Julian Carson, Sergeant Wright, and the two army riflemen returned to the cabin late the next morning. They had-been awake for thirty-six hours, and had been outdoors in bitter cold for at least twenty-four. The man who had driven a snowmobile into the old man’s trap and gotten hit in the forehead said he was fine, and he showed no symptoms of a concussion, only a bruise and a cut, but he and the others were exhausted.
When the four came down the hill above the cabin, Julian could see that the two damaged snowmobiles had been loaded on the pickup truck. When he and Wright pulled up in front of the cabin, Wright ordered two of the men who had been stationed in the cabin to return the three snowmobiles to the rental company.
The radio operator was at the door of the cabin when Wright, Julian, and the others went inside. He had been on the radio and the phones for so long that his voice was hoarse. The four men left at the cabin with him had spent much of the night patrolling the area beyond the top of the mountain on foot in the hope that the fugitives might double back.
Staff Sergeant Wright listened to the radio operator’s report, and then began giving the rest of the men their orders. “All right, guys, listen up. We were never here. Wipe down the whole place for fingerprints. Walk it completely to be sure nothing that belongs to us is in the cabin. Lock it up and meet the rest of us down the hill at the condo.”
Wright drove one of the SUVs. Julian sat in the passenger seat, and the two other snowmobilers sat behind them. There were two more men in the third seat. At the condominium Julian had rented, the men climbed the stairs, cleared their weapons and stowed them, removed their winter gear, and found places to lie down—beds, couches, piles of down jackets—and slept.
A few hours later Sergeant Wright was up again and stalking around the condominium waking up his men. When he reached Julian, he said, “I feel as though I ought to apologize to you, Mr. Carson. We didn’t do much to solve your problem.”
“No apology is necessary,” said Julian. “This just wasn’t the old man’s day to get caught.”
They shook hands. “See you next time around.”
Julian nodded, but said nothing more. Within a short time the soldiers had packed up and loaded their gear in their three vehicles. They left in three stages a few minutes apart, trying not to look like what they were.
Instead of checking in with his employers, Julian used his phone to reserve a flight out of the San Bernardino airport for the next morning. He was certain his phone would be monitored, so they would know what he was doing anyway. That evening he walked to the center of the village for dinner. He drove up to the old man’s rented cabin after it was late on the slim chance that he and the woman had sneaked back, and then he returned to the condominium and slept.
The next morning when Julian went to the rental office to return the key, the manager insisted on going back to the condominium with him to inspect it for damage. Julian was not surprised. He occupied his mind with the thought that this man had foolishly assumed a young-looking black man only five feet eight inches tall couldn’t hurt him. He also didn’t know that the men who had cleaned the place were accustomed to making their gear and their dwellings gleam.
When the man declared himself to be satisfied, Julian grabbed his hand before he could anticipate the move or evade him. Julian shook his hand hard and grinned. “I’ll be sure and tell all my friends about this place,” he promised.
Julian flew to Baltimore-Washington International with a stop in Houston. While he was waiting in the George Bush Intercontinental Airport he looked at his phone and saw a confirmation that he had received an electronic transfer for his pay. This time it was from Zinnia’s Baby Services, but the amount was the same as usual.
He rented a car and drove to Fort Meade. He arrived after 9:00 p.m., went to his barracks, cooked himself a frozen dinner in the microwave, and went to bed. The wake-up call came at 7:00 a.m. He showered, shaved, dressed, and packed his bag, and then waited for the knock from the soldier on orderly room duty. He was the same one as last time. They walked together to the same room on the fourth floor of the office building three rows away, and then the orderly knocked, opened the door for him, and went away.
Julian entered and saw three men sitting on the other side of the conference table, as before. Mr. Bailey and Mr. Prentiss sat on either side of Mr. Ross, who was engaged in reading an open file in front of him while the others sat with yellow legal pads and pens, but not making use of either.
Julian watched Ross perform the familiar bit of theater. He closed the file and looked up at Julian. “Hello, Mr. Carson,” he said. “Have a seat.”
Julian had never been invited to sit before, and he knew it was intended to be another reward, a gesture of politeness that had to be earned before it was given. He sat.
Mr. Ross said, “I understand from Staff Sergeant Wright’s report that you were an asset to the team.”
This could only be ironic. Julian was supposed to understand this, so he pretended it didn’t matter. “He’s a good squad leader. His men trust him and they’re well trained and disciplined. He must be good in military situations.”
Mr. Ross had to know that Julian was asking him why he’d been sent such an inappropriate form of help. Mr. Ross pretended it didn’t matter. “But nobody got the old man and his girlfriend.”
“No,” said Julian. “I think the old man must have noticed there was an army rifle squad in the middle of that little resort town.”
Ross studied him. “They were that obvious?”
“Buzz haircuts. Brand-new winter clothes. Their physiques—necks about as thick as their heads, straight, stiff posture, not one beer belly. They’re all about the same age, too old to be in college. No women.”
Mr. Ross looked at Mr. Bailey and then Mr. Prentiss. Both of them looked down and made notations on their yellow pads. “So he spotted them and took off?”
“It might have been later. On the night the squad arrived Sergeant Wright saw the snow was already deep and falling steadily. So Wright had two men take a pickup truck in the morning and plow the road up to the cabin.”
“What did he have in mind?”
“He wanted to drive up and take the targets by surprise instead of hiking up through snowdrifts.”
Mr. Ross said, “This whole thing was a screwup from your point of view, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You think we should have waited for optimum conditions?”
“It wouldn’t have hurt,” said Julian. “The old man’s cabin looked like he’d been there for a while and planned to stay.”
Mr. Ross said, “The assessment was made that it was better to complete the mission right after the storm than to risk the old man slipping off the next night.”
“So now we’ve got another botched operation to our credit,” said Mr. Ross. “We’ve involved two other government agencies and embarrassed ourselves. This reflects on you.”
Julian was silent.
“What do you think we should do now?” asked Mr. Ross.
“My opinion doesn’t matter anymore, sir.”
“It doesn’t? Why do you think that? If I’m asking, I want to know the answer.”
“I’m removing myself from the issue.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
Julian stood. “I’ve decided to end my government service. I’m an independent civilian contractor, and as of now I quit. I don’t want any further employment. Thank you for the consideration.” He held out his hand toward Mr. Ross, who ignored it, and then offered it to Mr. Prentiss, and then to Mr. Bailey. None of them took his hand. He pulled his government cell phone out of his pocket and set the device on the table in front of his chair. Then he turned and walked out the door.
Julian Carson walked down the sidewalk past the rows of buildings, across the two large parking lots filled with the private cars of military intelligence and National Security Agency personnel. He felt buoyant, a feeling that grew stronger as he got farther away from that office. He controlled the feeling and walked on, looking around him at Fort George Meade. This would certainly be the last time he would ever see this place.