“Do you have the Glocks? I need to account for all firearms.”
This seemed to be a day when everyone was asking about who had a gun. Well, Brodie had Mercer’s Desert Eagle, and Taylor had Worley’s Glock. But Brodie thought it might be time to play Who Has the Gun? “Sorry, Brendan, we barely got out of there with our lives. In fact, I lost my boots. I’ll get CID to reimburse.”
“I’ll charge it off to experience. Would you like your condom back?”
“Keep it. I have no use for it.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“Not as sorry as I am. Well, I doubt we’ll meet again, but it’s been interesting working with you, Colonel.”
“Let me call for the Otter. Call me when the extraction is complete.”
“Will do. Adiós.”
“And to you and Ms. Taylor.”
Brodie shut off the phone to save battery and said to Taylor, “Colonel Worley is a worried man.” He added, “I told him we had no weapons.”
“You’re more devious than he is.” She asked, “Are we okay with this extraction?”
“We will be after I call Dombroski.”
“Then call him.”
“In a minute.” He looked at Mercer, then said to Taylor, “If I was as devious as Worley, I would not have told him we had Mercer in custody, because if he wants Mercer dead, we could be collateral damage.”
“I know that. But here’s something to make you feel better. Worley knows from Mercer’s sat phone call to him that we spoke to Mercer, and that Mercer was probably speaking freely to us, his prisoners. Therefore, whether or not we had Mercer in custody, we have Mercer’s story. So whatever Worley is planning for Mercer, he would also be planning for us even if you and I were alone.”
“That does make me feel better.”
“Call Dombroski and get a life insurance policy issued.”
“Okay.” Brodie turned on the sat phone and called Dombroski’s cell.
It rang, but there was no answer, which was unusual for Colonel Dombroski, who answered his phone even when he was on the table in his proctologist’s office. Possibly the satellite connection hadn’t gone through, or the sat phone number on Dombroski’s screen looked like his ex-wife’s attorney’s number.
Brodie was concerned that Worley might be able to monitor the sat phone calls, so he left a short message for Dombroski that he classified as “Urgent,” then upped it to “Most Urgent.” “Critical,” as Dombroski had once advised him, is only for when you’re hiding in a closet because the husband came home. Meanwhile he had to leave the cell phone on for the callback.
“You should have called him first.”
“That’s like calling your insurance company when your house is on fire, then calling the fire department.” He reminded her, “We needed to get that Otter airborne.”
“I have some concerns about that extraction, Scott.”
“Worley may be devious, but he’s not reckless. He knows we’re calling Dombroski.”
“Nevertheless, an accident might happen at the airstrip.”
“You can only cover up so many crimes. This is not one Worley can cover up.”
“If he thinks his freedom depends on it, he’ll find a way.”
Which was true. But Brodie assured her, “Have I ever misjudged a situation?”
“Every day, Scott. Almost hourly.”
“Okay. Have I ever gotten us into a situation that I can’t get us out of?”
“We’re about to find out.”
They continued along the river, and Brodie sensed that the current was getting stronger, and the boat was not making good progress. They could pick up some speed if they chucked Mercer to the piranhas. Brodie had no idea how long it would take to make the trek from the river to the airstrip. Should be less than two hours, but the terrain could be impassable, and the prisoner could be dragging his ass, and Brodie had lost his shoes. How long would the Otter stay on station? Depended on his fuel reserve. And at some point, Brodie had to waste battery again by keeping the sat phone on to receive the pilot’s call, because asshole Worley wouldn’t give him the pilot’s number. Brodie checked their fuel again. Low, but maybe not critical. Just urgent. And rowing against the current was not really an option in their condition. Which reminded him that he was dehydrated, hungry, and getting sunstroke.
He looked at Mercer, who wasn’t moving much. “He okay?”
Taylor felt his cheek, then his pulse. “He may be overheating.”
“Not so tough after all.”
“Show a little compassion, Scott.”
“Yeah, like he did.” Brodie said, “He’s playing possum so he doesn’t have to make