Net Force - Tom Clancy [61]
The gate to the targets condo opened and the target came out, hauling a single compacted recyclable paper bag. Right on schedule. On the evenings before trash pickup, he came home, changed clothes and carried out the garbage first thing.
She arrived in front of the targets condo just as he dropped the sack.
He smiled at her. Hi, he said.
Good evening, young man, the Selkie said in her Markham voice. A nice night for a walk.
Yes, maam. He squatted, offered the back of his hand to the dog, who sniffed and then wagged his tail. The target scratched the dog behind the ears. Good pup.
The Selkie smiled. She could drop him right here with one swing of the cane-hed never know what hit him. Crack open his skull as he squatted there petting the dog, bend down, cut his carotids with the nail scissors in her purse. Hed bleed out in a couple of minutes.
Or she could ask if hed mind giving her a glass of water, and of course he would invite her into his condo. He was too nice a guy to cause an old lady to finish her walk thirsty. She could do him inside without anybody ever being the wiser. It was too easy.
She smiled at the target. Now? Should she take him inside?
The moment stretched. She held the mans life in her hands. This was power. This was control.
No. Not tonight. It didnt feel quite right. Maybe tomorrow.
Come along, Scout. The nice man doesnt want to fool with you.
The target stood, and the woman who would soon kill him limped away.
Take care, maam, he said.
Thank you, young man. I surely will. You, too.
Wednesday, September 29th, 3:14 a.m. Somewhere over the North Atlantic
The drone of the 747s big engines was a steady, hypnotic thrum, and most of the passengers slumped in the dark, sleeping. John Howards reading light was on, but the report on his flatscreen hadnt been scrolled for so long that the Screensaver had kicked in and blanked the screen.
You need some warm milk and melatonin, Colonel? Fernandez said.
Howard glanced up at Sarge, on his way back from the head. Just working on a report, Sergeant.
Yes, sir, I can see that. A detailed study on the zen of the blank screen?
Howard grinned, waved Fernandez to the seat across the aisle.
It wasnt much of an operation, was it, Julio?
Begging the colonels pardon, but what the hell is he talking about? We located a terrorist cell, took down a score of armed, bomb-throwing radicals while they were shooting at us, and did it without an injury to ours. Thats batting a thousand where I come from.
You know what I mean.
Fernandez looked around. Nobody was close to them, and the nearest passengers were asleep. He dropped the NCO-to-officer rap. Look, John, if you mean it wasnt the beach at Iwo Jima, yeah, youre right. But the assignment was find the bad guys and stop them. We did it, protected our embassy, didnt cause a stink with the locals, and were hauling all our boys back to base without having to peel a Band-Aid. Thats as good as it gets.
Howard nodded. Fernandez was right, of course. Go, do the job, come home, all asses-and-elbows. He had carried out his mission by the numbers. That was what a soldier was supposed to do. They were thrilled with him back at Net Force. A couple of his old military buddies in the know had already sent him coded e-mail congratulating him. It was a win, all the way around.
So why didnt he feel better about it?
Because it had been too easy. Yeah, Rule 6P had worked-proper planning prevents piss-poor performance-but when it got right down to it, hed never had any doubt theyd win. His troops were the best of the best, ex-SEALs, Green Berets, Rangers. Drop them in a jungle behind the lines with nothing but pen knives, and theyd build a castle out of enemy bones. The terrorists had been a bunch of out-of-shape gutter-scum with big ideas and almost no strategic or tactical experience. How could they have possibly lost to rabble like that?
He said as much to Fernandez.
Fernandez laughed.
What?
Oh, I was just imagining what the commander