Net Force - Tom Clancy [35]
Howard was making ready to reply when Julio Fernandez entered the room. He gave the colonel an uncalled-for snappy salute and said, Sir, we might have something.
Go ahead, Sergeant.
Fernandez glanced at Hunter, then back at his commanding officer. Howard had to work to keep his own grin in check. The look said much, not the least of which was: Is it okay to talk in front of this jerk, sir?
Hunter caught it, and his jaw muscles flexed.
Sir, Lucy-thats Lucy Jansen, Third Team-made, uh, friends with one of the guys on the short list. He handed Howard the list with a name circled in red. As Howard looked at the name, Fernandez continued. Guy speaks German, so does she, so that gave them something in common. They, ah, connected in a local bar and after five or six glasses of vodka, the guy let it slip about having an old wire-guided missile launcher he was gonna have a chance to use real soon.
Howard felt himself ratchet into alertness. Go on.
Lucy is working the guy. Shes gonna get back to me in a couple of hours.
Howard looked at Hunter.
The other man shrugged. Could be something. Could be a drunk trying to impress a woman.
Howard nodded. True. But the guy is on your list. He turned to look at Fernandez again. Keep me posted on this.
Yes, sir. Another crisp salute, then Fernandez turned and marched away.
Ill see if I can get some more background on this man, Hunter said. He pointed at the list.
Good idea. Howard hesitated for a moment, then decided there was no point in losing the cooperation of the CIA man. Sorry about before. Im still a little jet-lagged.
No problem, Colonel. Weve all been there. I want these guys as much as anybody does. If we do our jobs right, well get them.
Amen.
The two men smiled again, and this time the expressions were real.
Maybe it was nothing, but Howard didnt think so. All of a sudden, he had a fluttery sensation in his belly. This was it. This would lead them into the radicals den.
11
Sunday, September 19th, 11:05 a.m. Washington, D.C.
When the phone rang, Alex Michaels was in his garage, working on the Prowler. He was fairly certain he knew who was calling. He wiped his hands on the greasy rag and reached for the receiver.
Hello?
Dadster!
Hey, Little Bit, how you doin?
Great. Well, except for I fell while I was skating and kinda wrecked a knee pad.
He felt a stab of concern. You okay?
Im fine, but the knee pad is like, you know, scraped silly.
Better it than you.
Thats what Momster said.
In the background, he heard Megan: Let me talk to Daddy for a minute, hon.
Michaels felt his belly twist, his bowels go cold and tight.
Mom wants to talk to you.
He took a deep breath. Sure. Put her on.
Bye, Dadster.
Bye, Little Bit.
Time stretched. Aeons rolled past. Civilization decayed, fell into ruin
Alex?
Hi, Megan. Whats up?
Susie, why dont you go make Mom a cup of coffee, okay?
Michaels suddenly felt as if he was in free fall.
A moment passed. Look, Alex, I know you put your job at the top of your list, but your daughter still thinks the moon rises in her fathers shadow. Are you going to be able to break loose and come to her play?
The years of arguments threatened to break out again-fresh blood from old wounds never healed, at least not on his heart. He didnt want to fight with her. Thats in October, right?
You remembered. Amazing.
She could still cut him with her sarcasm as easily as a new razor-sliced paper.
This whole deal with Days death would probably be over by then; if not, it was doubtful it would still be boiling so hot he couldnt step away from the stove long enough to see his daughters second-grade play. He said, Ill be there.
You sure?
I said Id be there. She could always do that, too, spark him to anger without raising her voice, with the most innocent phrase. You sure? If shed called him a damned liar, it would have sounded exactly the same to him.
There was an uncomfortable pause. In the last year they were together, there had been more of those uncomfortable moments than anything else.