth.
“I went on a two-day binge. It started two nights ago. Two days ago was the four-year anniversary of my last operation in Fallujah. I thought I could handle it, but then I started reliving the events in my head. I didn’t want to talk about it. So I chose the easy option like a coward. I drank myself into a blackout.” He paused as he looked around the kitchen. “Guess it wasn’t such a good choice.”
Both Sarah and Mike knew what had happened on that last mission—at least the most important part. The faces of his fallen Marines burned brightly in Logan’s consciousness.
The pain was evident on his face as he spoke. “I’m not making any excuses. I was trying to drink myself into oblivion, for at least a few days. When I dropped off Daly,”—his voice broke as he thought of his dead dog, and tears welled up in his eyes—“I knew I was going to go back to my house to start drinking.”
Sarah put her head in her hands as he continued. “And because I couldn’t face my personal demons, Daly is dead. And there’s nothing I can do about it. And now I have to carry that guilt with me.” He stopped again to gather himself. He expected no sympathy from Sarah. He didn’t deserve any.
He was surprised when she said, “Logan, you didn’t choose for these bastards to invade our house. If Daly had been with you, he could’ve been killed at your house. I blame you for a lot of our issues, but Daly’s death is not yours to carry. It’s not your fault.”
The shame from his decision to drink was almost too much to bear. Sarah’s forgiveness only increased the humiliation he was experiencing. Never again will I put her or anyone I care about in a position like this. Never . . .
He gathered his bearings for a moment and breathed deeply. “I cannot honestly and in any words I know express how sorry I am for what happened.” He saw the acceptance in Sarah’s face and let the rest pour out.
“As for the last two days, I blacked out completely. I honestly don’t remember a thing. I woke up this afternoon in the basement on the floor. There was a man, one of these mercenaries, with me. I killed him. I called Mike to ask for help, and as soon as I hung up with him, the dead guy’s phone rang. I decided to answer it, hoping to get a clue as to what this was all about.” He looked at Mike, expecting a rebuke.
Instead, Mike said, “Makes sense, considering the situation.”
“It was a man calling himself Juan—apparently this Juan Black—these assholes’ ringleader. He asked me about a flag from Iraq. When I told him I didn’t have it, he said I’d better find it for your sake, which is when I called Mike again. We came over, parked near the entrance to the neighborhood, and . . . well, you know the rest.”
Sarah looked at him, processing everything he’d just told her. He sensed her outrage at the violence that had been brought to their lives.
“I’m just glad I could send two of them to hell, especially the one who killed Daly.”
“Sarah, I’m seriously impressed. Most people would have collapsed under the fear and pressure. What you did is the epitome of courage under fire, hon. No cliché in this case.”
“Well, it helps that I’m married to a Marine.” The use of the present tense wasn’t lost on Logan. “You may be an arrogant alcoholic with some serious personal issues, but when it comes to self-defense, I always paid attention. I waited in the bedroom for them to come to me. It was the smart choice since they had to find me. If I’d known there were two more, I’d probably still be up there right now. You were right about that part too.”
For the first time that day, Logan’s face broke into a genuine smile. “I told you so.”
The three of them sat around the kitchen table, which had miraculously remained unscathed during the assault. It was a little past 7:00 p.m.
Antonio was bound, gagged, and blindfolded in the dark outside in the backyard. Logan had tied him to a tree. As he did so, he’d whispered, “We’ll be inside waiting for the cavalry. You’ll be fine out here . . . unless the local bears get you. Why do you think I installed the motion-sensor flood lights? Have fun, asshole.” He’d punched Antonio in his wounded arm and walked away.
“What now? The number Antonio used for this Juan Black is now out of service. No way Antonio has another means to reach him. I’ll bet only Roberto had a backup comms plan with him, but he can’t tell us what it is, and even then, since Juan knows he’s dead, that’d be no good as well.”
Mike interrupted. “Our forensics guys are excellent. They’ll get as much information—more than you think—from the number Roberto used. Trust me.”
Logan nodded. “Okay. As for the second issue, I know where the flag is and who has it. Remember John Quick, my platoon sergeant from Iraq?”
Mike nodded. “He was almost as dangerous as you are.”
“Even more so, in a few ways. Anyhow, I’m pretty certain he took it on that last operation after we survived. We were all tired of seeing those fucking flags in their execution videos. He took it as a trophy from that site—as a reminder. I just wish we knew what the hell was so important about some goddamned Iraqi flag.”
Mike was about to respond, but his cell phone rang. He answered it and gestured to Logan with a “wait-one-minute” signal with his left hand. He listened intently to the speaker on the other end.
“Okay, sir. Got it.” Another long pause. “And Logan’s house in Annapolis has been secured? No police?” Another moment of silence. “Excellent. Let the forensics team tear it apart.” He mouthed to Logan, Sorry, man, and kept talking on the phone.
“Also, Logan has the dead man’s cell phone here. As soon as the other FBI team arrives, I’m getting them out of here and down to Quantico. We can let the digital forensics guys see what they can exploit off the phone. We have a name, Juan Black, likely an alias. He has answers we don’t. He operates out of San Antonio as a hired gun for the Los Toros cartel. We’ll also need to activate another team. I need to call you back. Give me five minutes.”
Mike looked at Logan and Sarah. “That was my uncle.” Jake Benson was the assistant director of the FBI’s Counterterrorism Division, which had existed for decades and then received limitless funding and resources in the wake of the 9/11 attacks.
Jake Benson had been the special agent in charge of the New York City Field Office when the towers had been brought down. His office’s response to the attacks and the relentless operational tempo had made him and his agents legendary throughout the Bureau. When the last assistant director retired in 2006, the director of the FBI had contacted Jake directly and appointed him to the new position. Jake hadn’t actually had a say in the decision. It had been directed, which was all that mattered in the Bureau’s hierarchy.
“So where does John live now? If there’s another mercenary team heading his way, we need to warn him.”
The look on Logan’s face was sinister. “If retired Gunnery Sergeant John Quick is even fifty percent of what he used to be before retiring, they’re the ones who are going to need the help.”
“That’s all well and good, Logan, but again, where is he?”
“Outside of Helena, Montana. He moved there to enjoy retirement by hunting and fishing. I haven’t talked to him since. The good news is that his place is secluded. He’ll see them coming for miles. The bad news is that if he needs help, he’s not going to get it right away. Like I said, there’s no one else around for miles. I have his address in my email somewhere. I’ll log in with Sarah’s laptop and get it to you after we get our friend out back prepped for his trip to Quantico.”
Mike nodded. “I’ll take care of Antonio. You get the address. He’s two hours behind us. So it’s still daylight there . . . Shit! Denver handles Montana, but the closest field office is Salt Lake City. Even if the office sends a chopper—and it will when my uncle calls—it’s going to be a few hours away from him. He’s on his own, Logan, at least for now. You have a number for him that we can at least try and call to warn him?”
“It’s in the email as well, but unless John started doing meth and eating Twinkies every day, he’ll be fine. He’s one mean sonofabitch. His hand-to-hand skills are ridiculous. He makes me look like a Girl Scout, seriously.”
“That’s a very scary thought, my friend.”
“You have no idea.”
Fifteen minutes later, Mike was once again on the phone with his uncle. “I’ll call you on the way to brief you further. One other thing, I need the FBI jet fueled and ready out of Reagan. We may have to take a trip to Texas to follow up on the Juan Black lead. Call you on the way back to Quantico, sir. Thanks.”
Mike spoke to Logan and Sarah. “He’s going to brief the White House and the directors of both the FBI and Homeland Security in a few hours. I have to call him back after we leave here, which we’ll do as soon as our team arrives. There’s another one already at your house. We’re keeping this from all local law enforcement for now. It’s officially under wraps until we know what the hell’s going on.”
“Smart move,” Logan said.
“It’s the only move right now—we’re flying blind. We also have a transport team coming to take Antonio back to Quantico for further questioning. Hell, after what you just put him through, he’ll probably be so relieved, he’ll tell us anything we want.”
Sarah suddenly asked, “So what’s going to happen when the team gets here? I heard what you told your uncle, but what about me? I’m not leaving here.” She’d just survived a vicious attack on her home, and there was no way she was leaving what she’d killed to protect. “Think about it. Whoever these men are, they’re not coming back. This Juan Black has to assume that the flag is either not here or will soon be under federal protection. If he knows all about Logan, then he surely knows about his connection to you, Mike. And he definitely has to know about John.”
Mike smiled. “I always knew there was a reason I liked you more than Logan. And you’re absolutely right, but I’d still feel more comfortable if you weren’t here. Having said that, it’s your call. If you do stay, in addition to the forensic team, which has to process this crime scene, you’ll also have a four-man detail from our HRT. After all this, I’m not putting regular agents here. Again, it’s your call.”
Sarah looked from Logan to Mike. “I’m staying here. When your guys are finished with the house as a crime scene and have removed the bodies, I want to clean up. I need to.” She looked imploringly at Logan. “I know you’re devastated by Daly’s loss, Logan, and I know you’ll deal with it in your own way, but I have to do this. It’s my way of coping. I’m not changing my mind.”
No one spoke for a moment. Then Mike said, “Okay, Sarah. I only have one small request for you, if it’s okay. It’s going to be one long night for Logan and me, and your man here is fighting a vicious hangover, if not alcohol poisoning. I’m going to get him an IV when the team gets here, but in the meantime, do you have any coffee? I’d do it myself, but we need to go move our guest out front while we wait for the other agents.”
“Of course. I’ll make sure it’s strong.” She pushed herself away from the table and stood up, placing her right hand on Logan’s forearm. She squeezed gently, as if to reassure him that it would all work out. The tenderness both relieved Logan and added to his guilt. How could I have done this to them? She should despise me, not comfort me. I don’t deserve it.
Mike interrupted his thoughts. “Logan . . . Logan? Let’s go get that piece of shit out front so we can pass him off as soon as the transport team gets here.”
Forty-five minutes later, the forensics and transport teams arrived, followed by Logan’s and Mike’s vehicles, driven by FBI agents. They’d picked up the SUVs on the way into the neighborhood, surprising the night guard with their badges and weapons.
The agent in charge—a big, blond-haired man in his late thirties who looked like an Oklahoma State football player—had been directly briefed by the FBI director. His instructions were specific, and he intended to follow them.
Mike and Logan sat on the front steps and greeted him when he exited the unmarked car. Mike said, “I presume you’re Special Agent Turner?”
The man responded, “I am, and please call me Charlie. I’ve been briefed. The director’s instructions were clear. You have whatever you need. I’ve got a four-man forensics team”—he gestured to a group of youthful-looking agents, two men and two women, unloading equipment from a dark government SUV—“waiting to comb this place for whatever evidence there is. Also, one of my agents found a rental car parked on the other side of your neighborhood about two miles away. I ordered him to do a vehicular sweep after we came through the gate just to make sure these assholes didn’t have any lingering support in the area. We’ll have a forensics team on it soon.”
“Nice work,” Mike said.
“Thanks. I see you have the suspect.” He didn’t know what else to call him.
He looked at the blindfolded, bound, and gagged mercenary, feet tied to his hands behind his back with a small, thin nylon cord. “Looks like he’s not enjoying himself. Good. Sounds like he deserves it.” Despite his wry smile, there was no humor in his voice.
“If Logan here had his way, that asshole would already be dead. He’s lucky, and he knows it. He’ll cooperate out of gratitude, if nothing else.”
Special Agent Turner grimaced. “Our interrogators at Quantico will work on him. They’ll be able to pull everything out of him, even details he doesn’t realize he knows.” He turned to face Mike. “You know how good those guys can be. You may have even trained some of them—from what I’ve heard, at least.”
Mike didn’t respond. He’d spent a portion of his early years in the Bureau’s Counterintelligence Division. He’d specialized in interrogation techniques that some politically correct bureaucrats referred to as “questionable” and “harsh.” In Mike’s experience, the methods were extremely effective tools.
“Anyway, on to the second point of order—there’s an FBI HRT team from the Salt Lake office inbound via a Gulfstream to the Helena Regional Airport. Once they’re on the ground, it’s going to be another half hour to Mr. Quick’s house. It’s going to be close to seven thirty his time. No one’s been able to reach the number you provided, Mr. West,” he said looking at Logan. “The cell’s either off, or he’s not answering for some reason. I’ll let you know when the team touches down. After that, I’ll update you after they get to his house.”
“Sounds good, Charlie. Logan says if this Juan Black did send a team, they might actually be the ones in need of help.” Special Agent Turner raised his eyebrows, slightly skeptical.
“Believe me, Charlie. If Logan says he’s that good, he is. Regardless, you’ll be able to reach me on my cell. It’s going to be one long night. Hopefully the HRT can secure Mr. Quick and the flag. Otherwise, we’re playing catch-up, which doesn’t seem like a good idea when dealing with mercenaries and Mexican cartels.”
Mike scanned the busy agents preparing to work. He realized only the forensics team had arrived with Turner. “What about the protection detail? I called that in after I spoke to my uncle. Mrs. West has decided to remain here. There should be no further threat, but after what she’s been through, I let her make the call. She killed two of them herself.”
“So I heard,” the agent said, nodding approvingly. “Quantico is sending a four-man detail. I have no idea who they are, but I’m sure they’ll be adequate. DC knows how important this is, and no one is going to let anything else happen to Mrs. West. They should be here within an hour or so.”
Special Agent Turner pulled out a notebook and verified that he’d covered each item. He looked up and said, “Did I miss anything?”
“No, Charlie. You got it all. Thanks for the support. We’ll be out of here as soon as Logan handles a personal matter.” Mike looked at Logan, who turned and joined Sarah on the front steps.
There was just enough time to take care of Daly before they left. Logan and Sarah walked toward the side of the house, all resentment and anger wiped away as they braced themselves for one final task. They were going to bury Daly in the backyard that he’d loved and where they’d spent the most time together as a family.
Mike looked back at Turner. “Charlie, I’ll be inside until we leave. Please let me know as soon as you hear something.”
Special Agent Turner said, “You got it. I’ll get my agents processing the scene while we wait.” Without further delay, he turned to his young agents and barked instructions. Special Agent Benson was right. This is going to be one long night.