87

I took another sip of my giant hurricane—if you ordered the big one, you got to keep the glass—and saw Tyler Malloy enter the restaurant. It was okay to booze it up now, because my team wasn’t in on the hunt. That had all been turned over to the “proper” authorities, and the restaurant was now surrounded by State Department Diplomatic Security Services and the FBI. Because of Tyler’s status as a US citizen, the Taskforce had been pulled from the operation, but nobody could tell me I couldn’t get a ’Merican hamburger at a ’Merican restaurant—which was why I was pleased Tyler Malloy had chosen the Hard Rock Cafe for his transfer. Hell, our waitress was even from Texas. Long story, once I asked her, but fascinating all the same.

It had been three days since the L-100 had landed on the Lesotho airfield, and so far, things seemed to be going splendidly for Thomas Naboni. The mighty US Marine Corps had landed about six hours after we’d left and had pretty much secured the entire city from any threats, giving the Lesotho police and military a helping hand at crowd control, all coordinated through the US embassy. Unfortunately, by the time they’d begun operations for the removal of US citizens, the shooting was all over and the people refused to leave.

The commander of the Marine Corps taskforce had been bitching holy hell, trying to put his finger on the idiot who had demanded the NEO. The embassy said it wasn’t them—even as they coordinated a response. In their defense, they’d mentioned one wounded person—an Israeli, no less—and a hysterical woman who’d demanded protection for a children’s hospital. She had disappeared in the chaos, and nobody even remembered her name. Nobody seemed to know how the rumor of threats to US citizens had snowballed into a deployment order. Well, one person knew—Colonel Kurt Hale—and he was none too happy.

We’d boarded the L-100, dragging Armstrong with us, and I was surprised to find Blaine Alexander on the bird, along with an interrogation team. He’d apparently had enough of Djibouti and had forward staged with the bird. He was in constant contact with Kurt in DC, and I’d spent the thirty-minute flight on a headset, giving Kurt a verbal report on everything that had happened. Well, everything pertinent to our mission.

The last I’d seen of Johan was taxiing down the runway in Lesotho. I had no doubt that Thomas needed the help, but I was a little sad to see Johan go. He’d ended up being a pretty solid guy, despite his seriously flawed employment decisions—to include his interrogation of Aaron. That mistake had almost cost him his life, but if he could keep Thomas breathing, I’d call it a wash.

We’d landed in Joburg, and the first order of business had been sleep. I’d left Armstrong in the capable hands of Blaine and his crew, given the team their marching orders, and gone comatose for close to sixteen hours. When I’d awoken and padded down to our hotel TOC, Blaine was talking to Kurt, and Kurt was in a fine mood.

Turned out there wasn’t any danger to the hospital, and he’d burned a lot of chips to get the ball moving—all because he’d agreed to let the coup go forward and felt responsible for the threat. Now he was learning there had been no threat to the hospital, and he’d managed to convince the secretary of defense to execute a full-blown NEO, based on my recommendation. He started right in as soon as I sat down.

“You told me the hospital was under fire.”

“Now, wait a minute. I told you it was uncorroborated.”

“And conveniently, some guy named Thomas Naboni is now in charge of the country. The king’s come forward supporting him, which was enough to shut down any bitching by MPs in parliament. Not to mention there’s some rumor that a US Special Forces team had something to do with keeping him alive, like some kind of Karzai mission in Afghanistan after 9/11. Because of it, the US embassy is scrambling for a story supporting his rightful position in the government.”

“Why are you shouting at me about this? You said yourself, if Thomas was left standing it wasn’t any of our business.”

“An SF team? Really?” His eyes started to bug out of his head, and he shouted, “It’s the same damn team we talked about! They were gone before I even made my first call!”

“Well, you might want to ask the embassy RSO about that.”

He’d clenched his fists and sputtered, “I did. Two women showed up at the embassy and convinced the team to leave.”

“Yeah? That so? Strange.”

“Pike—”

Before he could get too worked up, I changed the subject. “Did we get anything out of Armstrong?”

He let out a breath and sagged back, saying, “Yeah, he’s setting up a meeting between Malloy and that ‘Colonel Smith’ guy. We’re transferring control over to DSS and FBI, and they’re coordinating on a sting with the South Africans. It’s a law enforcement matter now.”

“So, you got what you wanted. Those triggers will be off the street, and Malloy will be in the bag.”

“And you got Thomas Naboni.”

“No, sir. I got Aaron. The Israelis thank you. Thomas was just a bennie that worked out.”

He said, “The mission was the nuclear triggers.”

I said, “The mission was bigger than just the triggers.”

He shook his head and asked, “What would you have done if I’d have said no on recovering Aaron?”

I thought about it, then simply said, “The right thing.”

He didn’t probe what that was, and a day and a half after that, Jennifer and I were having lunch with Aaron and Shoshana, four tables over from Tyler Malloy.

I said, “You guys should really try one of these hurricanes. They’re delicious.”

Shoshana said, “I don’t drink anything that comes with an umbrella.”

“Well, you get to keep the glass.”

Jennifer said, “So you guys fly tonight?”

Aaron said, “Yes. We have an appointment in the diamond exchange tomorrow with one Eli Cohen.”

“Does he know about the coup results?”

Shoshana said, “I honestly don’t care.” She put a chip in her mouth and said, “Say, you guys should come visit before you go home.”

I laughed and said, “What, you need help with Eli?”

She grew cold, saying, “No. We won’t be needing any help there.”

Jennifer said, “What are you going to do with him?”

Aaron took a sip of his beer and said, “Nothing. Well, I’m going to give him a handgun and then an array of unpalatable options. I’m pretty sure whatever happens to him will be at his own hand. Especially if it keeps his family seat on the exchange.”

I said, “Well, good of you to give him a choice.”

Jennifer slapped my arm, saying, “Pike.”

Shoshana said, “No, he’s right. It’s a choice he never gave us.”

I changed the subject, saying, “Israel’s a little out of the way for us.”

Aaron took the shift, wanting to get away from the earlier conversation. “Not really. You stretch it a little bit, but you have to fly to Europe first anyway. It’s just bending the leg of the triangle.”

Before I could say anything else, Tyler Malloy stood up, shaking Smith’s hand. I called out to Knuckles, saying, “He’s on the move. Get it on tape.”

The Hard Rock was located in a patch of concrete called Nelson Mandela Square. Just off the rail line in the Joburg suburb of Sandton, it was a chic place surrounded with art galleries, museums, and restaurants. It was pedestrian-only, which made it easy to box with my team for a follow. Veep, Brett, and Knuckles were positioned outside, lounging wherever they could find spots that covered the avenues of egress.

I heard Knuckles say, “I’ve got him. He’s coming my way. Veep, Blood, on me.”

We huddled around the tablet in front of Jennifer while she manipulated the camera view until she had Knuckles’s feed. We saw nothing for a moment; then Shoshana pointed to the upper right of the screen. Tyler Malloy came into view, walking rapidly by Knuckles. Knuckles stood, and we got a perfect view of Tyler’s back as he walked toward Maude Street and the Sandton Convention Centre.

Jennifer glanced up, then hissed, “Colonel Smith.”

We all looked at his table and saw it surrounded by men in suits. Whether they were DSS, South African Special Branch, or FBI I didn’t know, but it was a little sweet justice seeing him frog-marched out the back.

We returned to the screen, seeing Tyler had entered an alley. He approached a van, pulled out a key, and opened the back. We couldn’t tell what he was looking at, because Knuckles held back at a distance, not wanting to interfere with the inevitable.

Tyler crawled inside the van and began manipulating a trunk. He got it open, and then all sorts of hell descended on him, the van assaulted by a full squad of guys wearing black balaclavas and carrying MP5s. The camera went crazy as Knuckles retreated, calling, “Jackpot. Jackpot. Did you get it?”

I said, “Yeah, we got it. Sort of anticlimactic, though. I was hoping you’d join in and kick him once for Aaron.”

Knuckles laughed and said, “See you back at the hotel.”

I looked around the table and said, “Well, that’s that.”

Shoshana stood and said, “We’d better head to the airport.”

Jennifer said, “Your flight doesn’t leave for a few hours.”

“Yeah, but I don’t trust being this far away. The rail has an express straight to the airport, and I feel safer once I’m there. That place is a nuthouse.”

Aaron pulled out his wallet and said, “Let me get this. It’s the least I can do.”

Jennifer said, “No, no. It’s our gift to you.”

Shoshana said, “Big spender.”

I laughed and she said, “Come to Israel. I’ll give you two a gift.”

“What?”

She looked at Jennifer and said, “A date. Jennifer’s been wanting one for a while. I can feel it.”

I said, “Oh, so now you’re giving us relationship advice?”

Deadly serious, she said, “Yes, I am. Take it.”

Jennifer looked at me with a tinge of longing. I said, “So you’re now reading us like the enemy?”

Shoshana smiled and said, “No, Nephilim. You will never be the enemy. I’m just telling you what I’ve learned.” Aaron rose, and she took his hand, saying, “What you two have taught me.”

I rose as well and kissed her on the cheek, saying, “Can we go to Caesarea and look at pottery shards? I promised that a few days ago, and it seems to get Jennifer hot.”

Jennifer smacked me on the shoulder, then gave Aaron and Shoshana a hug.

Shoshana said, “We’ll do what Jennifer wants. But I don’t think it’ll be about pottery shards. You don’t have to be me to read that.”