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“I guess … I guess I want to know that I’m forgiven.” Evan forced a swallow down his dry throat. “If it wasn’t for you, I would’ve wound up in prison, dead of an overdose, knifed in a bar. Those are the odds. I wouldn’t have had a life. I wouldn’t have been me.” He swallowed again, with less success. “I wouldn’t trade knowing you for anything.”
The sound of rotors intensified. In the background Evan heard other vehicles squealing. He was listening with every ounce of focus he had in him. A connection routed through fifteen countries in four continents, a last tenuous lifeline to the person he cared about more than anyone in the world.
“We didn’t have time,” Evan said. “We didn’t have enough time.” Jack said, “I love you, son.” Evan had never heard the words spoken to him. Something slid down his cheek, clung to his jawline. He said, “Copy that.” The line went dead.
The agent had hoped it would hasten his rise inside the department but quickly learned that he’d caught a hot grenade; the data was too dangerous to use. He’d kept it as an insurance policy despite standing orders to the contrary that originated from Pennsylvania Avenue that any and all data pertaining to the Orphan Program must be expunged.
Jack thought of the malnourished twelve-year-old kid who’d climbed into his car all those years ago, blood crusted on the side of
his neck. He thought about their silent hikes through the dappled light of an oak forest outside a Virginia farmhouse, how the boy would lag a few paces so he could walk in the footprints Jack left shoved into the earth. He thought about the way his stomach had roiled when he’d driven that boy, then nineteen years old, to the airport for his first mission. Jack had been more scared than Evan was.
Jack shifted his legs and flipped over, now staring up at the night sky, letting gravity take his tired bones. The stars were robust tonight, impossibly sharp, the moon crisp enough that the craters stood out like smudges from a little boy’s hand. Against that glorious canopy, the Black Hawk spun and spun. He saw it disintegrate, a final satisfaction before he hit the ground.
Evan’s brain was still stuck thirty seconds back when Jack had walked out the cabin door as calmly as if he were stepping off a diving board.
“Boy, I’ve been calibrating a laser gun for the navy that can knock drones out of the sky. I’ve been field-testing self-guided fifty-cal sniper rounds for DARPA that change direction in midair. Fine-tuned a smart scope that doesn’t let you shoot a friendly target.” He crossed his arms. “I think I can handle smuggling a handgun past a few mouth-breathing TSA agents.”
Evan poured a mug for Tommy, had to wipe his hands on the gun-cleaning cloth. Tommy slurped the coffee across his packed lower lip. Then he lit up another Camel. Evan figured the only reason Tommy didn’t smoke them two at a time was that it hadn’t occurred to him yet.
Tommy took the skinny gun and slid it into the laptop’s hard-drive slot where some hidden mechanism received it. “All they’ll see on the X-ray is the solid block of the hard drive. I had to go thirteen-inch screen on the laptop to make the specs fit, so they might make you take it out, power it up, all that security Kabuki-theater bullshit, but you’ll be GTG.
Tommy nodded slowly, his gaze not leaving Evan’s face. “Remember what Confucius say: ‘Before you embark on a journey of revenge, dig two graves.’” “Oh,” Evan said, “I’m gonna dig a lot more than that.”
Know how Khan trained those warriors?” “Built a regimen based on starving wolves.” “Yeah,” she said. “The hungrier a wolf is, the braver and more ferocious he gets.” “You’re saying that’s what we are.” “Yes. That’s what we are. And this place? This place looks like the home of someone who’s always hungry.” “For what?” She looked back at him, her hair flicking over one shoulder. Her hands remained on the window. “For everything out there.”
With Thornhill it was a pleasant conversation right up until the minute the bullet entered your brain.
He felt a flash of affection for this girl, this mission that had blown through his life like an F5 tornado. He thought of his words to Jack in their final conversation—I wouldn’t trade
knowing you for anything—but he couldn’t make them come out of his mouth now, in this context. They stopped somewhere in his throat, locked down behind his expressionless stare.
Tommy stroked his mustache, cocked his head at Evan. “Last we broke bread, I said if you needed me, give a holler. You hit a wall, and you figured what the fuck.” “I figured exactly that,” Evan said.
if you’re calling in air support, you’re up against it.” “Yes,” Evan said. “Well, with what you’re asking, I’m gonna need you to make more words come out your mouth hole.” “They’re trying to kill me. And they’re trying to kill her.”
Jack had always taught Evan that the hard part wasn’t being a killer. The hard part was staying human. He was superb at the former. And growing proficient at the latter. It was worth the trying.
He heard Jack’s voice in his ear: I love you, son. Evan raised his glass in a toast. “Copy that,” he said.
He stared at that text once again: NO ONE LIVES.
He crossed the Oval Office and lifted the receiver. He said nothing. A voice said, “You should have left 1997 in the past.”
