Dead or Alive - Tom Clancy [46]
“Crossed?”
“When you’re stacked up outside a room, you know, just before you go in, and then you split up inside, one group moving to the heavy side, the other to the light side—”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“In the Laundromat you sidestepped and tracked your gun outside your zone. Your barrel crossed me—right across the back of the head, in fact. A real no-no.”
“Okay, so lesson number one: Don’t point your gun at your friends.”
Brian laughed. “That’s a way of putting it, yeah. Like I was saying … you’re rough around the edges, but you’ve got great instincts. What, you been holding out on us? Do some training with the Secret Service when you were a kid? Maybe a few vacations with Clark and Chavez?”
Jack shook his head. “No, none of that. I mean, yeah, I shot some guns but nothing like this. I don’t know… . It just seemed to play out in my head before it was happening. …” Jack shrugged, then smiled. “Maybe got a little of Dad’s Marine DNA. Hell, who knows, maybe I’ve just watched Die Hard too many times.”
“Somehow I don’t think so,” Brian replied. “Well, whatever it is, I wouldn’t mind having you on my six.”
“I’ll second that.”
They raised their cans of Diet Coke and clunked them together.
“About that, guys …” Jack said tentatively. “You remember that thing last year … in Italy?”
Brian and Dominic exchanged glances. “We remember,” Dom said. “Hell of a deal, that.”
“Yeah, well, I was thinking I wouldn’t mind doing some more of it—not that exactly, maybe, but something like it.”
Brian said, “Jesus, cuz, are you talking about unplugging from your keyboard and living in the real world? I can see the devil lacing up his ice skates as we speak.”
“Very funny. No, I like what I do, I know it makes a difference, but that stuff is so intangible. What you guys do—what we did in Italy—that’s the real deal. Hands on, you know? You can see the results with your own eyes.”
“Now that you’ve brought it up,” Dominic said, “I’ve always meant to ask you: Did any of that bother you afterward—not that it should have, necessarily, but let’s face it: You were kind of dumped ass-backward into a shitty situation—if you’ll pardon the pun.”
Jack considered this. “What do you want me to say? That it bothered me? Well, it didn’t. Not really. Sure, I was nervous, and there was a quarter-second just before it happened where I thought, What the hell am I doing? But then it was gone, and it was just me and him, and I just did it. To answer the question I think you’re trying to ask—no, I haven’t lost a wink of sleep over it. You think I should have?”
“Shit, no.” Brian looked around to make sure they were alone, then leaned in close, forearms on the table. “There’s no should about it, Jack. You either do or you don’t. You don’t, and that’s okay. The asshole deserved it. First time I popped a guy, Jack, he had me dead to rights. It was kill or be killed. I put him down, and I knew it was the right thing. Still had a few night-mares, though. Right or wrong, whether he deserves it or not, killing a man ain’t a pleasant thing. Anybody who thinks it is is a little touched in the head. All that gung-ho stuff ain’t really about killing; it’s about doing the job you’ve trained your ass off to be good at, taking care of the guys to your left and right, and coming out the other side with all your fingers and toes.”
“Besides, Jack,” Dominic added, “that guy in Italy, he wouldn’t have just up and quit one day. He would’ve cost a lot of people their lives before somebody sent him on his way. For me, that’s the deal-breaker. A bad guy deserving what he gets is all well and good, but what we’re doing—what this whole thing is about—isn’t revenge, at least not for its own sake. Playing it that way is sort of like shutting the barn door after horses get out. Me, I’d much rather stop the guy who’s planning on opening the barn door in the first place.”
Brian stared hard at his twin brother for a couple of beats and then shook his head and grinned. “I’ll be damned. Mom always said you