Dead or Alive - Tom Clancy [209]
“I wish. Sit down, man.”
“I come bearing gifts,” Clark said, then set his briefcase on the bed and opened it. Inside were two bottles of Sam Adams beer. He handed one to Driscoll, then opened his own.
Driscoll took a gulp and sighed. “How’d you know? The beer, I mean.”
“Remembered you talking about it after Somalia.”
“Some memory you got there. Got a little more gray, too, I see.”
“Look who’s talking.”
Driscoll took another long pull. “So what’s the real reason?”
“Mostly just wanted to check in, but I heard about the CID bullshit, too. Where’s that stand?”
“No idea. They’ve interviewed me three times. Best my lawyer can figure is some dickhead behind some desk is trying to figure out what to charge me with. It’s a cluster-fuck, John.”
“You got that right. Damned if you do the job, damned if you fail. What do the docs say about your shoulder?”
“Need one more surgery. The rock missed the big vessels in there but fucked up the tendons and ligaments. Figure three months’ recovery, then another three for rehab. They’re pretty confident, but I don’t think I’ll be swinging from the monkey bars again.”
“What about a humping rucksack?”
“Probably not that, either. The doc that cut on me guesses I won’t be able to lift by elbow much above my ear.”
“I’m sorry, Sam.”
“Yeah, me, too. Gonna miss it. Gonna miss the guys.”
“You got your twenty, right?”
“And then some, but with this CID shit … Who knows?”
Clark nodded thoughtfully. “Well, you went out with a bang. Got some good intel from that cave. Hell, you could have glided down the mountain on that sand table.”
Driscoll laughed, then: “Wait a second. How do you know about that? Oh, yeah, scratch that. You’re still in, aren’t you?”
“Depends on what you mean by ‘in.’”
A nurse walked into the room carrying a clipboard. Driscoll slipped his beer beneath the sheet; Clark lowered his out of sight. “Afternoon, Sergeant Driscoll. I’m Veronica. I’ll be with you until midnight. How’re we feeling?”
“Just fine, ma’am, and you?”
Veronica dutifully checked boxes on her clipboard and scribbled a few notes. “Can I get you anything? How’s your pain level, on a scale of one to—”
“Six-ish and holding steady,” Driscoll shot back with a smile. “Maybe a little ice cream with dinner?”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Veronica flashed a smile, then turned and headed for the door. Over her shoulder, she said, “Just make sure those bottles disappear when you’re done with them, gentlemen.”
After Clark and Driscoll got done laughing, Driscoll asked, “What I mean by ‘in’ is government.”
“Then no. I came to offer you a job, Sam.” Here Clark knew he was overstepping his bounds a tad, but he doubted he’d have any trouble selling Driscoll’s qualifications.
“Doing what?”
“Sort of what you’ve been doing, but no rucksack and better wages.”
“You getting me into something illegal, John?”
“Nothing you won’t be comfortable with. Nothing you haven’t done before. Plus, it comes with a get-out-of-jail-free card. You’d have to relocate, though. Winters are colder than Georgia.”
“Washington?”
“Thereabouts.”
Driscoll nodded slowly, chewing on Clark’s offer. Then: “What’s this?” He grabbed the remote from the bedside table and unmuted the wall-mounted TV.
“… Kealty has turned the full weight of the United States Department of Justice loose on a distinguished soldier of the United States Army. That soldier was in Afghanistan looking for the Emir, Saif Rahman Yasin. The mission to apprehend him failed, probably due to poor intelligence, but in carrying out that mission, this soldier killed several enemy combatants. Now the Department of Justice is investigating him for murder. I’ve looked in to this particular incident. This soldier did exactly what soldiers have been doing since the beginning of time: He killed enemies of our country. …”
Driscoll muted the TV. “What the fuck … How the hell?” Clark was smiling. “What?” Driscoll said. “You did that?”
“Shit, no. That’s all General Marion Diggs and Jack Ryan.”
“Your timing is damned