Divine Justice (Camel Club, #4)

by David Baldacci

Sacrifices? But they didn’t necessarily need Joe Knox still breathing when the dust settled, did they? Knox left the brownstone, climbed back in his Rover, and drove off in pursuit of apparently the greatest assassin his country had ever produced, while a cagey former general who had no problem allowing his foot soldiers to die to achieve his goals was crowding his rear flank. Whoopie.

The Silver Star, Distinguished Service Cross, and Medal of Honor, the acknowledged triumvirate of recognition for the fighting soldier, were for bravery and heroism in combat, pure and simple.

No matter what you did, someone was going to be pissed at you. And being pissed off and taking somebody’s life as payback did not require a great leap of thought. Sometimes, it simply needed a walk across the street, a decisive trigger pull and a good cover strategy.

He’d been there all of eleven months and it had felt like eleven years. When he’d gotten back with a piece of shrapnel in his left thigh and a truck load of recurring nightmares as reminders of his time there, he’d decided that war was not a particularly smart way to decide global issues, especially when politicians rather than the grunts on the ground were calling the shots.

And the same old question had raised its ugly head once more: Will the sun come up for me tomorrow?

“That night at the Capitol Visitor Center he had a thirty-year-old sniper rifle and a shitty scope. There was a seasoned CIA paramilitary force on the other side loaded for bear with a six-to-one advantage over us. We walked out, they didn’t. I’ve never seen anything like it, Knox, and I was a SEAL who pulled time in just about every flame point there is in the world. Oliver Stone is the most stand-up guy you’ll ever meet. He’ll never let you down. He’s a man of his word and he’ll lay down his life for his friends without hesitation. But with a gun or knife in his hand the guy’s no longer human. He knows ways to kill people I’ve never even heard of. So if you do run into him the chances are pretty high that you won’t be the one walking away. Just thought you ought to know.”

Then what? I go back to my job at the library after being inexplicably absent? You don’t think they won’t be all over me?” He looked over at Reuben. “And if they waterboard me, I’ll spill my guts. I’m not naïve enough to believe that I can withstand that crap. And then I go to prison for the rest of my life. Great!”

Reuben stared at her, his eyes those of a man barely in control of his anger. “I fought in wars for my country. I got my ass shot up for my country. I’ve almost died about twelve times following Oliver on his little adventures. I love him like a brother and he was there for me when I didn’t have anybody else. I walked into a death chamber called Murder Mountain with him and we almost didn’t walk back out alive. And you know who was right there beside us? Alex Ford. He put his career right on the line when he could’ve just walked. And he also got his ass shot up, stood up to a team of freaking Korean ninjas looking to slit our throats, took a round for the president of the United States and pretty much single-handedly got us out of that hellhole.” He glanced over at Caleb. “And this guy’s been kidnapped, knocked out, almost asphyxiated, nearly blown up and saved me and Oliver’s ass on several different occasions. And we both had to deal with one of our closest friends in the world getting blown away. And all we did was hold up our heads and try to keep going. And now we’re out here in the middle of frigging nowhere trying to keep Oliver alive while an asshole that would make Charlie Manson look like a soccer mom is breathing down our backs. So if that’s your definition of a wimp, then we’re wimps with a capital W, lady.”

“You can do a polygraph. I’m sure you’re set up to do that what with all the electronic gizmos you guys seem to enjoy so much. I can tell you enjoy the pain thing, but it’s not getting you what you want. So be smart about it, Warden. Ask me the question again. Who am I, while I’m strapped to the meter. Then you’ll see what the truth really is. But again I wouldn’t worry. I don’t see how sixteen intelligence agencies plus the Department of Homeland Security, with thousands of highly trained agents and collective budgets of about a hundred billion dollars, will ever find us here.”