9

Charlie’s second phone call was answered by a man who snarled, “What?”

“This is Hazard.”

“Think I don’t know that?”

Remy Lacoste was a Cajun who lived as far back in bayou country as he could get and still maintain a satellite feed to the outside world. Remy had lost use of his legs in Anbar Province. Charlie had not known him in-country. He had learned of the man much later, through people he trusted with his life. He turned to Remy whenever his in-house feeds were too slow or he was after something that needed to stay below the general’s radar.

Charlie said, “I need data.”

“Aw, Eltee. Here I was thinking you’d called to chat about the weather.”

Remy had started calling him that the second time Charlie phoned. Eltee was military slang for a favored lieutenant. As in, an officer his troops actually liked. Only seventeen men still alive had known Charlie by that name.

“Harbor Petroleum,” Charlie said. “Where do they recruit their security detail? I’m guessing Delta, but I need confirmation. If they’ve got a contact still in ops, I need his or her name. Who’s responsible for hiring in-house. Any reason you can find for them maintaining this level of specialist in-house military ops.”

“They your competition?”

“Clients. I need a rough and dirty in half an hour.”

“I’m busy.”

“I’ll pay.”

“Thirty minutes it is.”

“Give me a full briefing in twenty-four hours. I especially want to know if anyone’s been fired recently. Where they are, details of their dismissal, whether they’re hungry. You read me?”

“Five by five. You need an in-house source.”

“I also need any background you can dig up on Reese Clawson.” He spelled the name. “And a guy named Weldon Hawkins. He’s definitely ex-military.”

“Hang tight, let’s scope out the corporate files, see what they say about your pair.” There was the sound of keys struck at high velocity. “Whoa. The woman come with the job?”

Charlie recalled the hand clawing the seat between them. “Do they ever?”

“A man can dream, right? Okay, I breached their firewalls and have access. Clawson is a low-level veep of one shade or another. Title could mean anything. Other than that, she doesn’t have a file.”

“You can’t access it?”

“Puh-leese. I mean there’s no file on the woman. Whatever data they have on her, it’s . . . Hold on.”

“What’s the matter?”

“I’m being tracked.”

“The company caught you looking?”

“This is no company techie. This is a serious attack squad.” The man’s voice took on the tense fury of incoming fire. “I’ll get back to you through a Shanghai shadow line. When you see a Chinese phone number flash on your screen, answer the call. Remy out.”

When the others finally emerged from the headquarters, Charlie was already in the SUV’s front passenger seat. The general clambered in beside Reese and gave her the professionally smooth line the entire way back to the airport. Charlie said nothing and kept his gaze front and center. When they arrived planeside, he marched himself straight over to the base of the stairs, a good thirty yards from the two vehicles. He waited at parade rest while the general offered his final words for why Strang Security was Reese’s company’s absolute best choice. She waited until Strang turned toward the jet to offer Charlie a smile and a two-fingered wave.

The general’s good humor vanished between the cars and the jet. All Charlie got for his troubles was a flinty, “Inside, mister.”

Charlie followed the general up the stairs.

Strang examined the heat-stricken tarmac outside his window while the copilot stowed the stairs and sealed the plane. When the cockpit door clicked shut, the general said, “You like working with my crew, Hazard?”

“Affirmative, sir.”

“We’ve had some good times, you and I. You’re solid material. But you’re a midlevel officer. You might grow into senior grade. But you’re not there yet.” Strang aimed a gun barrel of a finger at Charlie’s forehead. “You go off on your own, and you’ll most likely wind up getting yourself and your men killed.”

“General—”

“You shut that hole and listen, mister. I know what you’re thinking. You drop the old man, you go back to Harbor and offer yourself as the kingmaker. But here’s what you’re not remembering. I’m the one who can best assess the overall situation. I have the larger picture in mind. No matter how good you are on the ground, right now you’re not up to the task of running the show.”

Charlie settled back and waited.

“You have a great future with us. Your leadership is solid. Stay with me and there’s a good chance you’ll one day take my place. I won’t last forever. Right now I want to appeal to your loyalty to your crew and your allegiance to our company. Think about the guys on your left and your right. You don’t want to run out on my leadership and risk feeding them to the blender. You follow my tracer on that?”

Charlie did not respond.

“So here’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to take twenty-four hours and scope out what you want. More money, more shore leave, you work it out. Then you report back to me and I’ll see what kind of force package we can build for you. Now, you tell me how that sounds.”

Charlie replied, “General, this whole thing does not add up.”

Strang suspected him of creating a diversion. Charlie knew it the instant the general leaned back and crossed his arms. He was the only man Charlie had ever met who had the ability to frown with his entire body.

Strang said, “Explain.”

Charlie relayed his conversation with Glenda Gleeson.

Strang was shaking his head before Charlie finished. He responded, “She’s a star. What star tells the truth about anything? The woman is paid a fortune to make an audience believe her lies.”

“She owes me her life. She has no reason to lie about Clawson.”

“No reason that you know of.”

“I think she was telling the truth, General.”

“Say she did. All we know is Reese Clawson was formerly CIA.”

“Glenda didn’t say that. She said Reese came back from her summer internship and went clandestine. What intel branch sends potential agents to summer school for clandestine ops?”

“I don’t follow.”

“My last five years in the military, I trained covert operatives on field techniques, remember? I made it my business to understand where they were coming from, how they were recruited, what training they received. Every American intel group does their first specialty training once college is over and done. The last thing they want is to risk having a trainee return to school and start blabbing.”

For the first time, Strang seemed to give Charlie’s argument his full attention. He knew Charlie’s background, how his in-country tour had been abruptly ended by a homemade phosphorus grenade. The same grenade that started his time as professional trainer of America’s front liners against terrorism.

Charlie said, “There’s something else. Did you notice the in-house security?”

“I found them very capable.”

“They were more than that, sir. I’m fairly certain they all come from specialist ops. These guys were sleek, cool, alert. Five bodies with one head.”

“Don’t tell me you’re worried about a little in-house competition.”

“No, General.”

“We simply insert a clause in the contract that states all corporate security must answer to you as long as you are in-house.”

“Sir, we’re not talking about Blackwater sending a crew beyond the Green Zone. When was the last time we found assault teams working within an American headquarters? The answer is never.”

Strang mulled that over. Corporate security was, at best, retired cops coasting to a well-padded retirement. At worst, they were muscle-bound dunces who had failed the police examinations and spent their free time lifting weights and gobbling steroids. Not once in all his time with the general had Charlie ever suggested the in-house help was worth a second look.

Strang said, “You heard them say it. They’ve had kidnappings.”

“Two. In Colombia. This is Texas. Why do they need us, General? I know they said they didn’t want to build their own team. But they’ve already got one. Those men could train and staff and do so with in-house knowledge.”

Strang wanted to argue. Charlie saw it. When nothing came to mind, the general ground the words with his molars. “Find out what’s going on. That’s your first duty. Once we’ve got the contract in our pocket.”

Charlie said slowly, “I don’t know if I’m ready to sign on for this job, General.”

“That is not an option, Hazard. This could be the largest contract we’ve ever handled. You know my policy. If Strang rises, he takes his men with him.”

“Sir, the first duty of any up-country officer is to know his enemy and his terrain. Right now I don’t—”

“Say I start a new division. You come in as my first and only veep. Think of what I’m saying. Private jets. Serious money. Percentage of the spoils.”

“I appreciate it, sir. But I’ve got to tell you, this job has the smell of a killing field.”

Strang’s gaze tightened. “You’re refusing a direct order?”

“All I’m saying at this point is, I need to determine just what we’re up against before I can sign on.”

“If their security is half as good as you say, they’ll know the instant you start sniffing around. That could well cost us the contract.”

“Sir, that’s a risk I think we must take.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” The general’s voice sounded like a cement mixer working through a fresh load of gravel. “The other day I fielded a call from a detective with the Los Angeles homicide division. He’d been assigned a cold case, one involving the woman who used to be your wife.”

Charlie was punched back in his seat. His breath released like he’d taken a hit at gut level. Which he had. Two of them, in fact.

The first was having his late wife become a pawn in the general’s game plan.

The second was seeing every tie he’d ever had to the man being completely severed.

“You might want to reconsider what it means to walk away and not have Strang watching your back.” The general’s eyes glinted with the simple pleasure of a warrior delivering a blind-side attack. “You’ve seen the carrot and you’ve seen the stick. Now you tell me which one you intend to go after.”

Charlie sat there a moment longer, getting over the shock. Then he rose and walked to the cockpit. He slipped inside, shut the door, and asked the pilot, “What’s our closest airport?”

The pilot pointed to where the gulf’s azure waters gave way to Florida green. “Fort Myers is ten minutes out and counting.”

“Radio ahead and request a landing slot,” Charlie said. “I’m done here.”