Gabe (In the Company of Snipers, #8)(121)

“No wonder I felt like shit,” Alex said. “Damned crap gave me hallucinations. Bastards kept me under five sonofabitchin’ days. Waited until everything was over before they had the balls to wake me up and tell me they’d destroyed my life.”

Gabe shuddered, knowing exactly how Alex must’ve reacted. The Bureau might not be as dumb as they seemed. They must have restrained him while they explained, probably from ten feet away. The man was lethal on a good day.

“We saw you at the morgue,” Mark said somberly. “Sure looked dead to me.”

The tougher-than-nails boss chewed his lip, a shadow shifting over his face. “Guess it really was me. That Vec crap turns a man into a corpse. Slows everything down to damned near hibernation. Must’ve made for a convincing viewing and funeral. Assholes.”


That explained a lot. The Bureau had a lot of nerve to fake an American citizen’s death, much less a man of Alex’s notoriety like they did. Unbelievable.

“They totally screwed your civic rights,” Gabe said.

Icy blues zeroed on him. “I remember you. In the car when I died. At my funeral. You were there, weren’t you? You stood by Kelsey through the whole damned nightmare, didn’t you?”

Gabe could only nod. Hell, yeah, and I’d do it all again. That’s... who I am.

“God, I’m sorry, guys. I’m sorry for everything.” Alex motioned Kelsey back to his side and released Izza to Connor’s. “Sons of bitches put us all through hell.”

Ember still had a tight grip on his other arm. She leaned into him and kissed his cheek. “But you’re back now. You’re home. That’s what matters.”

He blinked through watery eyes, nodded at her, but a hoarse “yeah” was all he could muster. He dipped his nose into Kelsey’s hair and closed his eyes.

The elevator pinged and a dozen Secret Service agents flooded the office. Another contingent swarmed through the stairwell fire doors at the same time. Within seconds, there was standing room only in the work area.

Tension spiked higher when the elevator opened again and the President of the United States, Thomas Beauregard Adams, entered the office with yet more security. Every agent stood at attention, their backs straight and their eyes forward.

President Adams had run and won on an independent ticket that purported bi-partisanship above all else. Somehow, he’d gotten elected in a close contest with the traditional parties. He was the American Dream in the flesh. He walked straight to Mark with a nod to Alex.

The man was as big as Mark, broad chested, thick necked, and every bit a country boy turned politician. His brown hair was fastidiously trimmed. His nails manicured. He looked as if he’d rather spend his days outdoors instead of behind his desk in the Oval Office. Like Alex.

“This your team?” President Adams asked, both hands gripping Mark’s.

“Yes, sir, Mr. President,” Mark acknowledged stiffly.

“Mark. At ease, son. Please. Be at ease. I’m not here to make more work for you people—not after what I’ve just put you through.” He straightened his tie, then changed his mind and took it off, handing it to the agent at his side. His suit jacket went as quickly. “As I’m sure you’ve heard by now, the Vice President was killed last night in a tragic helicopter crash. What you don’t know is that he wasn’t the target of Chaos Now. I was.”

He paused as murmurs of surprise rippled through the group. “That’s right. Winston was the wizard behind the curtain. At least, he thought he was. He funded the malcontent, Ron Fallon. In the process of their little revolution, I was designated to die tragically at their ground zero, along with thousands of others. From what I’m told, Fallon built a dirty bomb with enough explosives to take out most of the Mall and a couple of Potomac bridges, too. The radiation alone would’ve wiped the District of Columbia. Sons of bitches, every last one of them.”

Gabe nearly grinned at all the sons of bitches, bastards, Goddamnits, and *s flying around the office. Alex was a prolific curser all by himself, and President Adams was too by the sound of it. Tough men the world over talked the same language.

Ahh. Home sweet home. Nothing ever sounded better.

President Adams did an about face to Gabe, his hand extended. “Special Agent Becker tells me you were responsible for stopping the bomb, that you did so at great personal risk, son.”

Gabe swallowed hard. He accepted his President’s hand, surprised Adams knew who he was. “Thank you, sir.”

“No, young man. Thank you. I understand your girlfriend assisted, too. Is that right?” He winked at Shelby. Apparently, the President already knew everyone.

She shrugged, her pretty face a delightful rosy glow. “Oh, no. I mostly watched and, umm, yeah, I mostly just watched and prayed real hard.”

He grinned. “Me, too, young lady. Me, too.”

President Adams pulled Alex to stand beside him. “It was only through the heroism and sacrifice of this guy here that we have irrefutable proof of Winston’s planned sabotage.”

Alex looked steadily into space while the President clutched his shoulder.

“This guy here had the audacity to face Winston down, to convince him he was through playing Mr. Nice Guy. That he was sick to death of the status quo in the country, enough that he wanted out of his marriage and his business. Enough that he’d faked his own death to put an end to it. The whole shebang.” President Adams snapped his fingers. “I only had two men I could trust with my life, Alex Stewart and Sam Becker, so you people blame me. All of you. It’s my fault. I’m the one responsible for what you’ve been through. I tasked the FBI to procure your boss, and believe me, I gave him no choice once they did. He was under direct orders from me as his Commander in Chief, as well as a black ops non-disclosure. You all know how binding that is.”