Arlington National Cemetery, Arlington, Virginia
Mack Bolan stood looking out over the sea of white headstones. He and Dr. Ellen Campbell weren’t far from the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, where the Army Honor Guard marched in endless duty and dedication.
Not a bad place to end up, Bolan thought.
He looked at the seven-member honor guard, which stood at attention around the flag-draped coffin in their full military dress uniforms. It was a small service, with only them, the bugler, Campbell and Bolan in attendance. No minister or priest was present, pursuant to her wishes. She was dressed in black, her left arm still in the cast.
The bugler raised the golden horn to his lips and began playing “Taps.”
Bolan snapped to attention and saluted, even though he was wearing a blue suit with a navy tie. Once a soldier, always a soldier.
Visions of the many men he’d served with flashed through his memory—their dedication, their service, and now their much deserved rest. The bugler hit every note with practiced perfection. Bolan held his salute until the officer stepped forward and gave the command to prepare the flag.
The six other members of the honor guard moved in, grasped the edges with a firm, yet respectful hold and stepped away from the coffin. They made the first, lengthwise fold with a crisp exactness, each subsequent one with rote precision. When they’d finished the second lengthwise fold, the two men at the back stood at attention as the final triangular folds advanced toward the field of blue with the white stars. The sergeant of arms finished and saluted, then clasped the folded flag. He did an about-face and marched to the officer in command, who made his salute, a slow, exacting motion, before accepting it. He then did a left-face and marched to Campbell, who was standing next to Bolan.
“On behalf of the President of the United States,” he said, “and with the thanks of a grateful nation, I present to you this flag as a symbol of your loved one’s service.”
Tears ran down Campbell’s cheeks as she took the flag and murmured, “Thank you.”
The officer made his final salute, turned away, and the honor guard followed.
They marched off in formation as Bolan watched the sunlight dappling their shoulders and making their gold buttons gleam. He turned to Campbell. She was still clutching the flag to her breast as she gazed at the coffin.
“John would have liked it here,” she said. “He talked about this place a lot.”
“All soldiers do,” Bolan replied. “It’s as close to heaven as we can imagine.”
She looked up at him. “Thank you so much for arranging it.”
“Actually, a friend of mine deserves the credit,” he said, thinking of the favors Hal Brognola had called in, cutting through ribbons of red tape to make the interment possible. “John will get an anonymous star on the wall at Langley, too.”
She smiled and wiped her cheek with a handkerchief. “What’s going to happen now?” she asked, dabbing at her eyes. “I’m scheduled to testify before a congressional committee, but do you think it’ll do any good? Will it really make any difference?”
Bolan had his doubts, but he kept them to himself. “Give the system a chance to work. It might surprise you.”
Campbell smiled up at him as another tear slid down her cheek. “And then what?”
“After you testify at the committee, we’ll make sure you get placed in the witness protection program,” he said. “With all the players involved in the conspiracy, you could end up a target of any of the survivors—friends of De la Noval, Chakhkiev, the Aryan Wolves.... It’ll be a new start for the rest of your life.”
“With lots of baggage from the old one,” she said. “Do you think Senator Hutchcraft will be punished sufficiently?”
“He resigned from the senate and dropped out of the presidential campaign,” Bolan said with a shrug. “I’m sure he’ll plead to any and all charges that the attorney general brings. And if he doesn’t, he knows there’s my way.”
She smiled. “Just before he died John whispered for me to trust you. He really respected you, even though he didn’t know you that well.”
“The feeling was mutual.”
Another tear squeezed out of the corner of her eye and ran down her cheek. She turned back to look at the coffin.
Bolan looked at it, too. Duty, honor, country... All that a warrior could ask for. He silently wished John Lassiter peace.
Rest long and well, brother, he thought. You earned it.
* * * * *