Grazier looked as if someone had stuffed habanero peppers in his mouth. His face had turned a brilliant shade of red, which was a considerable achievement given his complexion. Or he was on the verge of a stroke.
Savage, on the other hand, might have had lit dynamite up his ass given the way he trembled, fists knotted at his sides. And the fire in his eyes was nothing nice to contemplate.
I told them casually. “I need you to trust me. I want to call Chief Raven back.”
At a barely civil nod from Grazier, I took my phone from the general and pressed the recall button.
On the second ring, Raven answered, saying, “Yes, sir?”
“Chief, it’s Ryan. I just wanted you to know that I have every confidence in you and your team. Keep me informed, and I’ll back you to the hilt. I’ll be calling back in a bit.”
I pressed the end button and leaned back in my chair, arm braced on the desk, calm eyes on Grazier’s.
“What the fuck did you just do?” Grazier’s voice trembled.
“I know Karla Raven, sir. Hell, I know them all. My suggestion to both of you is to go on about your business. Let my people do what they do best.”
Savage bellowed, “Let me get this straight. You want us to turn a bunch of psychopathic nuts loose on Skientia?”
“Major,” I said in my calm-the-psychiatric-emergency voice, “the general, here, already understands the caliber of talent they possess. He’s willing to cut them a deal as a means of harnessing that talent.” I shifted my gaze to Grazier. “But, with due respect, Eli, along with putting them in harness, you’d want to pull back on their reins. Do that, and you’re going to have a disaster.”
Grazier—conniving and high-functioning psychopath that he was—parsed out his advantages against potential disaster. I added in a more congenial tone, “Eli, you once said I was one of the smartest people you knew. Trust me on this.”
“You really place that much faith in them? Because if it goes wrong, it’s my ass on the line, too.”
“General, I’ll wager they tie this whole thing up with a bow. And they’ll do it within a week.” I pointed at the bare corner of my desk. “And if they do, you owe me a Ducati 916. Pristine.”
Grazier’s flat gaze slowly morphed into a skeptical grin. “Maybe you ought to commit me to Grantham for taking your bet, but all right. They’ve got a week.”
“And you’ll back them?”
“Yeah . . . within reason.”
“General, sir!” Savage struggled for control. “With all due respect, do you understand the stakes involved here?”
Grazier spread his hands in mock surrender. “Come on, Sam. What have we got? The tomb, Prisoner Alpha, your extraction in Egypt, the abduction in Washington, compromised communications? Skientia’s behind it. We know that. But we can’t do a damned thing about it. Or do you have some magic rabbit you can pull out of a hat?” A beat. “So tell me, Sam. What do we do next?”
Savage slowly deflated.
Grazier chuckled humorlessly. “Tim, call Chief Raven. Ask her what she needs from us.”
I nodded, butterflies in my stomach as I pushed the recall button.