No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(96)

“Sir, the situation’s changed. We have movement.” I told Blaine what I knew, and he grasped the significance.

“I can’t get anyone here in that timeline. If they’re leaving in the next few minutes, we’re f*cked. Maybe I can get some roadblocks set up on the main highways, stop them en route.” He pulled up a map on the computer, tracking all the major arteries. “They might be headed farther to the west. Or maybe toward Belfast. They’ll have to use the main roads to do that. If I can get the word out soon enough, we can choke them.”

I said, “Sir. Really?”

He said, “Yeah, really. Let me get to work. Tell the OP to call if they leave. Hopefully I can get something in place.”

Jennifer and Nung were digging through our Pelican cases, pulling out concealable body armor and weapons.

Blaine glanced at them, then said, “I need the time or they’re going to get away.”

I said, “Only if we let them.”

He turned from the computer and said, “We can’t do an assault, Pike. No way. Jesus, it’s bad enough that I’ve got an Irish drug dealer chained to the toilet.”

“Sir, you already said it. We’re screwed. The only thing that can stop this is the Taskforce. We have the assets, and we have the skill.”

“Pike, we can’t do an assault on Irish soil. It’ll be a huge diplomatic mess. I can’t ask . . .”

He sat for a minute, then shut down the computer.

“Fuck it.”

I leapt up, running to the kit, him right behind me. I started sorting out weapons and charges, slapping things all over my body with Velcro when he said, “You got guns for me?”

Jennifer looked at him, confused, and I paused.

He said, “What? You need the help.”

I laughed and said, “You have lost your mind. No way.”

“What?”

“Somebody’s got to deal with the shit storm, and better to prep the battlefield than deal with the mess later.”

I finished digging, telling Jennifer, “Get a package for both Brett and Retro.” I turned to him. “You can’t go.”

He said, “Pike, I’m going to get fired for this. Please. You can be in charge. I’ll follow your lead. Let me get something.”

I appreciated the desire. I really did, which is what I would have expected. He wouldn’t have joined the Taskforce if he weren’t a meat-eater, and it had nothing at all to do with his skill. He was a killer. But it made no difference. I gave him a hard truth, like NCOs since the Revolutionary War.

“Sir, what you’re about to do is more important than a gunfight. Get the cleaning crew on standby. Get the Taskforce read on. Get the National Command Authority ready for the hurricane. Make sure someone’s got my back. That computer over there is the most valuable thing we have right now.”

Blaine stood, watching us kit up, disgusted. Feeling impotent. He said, “You’re going to take the damn mercenary over me?”

Nung said nothing, continuing to work his kit.

I said, “Hey, sir. It was your call that got us here. Remember that. Courage isn’t just under fire.”

He turned away, muttering, “What a load of horseshit.” He walked back to the computer and booted it up, saying, “I get to hear the screaming from DC, and you get to save the day.”

I snapped the lid to the Pelican case closed and said, “We’ll see about that. This goes bad, and I’m going to need some serious backup from the NCA. Don’t let me down.”

Blaine said, “Don’t screw it up and I won’t.”

Jennifer checked the function of her HK416 and said, “What’s your definition of a screw-up?”

Outside of her initial introduction, Jennifer hadn’t said a single word to Blaine since he’d landed, not being sure how he felt about her conducting operations on the ground. Not knowing if he was a typical Taskforce he-man women hater. Now, she was talking at the worst possible time, because she was about to execute instead of him. I thought it might push him over the edge, and I wondered where she was going with the statement.

He glared at her and said, “My definition of a screw-up is two dead hostages.”

She moved to the door saying, “Okay. Just wanted to make sure.”

I followed her, Nung behind me. Blaine said, “Make sure of what?”

Jennifer opened the door and peeked into the hallway. She turned to me and nodded, then said, “Make sure you don’t mind bodies.”

There was no humor in her expression, and she wasn’t trying for bravado. She just said it as fact. He looked at her with new eyes, and so did I.

She said, “What? You think I’m wrong?”

I said, “No. There’s definitely going to be somebody dead tonight. Don’t let it be you.”

She slipped into the hallway saying, “It won’t be. Let’s go get Kylie.”






68




Macroom was only ten minutes away from the target, and I was thanking my lucky stars that we’d decided to jump TOC from Cork City to the small hamlet. It had been much easier to conduct operational activity in a Cork hotel room, as the bed-and-breakfast we’d found was hosted by a nosy couple who really wanted to show us the best of Irish hospitality, but Cork was forty minutes away. The B&B had made things difficult, to say the least—especially when we had to smuggle in Clynne without them knowing—but the time saved could be the difference between life and death.