No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(14)

I nodded and sat down. He said, “Did you get a hotel?”

“Yeah. Just dropped our luggage off. Embassy Suites in Old Town.”

“Good. Well, first things first: It’s true Grolier Recovery Services has been ‘laid off.’ I’m working to rectify that, but my briefing to the Council on your behalf was preempted by other things.”

“What does that mean?”

“I’ll get to that in a minute. For you, the primary problem is that prick Billings. He’s steadily grown convinced that you are a threat, and Brazil was the last straw. As secretary of state he convinced enough Council members to vote you out.”

“Brazil? I stopped a nuclear weapon!”

“I know, I know. But you also went on the warpath, eliminating Russian members of the FSB. When we originally sent you to Bulgaria, Billings was the dissenting vote. When you ignored the Council’s orders, he went into ‘I told you so’ mode.”

“They attacked us, sir. They killed Turbo, Radcliffe, and Decoy. Came damn close to killing Jennifer and me. And it was the Israelis who did most of the killing.”

He held up his hands, “Pike, you don’t have to convince me. I have no problem with what you did. Well, except when you basically told me to f*ck off.”

I felt my face grow red in embarrassment. He was right about that.

He said, “Look, I’ve ordered the Taskforce to keep all linkages. We aren’t shredding the cover mechanisms and you’ll be kept on Blaisdell Consulting’s books like everyone else. But I’m going to need some time before I can get in front of the Council again.”

“Why? Knuckles said something about a soldier dying and that the VP’s son was missing. Is that what’s got the Beltway’s panties in a knot?”

And he told me about the whole hostage mess, which was pretty damaging. I could see why everyone was spinning out of control. If we didn’t find them, the administration would be held hostage by both the press and the terrorists. Everything that occurred would be under the prism of the captured Americans, with half saying any military action the United States executed was unjustified and conducted solely to prove we don’t listen to terrorists, and the other half saying we were cowering down and not doing military action because of the terrorist demands. It wouldn’t matter what crisis we were dealing with—the hostages would taint our response.

He then topped off the debacle with a nice little cherry that the VP’s son was apparently an analyst with potentially catastrophic intelligence in his little weenie head.

“Who do they think it is?”

“The consensus is an Islamic group, but I tend to agree with the D/CIA. It’s much too complex for them. I guess we’ll know soon enough, because we’ve been given the mission to find out.”

“The Taskforce? How the hell are they going to do that? It’s not like they can liaison with a foreign police force as an official US government entity. Whose bright idea was that?”

“The president’s. The entire Taskforce is now dedicated to this. I’ve got teams headed to Okinawa, Brussels, and Honduras. Knuckles is going to England.”

The conversation was starting to confuse me. Why tell me what the teams were doing when I had no need to know?

Jennifer sat down, sliding over a cup of coffee. Kurt said, “Good to see you, Koko.”

She took his hand, smiled, and said, “Good to see you as well, but please don’t call me Koko unless I’m on a radio.”

Kurt looked at me and I said, “Yeah, she’s not into the whole callsign thing. Aggravates her. Anyway, are you telling me that you want Jennifer and me to help with this mission? Even after letting us go from the Taskforce?”

“No. Unfortunately, I’m not. Remember my niece? Kylie?”

“Well, yeah, of course, what about her?”

When I was still in the Army, on active duty, Kylie had been a fixture at any unit function. The truth was we all took a liking to her to the point where she became sort of a unit mascot. She was always hanging around at our get-togethers, grabbing us beers and wanting to hear stories from the teammates. My wife actually took her under her wing for a little bit, letting her babysit our daughter and taking her out for “girl talk” occasionally. But that had been years ago. When I had a wife and daughter.

“She’s on a student exchange from the University of Virginia to Cambridge University in England. My sister called right when this other crap was brewing. Kylie hasn’t called home, and I’m worried about her.”

Kurt was a permanent bachelor, but he treated Kylie like a daughter, much to her mother’s regret. In turn, Kylie adored him as if he were her real father. Like the father she’d never had. When Kurt’s sister had divorced, Kylie had taken her mother’s maiden name, and I was fairly sure it was because of Kurt and not her mother.

The mother, on the other hand, was a piece of work. Kurt seemed to tolerate her, but she was a peacenik with her head in the dirt. Always going on and on about how evil the CIA was and how the United States used the military to ensure the flow of oil or whatever else was current at the time. If she’d called Kurt for help, she was desperate.

Still not understanding the significance, I said, “Worried how? She’s a college kid. They do that shit all the time. What do you mean?”

“Not like this. She’s been gone for forty-eight hours, Pike. Just gone. She’s dropped off the face of the earth, and I think she’s in real trouble.”