you're doing it on foreign soil. My advice would be to find another way.”
“OK, so we'll just cancel the mission,” said the SecDef. This comment removed sound from the room as effectively as a drain hole sucking water from a bath.
Silence.
Several sets of eyes shifted around the room, searching for more dissent. A few throats were cleared. No one for a moment believed the SecDef meant it. I focused on the JAG lawyer. His face had more lines on it than a used bus ticket, and all of them were headed in the general direction of a scowl. He knew the SecDef didn't mean it, too. His hair was thick and polar-bear white, his skin newborn-baby pink. I figured he was around a year off settling into a condo, probably down in Florida, maybe Naples, someplace rich and effortless where the hired help manicured the grass with nail scissors and the mosquito population was held in check with regular aerial spraying. His recommendation to abort meant nothing that happened in this room would touch his retirement benefits if things went to shit. He'd done his job. I was having trouble concentrating. The situation seemed surreal. I thought about Boyle's wallet. I also wondered whether the JAG general personally knew the lawyer swapping body fluids with my girlfriend.
Objection. Former girlfriend.
Sustained.
OK, former girlfriend.
There were quite a few lawyers in the military these days—which said a lot about the military—so maybe not. I wondered whether the JAG general would appreciate my two-lawyers-in-the-bank joke. If not, I had others.
“Special Agent Cooper? Cooper?”
Howerton. He was talking, leaning across the table toward me. “Yes, sir,” I said. The hurricane had doubled back like they've been known to do on occasion. I was doing a lot of wondering. Now I was wondering what I'd missed. A couple of the officers were standing. Butler and Nigel were in a huddle, talking about something. The JOPES was concluded.
“Like I said, son, we don't have anyone in the OSI or the Army's Criminal Investigation Command with your particular skill set,” said Howerton. “With your time in the CCTs working with Special Forces from coalition countries, coupled with your experience working with the law… Well, you're uniquely qualified.”
After hearing the doubts expressed by the staff judge advocate, maybe they needed someone who knew less about the law and more about how to take a fall. Nevertheless, I replied, “Yes, sir.”
He handed me another thick envelope. “What we're talking about here, Cooper, is a snatch op. Usually, with this kind of situation, we'd offer the country development grants and low-interest loans, which, of course, would subsequently be forgiven. They'd roll the guy over to us and that'd be the end of it. But that's not possible in this case. Pakistan reminds me of Iran in 1980 when Khomeini's revolutionary guards booted out the Shah and took over the country. And just like Iran, anti-U.S. sentiment is rife. CIA says the place is high on its own revolution. Your job is to get Boyle safely back to the U.S. embassy in Kabul. The FBI, armed with a warrant issued by a U.S. federal judge, will arrest him there. All nice and legal. In the packet are your orders to Kandahar. Three days is not a lot of time to get yourself prepared for this. Rely on Staff Sergeant Butler and his men. They come highly recommended.”
Yeah, Staff Sergeant Butler and his men. Here again was a twist of fate confirming my opinion that fate was one twisted son of a bitch. Why me? I didn't get it. In three days, fate was going to send me up in a plane and then he was going to make me jump out of it into the Pakistan night with the very same guy I was investigating for possible murder. Ruben Wright, his wrecked parachute harness, and his even more wrecked remains flashed through my head. Then I thought about Butler's smashed flashlight and broken ribs. Howerton had told me to trust Butler. But, with all the doubt still swimming around the Ruben Wright case, could I do that? Seriously?
* * *
The temperature dropped through the floor as I closed in on the exit. I had a few things on my mind jostling for attention with the impending mission: the hit on the Transamerica and Four Winds buildings; Al Cooke; Dr. Freddie Spears's resignation from Moreton Genetics and then her presence in heavyweight Pentagon meetings; the charred corpse; Boyle's wallet… all of it swirled through my