Primary Target. Джек Марс

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      “You’re the boss,” Don said.

      He was a couple of inches taller than Luke, and quite a bit broader. With Don’s gray hair, and his size, and his age, and his experience… well, Luke always felt a little bit like a child next to Don.

      “Don’t let them forget who’s in charge. I’d be coming with you, but I’m stuck in meetings. You’re my representative. As far as this trip is concerned, you are me.”

      Luke nodded. “Okay, Don.”

      They were walking a long, wide corridor through the terminal. Swarms of people, mostly in uniforms of various kinds, milled about, moving to and fro. People were standing and eating at Taco Bell and Subway. Men and women were hugging. Piles of baggage were going by on carts. The place was busy. There were two wars on at once, and all across the armed services, personnel were on the move.

      “We’ve got a new guy joining you. He’s your partner, but you’re the senior partner. His name is Ed Newsam. I like him. He’s big, he’s cocky as hell, and he’s young. I plucked him out of Delta, even though he’s only been there a year.”

      “A year? Don…”

      “In a year, he’s already acquitted himself very admirably. Believe me, you’re going to be happy I acquired this guy. He’s a stud. He’s an animal, like you were at that age.”

      At thirty-two, Luke was already beginning to feel old. He had been back in the gym the past few weeks, and it was suddenly an uphill climb to get in shape. That was a rude awakening. He had let himself go during his stay in the hospital.

      “Trudy and Swann are traveling with you, but they won’t go into theater with you. They will stay in the Green Zone where it’s safe, and offer you guidance and intelligence from there. Under no circumstances should you put them in harm’s way. They are not military personnel, nor have they been.”

      Luke nodded. “Understood.”

      Don stopped. He turned to face Luke. His hard eyes softened a touch. It was like he was Luke’s dad—the father he never had. Don was just a big, gray-haired, broad-chested, face-like-a-granite-cliff dad.

      “You’re going to do fine, son. You’ve held command positions before. You’ve been in war zones before. You’ve been on difficult missions before, impossible missions. This isn’t like that. This one’s got a glass jaw, okay? Big Daddy Cronin is going to be running this operation on the ground. He’s got your back and he’s going to make sure you have the people you need in the air above you, and one step behind you.”

      Luke was glad to hear that. Bill Cronin was a CIA Special Agent. He had been around the block a few times, had a lot of Middle East experience. Luke had served under him twice before—once while on loan from Delta Force to the CIA, and once during a joint special op.

      Don went on. “I fully expect you guys to walk in there and for Parr to drop his weapon and throw his hands in the air. He’ll be relieved you’re not Al Qaeda. We need an early win to show the congressmen we mean business, so I padded your comeback schedule with an easy knockout. But don’t tell the others that. They think this is the most serious thing ever.”

      Luke smiled and shook his head. “Okay, Dad.”

      “I’d ruffle your hair, but you’re too old,” Don said.

      Up ahead was a small waiting area for their gate. Three rows of five seats each were clustered in front of a desk, and behind the desk, the door to the tarmac. The desk was abandoned, and no one sat in the chairs. This was an empty area of the terminal.

      Through the large windows, Luke could see a small blue State Department jet plane parked and waiting outside. A rollaway staircase led up to the open cabin door of the plane.

      A group of three people milled around at the gate. Two of them were Trudy Wellington and Mark Swann. Trudy was tiny, and looked every inch of it. Swann was tall and thin, but was positively dwarfed by the third member of their party, a black guy in jeans and a leather jacket. The black guy stood by himself, a little bit away from Trudy and Swann. He had a green rucksack on the floor at his feet.

      “That the guy?” Luke said. “Newsam?”

      Don nodded. “That’s the guy.

      Luke soaked him in as they approached. He looked to be six foot, five inches tall. His shoulders were broad, as was his chest. Beneath his leather jacket he wore a white T-shirt that clung to his massive frame. It looked like someone had painted it on there. His arms were covered by his jacket, but his fists were huge. He wore yellow work boots on his big feet. He looked like a cartoon rendering of a superhero.

      Except for his face—it was as arrogant and as young as that of any kid in high school. There wasn’t a line on it.

      “This guy has seen combat before?” Luke said.

      Don nodded again. “Oh yeah.”

      “Okay. You’re the boss.”

      “Yes I am.”

      They reached the group. The three of them turned. Trudy’s and Swann’s eyes were focused on Don, their boss. The newcomer, Newsam, stared at Luke.

      “Thanks for coming out, everyone. Trudy and Mark, you’ve had the opportunity to meet Luke Stone, your commander on this trip. Luke was one of the best special operators I had the pleasure to serve with in the United States Army. Luke, this is Ed Newsam, who I didn’t serve with, but who I’ve heard spectacular things about.”

      The two men shook hands. Luke looked into the eyes of the larger man. Newsam didn’t do anything overt—he didn’t, for example, try to crush Luke’s hand in his own. But his eyes said it all: You don’t command me.

      Luke СКАЧАТЬ