Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

A LL DURING THE RIDE DEVINE maintained a vigilant lookout as they careened along the capital beltway with thousands of other vehicles on the hamster wheel known as the DC metro rush hour, which actually extended to more hours than any weary commuter ever dared to admit. That was one reason why Devine had never wanted a nine-to-five desk job.

As they got off the highway, he wasn’t so sure.

Annandale was a bubbling brook of immigrant-owned mom-and-pop businesses, and restaurants serving dozens of international cuisines, the smells of which constantly enticed the famished. For its part, US 50 was a perpetually bottlenecked artery of weary travelers heading directly into or out of the heart of the nation’s capital. There seemed to be no reason to associate Annandale’s ordinary commercial and commuter activity with anything clandestine.

Which was the point and also the only reason Devine was here.

He surprised the driver by paying in actual cash, and got out, his gaze sweeping fore and aft, threat-assessing all the way.

The outdoor strip mall looked just like thousands of other such places across America where cheap and pointless was the signature style of a nation falling into the fragments cast off from capitalistic excess. The small office located there was so bland that one would forget its existence in three or four footfalls.

That was also the intended reaction.

The front window held a sign that read BY APPOINTMENT ONLY.

Devine had to smile at this prop of deceit, when he had little else to smile about.

This was one of the places of operation for the Office of Special Projects, a tiny, stealth sub-group under the crowded circus tent cover of DHS, the conglomerate of the government world stuffed full of acronym agencies.

Devine doubted that many at Homeland Security even knew of its existence. He worked for the little boots-on-the-ground organization that could and often did punch above its weight. However, his service was not entirely voluntary.

Devine was a closer, snooper, fixer, investigator, and sometimes he had to kill in order to keep on breathing or complete a mission. He tried not to think too much about it, just as he had when he’d worn a uniform on behalf of his country. But killing was killing, no matter the reason, noble or cruel or a combo thereof. If it didn’t make you feel something, maybe you were incapable of feeling anything, becoming akin to Ted Bundy, John Wayne Gacy, or Jeffrey Dahmer, which had never been a life goal of his.

Inside, he sat across from Emerson Campbell in an office outfitted with dinged governmental hand-me-downs. His boss was a retired Army two-star whose aversion to bullshit military politics had cost him a legit shot at the third and fourth stars. He had close-cropped iron gray hair, a workingman’s lead pipe fingers, and a tree trunk neck, with a low whisper that was more menacing than a drill sergeant’s spit-shot baritone. He deserved lusher surroundings, but Devine also knew the man didn’t give a damn about that. He had fought wars in hellscapes; impressive office furnishings and vanity photo walls like they had at the senior officer level at the Pentagon did not move Campbell’s internal needle even a little bit.

He eyed Devine cautiously. “Any problems getting here?”

“Aside from the fact that they seem to know my every move, no problem at all. By the way, I need a new phone. My old one’s in a trash can over in Reston. And new plastic, too. They’ve probably hacked that as well.”

Campbell sent a text, and a minute later Devine was presented with a new phone and credit card.

Devine pocketed them and said, “Your assistant, Dawn Schuman? You thought she was the leak that I’m dealing with?”

“We haven’t found her. Or her body. Yet. But it seems clear that she’s the one. I still find it hard to believe that she was turned, but there’s no other explanation for her disappearance.”

“So she compromised my phone before she ran for it?”

“Or gave the folks she was dealing with the info they needed to crack it.”

“I guess I’m lucky the girl on the train didn’t stick a syringe filled with liquid fentanyl in my gut when she slid the note in my pocket.”

“I am surprised they let that opportunity go by,” noted Campbell.

“And hopefully relieved ,” added Devine coldly.

Campbell gave him the military once-over: stare, glare, but then, out of the blue, a touch of understanding, compassion even. “Look, Devine, I know you’re pissed about this and you have every right to be. But we are doing all we can to resolve this as quickly as possible.”

“Good, because I’m not sure I can count on them to keep sending idiots I can kill before they kill me.”

“I understand your frustration, soldier. I really do.”

“Then my work on that is done, sir.” He drew a four-second breath to quell the fury in his chest. “What now?”

“Another assignment. West Coast.”

“Why? To get me far, far away from here?”

“And to get you to a place where you’re needed. To provide security for someone.”

“So I’m now a glorified bodyguard?”

“And maybe a blast from the past for you.”

“Okay, you have my full attention.”

“Danny Glass? Name ring a bell?”

Devine nodded. “Iraq. We were thrown together during a mission. His actions helped save all our butts. I recommended him for a commendation. What’s his involvement?”

“He left the Army shortly after the battle you just referred to. And his reputation is not a good one.”

“I’d heard some scuttlebutt way back when about him, but feel free to elaborate.”

“The government is going after him in a big criminal lawsuit out in Seattle. Buddy of mine at the Justice Department got in touch. Wanted to know if I had a good man for this mission. He mentioned Danny Glass’s involvement, and I recalled that you had known Glass from your military days. It seemed like a good fit. I told my buddy that and he agreed.”

“And do you trust your buddy ?”

“Yes. We served together before he jumped to the civilian side. Saved his life once.”

“In combat?” asked Devine.

“No, on the LA freeway. Road rage incident.”

“Okay, what else?”

“Glass has a niece, Betsy Odom, age twelve. Her parents recently died, and Glass is her only living relative. He wants to become her guardian and eventually adopt her.”

“And why does that interest DOJ?”

Campbell pulled an old-fashioned paper file out of his desk and plopped it in front of him. “To be perfectly candid, I don’t know all of it, which I don’t like one bit. It’s not how we did things in uniform but it’s something we apparently have to live with in joint ops like this. But with that said, I’m going to do all I can to get a fuller picture. And anything I find out you will know right away. I don’t like sending my people into harm’s way on half-ass briefings.”

Devine relaxed and leaned back in his chair. He greatly respected this man who, in some ways, was an older version of himself. And Campbell’s last words had hit every reassuring mark for Devine.

“Well, what else do I have, except minutes to burn and blood to shed, sir? Let’s get to it.”