No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(47)

Nobody would find them here.

He pushed through the brush from the cellar to the side of the house, stamping down harder than necessary to break a path. Squeaking open the faded wood door, the hinges threatening to fail, he found Colin eating a microwave dinner on a dilapidated table. Next to him, using a desk made of scrounged lumber, Kevin worked to establish an Internet connection using an Inmarsat BGAN satellite system. Overhead, a single lightbulb dangled from an extension cord.

Speaking over the rumble of a generator in the next room, Seamus said, “How’re we looking?”

Colin said, “Got the space heaters hooked up. If you still want to run one to the cellar, we’ll need a longer extension cord.”

“I’ll get one. That place is frigid.”

“How long we going to stay here?”

“Till we’re done. This is it. Kevin, what’s up with the Internet? Are we going to need to go to Cork to do this?”

“No. I’m up. Just don’t have the bandwidth I want, but I will.”

Colin interrupted. “Hey, you sure this place is secure? I mean, you got it from the drug dealer.”

Annoyed, Seamus said, “The church owns the land. Not Clynne. And yeah, he deals drugs, but he’s with the cause. He doesn’t know why we want it and simply thinks we need a place to cool out for a while. That’s all. He won’t talk.”

“You got the knockout drugs from him, didn’t you?”

“So what?”

“So he’s not stupid. He doesn’t think you’re out here sedating cattle.”

Seamus started to retort, then reconsidered, thinking about the risk Clynne represented. He said, “Okay, Colin, I hear you. I still need to get the replacement drugs for the hand-off. I’ll have a word with him. Feel him out.”

He grabbed the keys for the Range Rover off a nail and said, “I’ll be back in an hour or so. I’ll buy an extension cord while I’m out. Check on the hostages in the meantime. Especially that coward—”

One of the four phones on the windowsill began vibrating, echoing against the concrete ledge. Seamus said, “Christ. What now?” He snatched it off the sill, looking at the number.

Kevin saw his expression and said, “Who is it?”

Seamus held up a finger, bringing the phone to his ear. “Aiden. How’s Washington treating you?”

“Better than that crap town of Fayetteville. At least until yesterday.”

“What’s up?”

“Your instinct was right. I’ve kept my ear to the ground like you asked, and found a bogger from The Washington Post that’s onto our game.”

Seamus listened as Aiden recounted what he knew, the implications growing worse with each passing sentence. When he was done, Seamus asked, “So he doesn’t have the full story?”

“No. But he’s going to get it. He’s checking everyone with any connection. Eventually, he’ll get to our five, and the story will break.”

Seamus began pacing.

Colin said, “What is it?”

Seamus ignored him, thinking. He heard Aiden say, “What do you want to do?”

“How much time do we have?”

“Not enough. Two days. Maybe less.”

“Shit. They’ll never pay if it breaks. It’ll put their backs against the wall.”

Colin stood up, and Seamus waved him back down. He took a deep breath and said, “Take him out.”

This time Aiden said nothing.

Seamus repeated, “Take him out, understand? Make it look like a robbery, car wreck, I don’t care, but cut him down.”

Aiden said, “You want me to kill an American reporter working for one of the premier newspapers in the United States?”

“Yes. Kill him. We’re too close.”

After a pause, Aiden said, “Okay. But you might be opening up a hornets’ nest.”

Seamus said, “We opened that up when you killed the man in Fayetteville.”






31




Colonel Kurt Hale ordered a straight black coffee and took a seat, ignoring the look of incredulity from the patrons in the line behind him, all amazed that he didn’t ask for a grande decaf mocha choco caffe latte.

He checked his watch and saw his sister was running late, as usual. Ordinarily, he would have been aggravated at the lack of courtesy, but given what they were going to discuss, he was glad for the reprieve. Kathy expected a miracle from him, and the update wasn’t going to satisfy her. Not that his last meeting with Alexander Palmer and the president had been any more enjoyable.

After Pike’s situation report, he’d had no choice but to let the National Command Authority know he was freelancing Taskforce assets because of a personal loss. Well, not officially freelancing, since by the Oversight Council’s own order, Pike was no longer a Taskforce asset, but because what he’d turned up crossed over into current operations, Kurt had known it wouldn’t be construed that way. And it wasn’t.

He’d provided a sanitized three-page update to Alexander Palmer at the latest update briefing, including the bare bones of the search for Kylie, and as expected, he’d been asked to kindly accompany the national security advisor to the Oval Office. Because the president would “like a word.”