“Yes,” Ethan hissed, whirling to face Jack. “Do you think for one second that I would take any risk at all with your life?” He turned away. He couldn’t look at him. Not now. Not after he’d done that, said
that
.
Ethan’s replacement finally arrived. He stared at Ethan, hooded eyes trying to hide his laughter. To the other detail agents, this was a joke, a hilarious story they’d throw around the CP for how the president got rid of a drunk trying to pick him up in a Czech jazz bar.
It wasn’t funny to him. “I’m rotating out to the street,” he grunted. He pushed his way past Collard—who purposely rammed him with his shoulder—and headed for the exit.
“Ethan! Ethan, wait!”
Ethan heard cursing and the shuffling of barstools, then heavy footfalls behind him. He kept going, tearing open the door and heading down to the cobbled street. The night air hit his face, and though it was cool, it did nothing to quell his blazing fury, or soothe his screaming heart.
“Ethan!” Jack came thundering down the steps behind him, followed by Collard, Daniels, and the other agent, all trying to catch up to him.
He couldn’t let Jack chase after him, unprotected and exposed like that. Cursing, Ethan spun. “What?”
The replacement agent’s eyes went wide. No one ever spoke to the president that way.
Jack didn’t blink. He stood before Ethan, frowning. “What happened, Ethan? What’s wrong?”
“What’s wrong?” Ethan tried to control his voice, tried to keep himself from shouting. He shouldn’t shout at him, not in front of half of the entire detail. He saw Daniels pull Collard back, and the replacement. “What you said in there…” Ethan’s throat clenched as his rage melted, turning to anguish. His hands clenched, over and over.
It’s still an open mic. Careful what you say, asshole!
“That was just a joke,” Jack said softly. “I was just trying to get rid of her.”
“Not like that!” Ethan growled through clenched teeth. Dammit, his eyes were watering. He blinked fast and looked away. He couldn’t look at Jack. “It may be hilarious to you, but to me—”
“It just came out!” Jack’s hand rose, reaching for Ethan, but he stopped. Pulled back. “It just slipped out, Ethan. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It means something to me!” Ethan hissed. God, he was shaking. He was going to fly apart. Ethan squeezed his eyes closed. Inhaled. Exhaled. Released his fists.
Jack was silent.
“It’s done, Mr. President,” he finally grunted. “You should go back inside.”
“No.” Jack shook his head. He looked away. “No, I’m done. Let’s go.”
Ethan nodded once. “Quarterback calling it in. All agents, rendezvous at
U Maleho Glena
immediately.” Agents poured out of the woodwork, teams streaming from alleys and from behind buildings and streetlamps. Others walked out of bars up and down the street. Over fifty agents assembled around Jack in moments.
Jack shook his head, chuckling under his breath. It wasn’t a happy chuckle.
“Take him in.” Ethan nodded to the team. “Everyone, form up.”
“Mr. President.” The agent closest to Jack motioned forward as the rest of the agents formed a loose bubble around him.
Jack headed off, not looking at Ethan.
Ethan waited, standing in the middle of the street, as Daniels and Collard slowly walked toward him.
“What in the fuck was that?” Collard hissed. “Goddammit, Ethan!”
Daniels crossed his arms and shook his head. “What is going on with you two?”
God, he didn’t need this shit. He already knew he’d fucked up. He already knew he’d made a mistake. He didn’t need Jack rubbing his face in it, and he certainly didn’t need shit shoveled on him from Daniels and Collard. Not now. Not when he just wanted to run in front of the nearest train, or rip apart the stone walls surrounding them on the street with his bare hands.
Or collapse to the ground and just sob. Let out all of his aching, agonizing hurt. Fuck.
Ethan shot both of his friends a withering glower. “Nothing is going on between us.”
“That didn’t look like nothing!” Collard bellowed. He stepped forward, menacing, toward Ethan.
Reacting, Ethan grabbed Collard in a headlock and pulled him down. Collard fought back, punching Ethan in the stomach and kneeing his thigh. Grunting, Ethan pulled away, spinning out of reach, but Collard ducked down and came up with a right hook across Ethan’s cheek.
“Stop!” Daniels shouted. “Jesus, stop that shit!”
Ethan squinted, holding one hand to his face. He ran his tongue over his teeth, checking to make sure they were all there and none were loose. So far so good, but his head ached and his eye was pounding. “Fuck, Scott,” Ethan groaned.
“Fuck you, Ethan!” Collared shouted. “What are you doing? You said it was fine! You said it was nothing!”
“It fucking is nothing!” Ethan roared. “He doesn’t want me! He doesn’t want anything to do with me!”
“He called you his boyfriend!”
“He was throwing it in my face.” Ethan spat on the concrete, checking for blood.
Finally, Daniels looked at Ethan with something other than anger. His eyes darkened as his lips twisted, and he licked his lips as he glanced away. “What happened?”
He’d fucked up, that’s what had happened. He’d fallen in love with the wrong man and, like a delusion, expected something to come from that. What a dumb fuck he’d been.
“A mistake.”
* * * * *
Hours later, Ethan was changing the ice in his baggie and poking at his swollen eye. Collard hadn’t spoken to him on the walk back, instead jogging ahead and leaving Ethan with Daniels. Daniels didn’t say much, but he didn’t berate Ethan either.
His phone buzzed.
Ethan stared at the lit display. It was after two in the morning. Was Collard wanting to shout at him again? Didn’t he know Ethan already hated himself for what he’d done?
He grabbed the phone and plopped backward on the bed, resting the ice bag on his swollen eye. It would be purple tomorrow. He swiped the phone’s screen on.
The text was from Jack.
Please rejoin the detail tomorrow. The Russians want to meet early. They say they have something for us. I need you with me. I need you there. Please, Ethan. And then, after the summit, can we talk?
Goddammit!
Ethan clenched the phone in his hands until the cracked plastic strained, creaking in his grasp. Gritting his teeth, Ethan hurled the phone across the room as his chest collapsed and his heart exploded, and the sobs pulled him over until he buried his face in the pillows, roaring out his pain.
* * * * *
The next morning, Ethan held open the door to the presidential limo for Jack at exactly zero seven fifteen. “Mr. President.”
He hid his swollen black eye behind his shades. They didn’t stop him from seeing Jack’s tightly wound, nervous face as he came off the elevator in the hotel lobby, or how his expression changed, morphing to surprised relief mixed with agony as he saw Ethan. Still, Jack didn’t say anything to Ethan as he approached or answered his car side greeting.
Gottschalk slid in after Jack, nodding once to Ethan. Secretary Elizabeth Wall followed behind, scrolling through her phone. Ethan shut the three inside and then hopped up to the front passenger seat.
Daniels was driving. Collard had stared at him, completely flat, when he said he was taking back his position as point man on the detail that morning and moving Collard to the CP. Collard hadn’t actually said anything to him at all since the night before.
It was ten minutes to Prague Castle. The Russians had asked for an early morning meeting with Jack, prior to the start of the summit. In the back, Ethan listened to Jack, Gottschalk, and Secretary Wall going over their last-minute prep while stealing glances in the rearview mirror at Jack.
“What do we think it is that they have to offer us?” Jack’s glasses were perched on the tip of his nose as he bounced looks between Gottschalk and Wall.
“Unknown, sir.” Gottschalk leaned forward. “They wouldn’t say on the phone. They said that President Puchkov would only speak to you, and only face-to-face.”
Jack sighed. “I don’t like this. I don’t trust Puchkov, and I don’t see why they’d be in a giving mood after what happened yesterday.”
Ethan frowned.
“Sir, the troop deployment to Germany has been halted. They should have picked up on the downgrading of our forces overnight.” Wall was flipping through papers in her padfolio.
“While I have him alone, this is a perfect opportunity to bring up all the other problems we have with the Russians.” Jack sent a sour look to Gottschalk. “In for a penny, in for a pound. We cannot let them continue to operate on their own in Syria.”
“Or make another land grab in Europe.” Jeff held Jack's glare, not flinching.
“Georgia is also calling us about the Russians mobilization in Abkhazeti,” Secretary Wall said. “We can’t let that go unanswered.”
“What has Baghdad said about the Russian’s threat of invasion?”
“It’s…difficult to get anyone in Baghdad on the phones these days,” Wall demurred.
“All right. All right.” Jack nodded to himself. He glanced up at the mirror, meeting Ethan’s gaze. “I’m going to see what Puchkov has. I’ll be demanding that he pull out of Abkhazeti, withdraw from the occupied lands in Europe, and agree to international collaboration in regards to Syria.” He exhaled. “Think he’ll laugh me out of the room?”
Gottschalk and Secretary Wall shared an uneasy look.
Daniels slowed at the Prague Castle dignitary entrance. “Knight One to Castle Keep,” Ethan said into the mic. “Vigilant has arrived at Chessboard.” He listened to Welby’s acknowledgement as he slid out of the limo and held open the door for Jack and his team.
Jack buttoned his suit next to Ethan as Gottschalk and Wall moved away.
“Did you hear all that?” Jack said under his breath.
“Yes.”
“Thoughts?” Jack smoothed his hands down the front of his jacket.
Ethan turned toward Jack. Despite everything, he still believed in Jack, to the depths of his soul. The pain he was feeling was of his own making, not Jack’s. “You can do this. I know that you can…Jack.” Ethan inhaled quickly. “There is nothing that you can’t do.”
Jack’s eyes slid closed as he exhaled. “You think too highly of me,” he whispered. He opened his eyes. Met Ethan’s gaze through Ethan’s shades. “I’m glad you’re here.”
“I’m with you all the way, sir,” Ethan whispered back. After a moment, he cleared his throat. “Ready to head inside, Mr. President?”
“Yes, Agent Reichenbach. Lead the way.”
* * * * *
President Puchkov was sitting alone at a breakfast table when Jack walked in. Moments before, Jack had traded a long look with Ethan before shutting the door and leaving him and Puchkov alone together.
“I’ll be right out here,” Ethan had whispered.
“I’m glad,” Jack had whispered back.
Now, it was just him and Puchkov.
“Join me, Mr. President!” Puchkov gestured to the single chair across the small round table. “The Czech coffee is good here. Russian export. It can start diesel engine.” He poured Jack a full cup of deep black coffee and then slid the saucer across the table. “We have much to discuss.”
Puchkov brought one hand down on a plain manila folder tucked next to his coffee cup.
“You must be a morning person.” Jack sat across from Puchkov and smelled the coffee. “This does smell delicious.”
“Russian. I promise; you’ll never have better coffee, ever. Your American stuff…” Puchkov dismissed Jack’s notion of coffee with a wave of his hand. “Come. Take a sip. Tell me what you think.”
Jack smiled, saluted Puchkov with his coffee cup, and took a swallow. The coffee was hot, thick, and deep roasted. It had body, and legs, and it sat heavy on his tongue, like melted chocolate, before sliding down his throat.
It was the best coffee he’d ever tasted.
“You are right, Mr. President,” Jack said with a smile. “This is delicious.”
“Ah. You know, the coffee is not the only thing I am right about.” Puchkov held Jack’s stare as the temperature in the room plunged.
Slowly, Jack sat back in his chair, all traces of his smile gone. Of course, Puchkov had games. “And what is that?”
“I am right that you want to see what’s in this folder.” Puchkov’s fingers tapped on the folder, one after the other.
Jack said nothing for a long moment. “You wanted me here, but you’ve done nothing but threaten me, Europe, and the Middle East for months. I’m not playing games with you, Puchkov.”
“Here.” Puchkov pushed the folder across, a sour look on his face. “I am not trying to play games with you, Mr. President.”
“Your announcement about our troop movements being an act of war sure sounds like games.”
“Bah.” Puchkov waved Jack away and sat back. “You know how it is. Posture, for the media.”
Jack took the folder but held Puchkov’s stare. The Russian president had beady eyes and a hooked nose, straining off of his narrow face. Deep furrows were etched into his cheeks, a lifetime’s worth of sour looks and a lack of smiles. Not that there would have been many smiles in the KGB or the Russian military, where Puchkov had earned his experience.
“Go on.” Puchkov crossed his legs.
He flipped open the folder.
A photo stared back at him. He blinked.
Al-Karim’s right hand man, his lieutenant, Talib Al-Syria, stared up at Jack from the photo. His eyes were desperate, searching for something, and a Russian military officer held him back in a bruising bear hold. Jack supposed if he was locked in a Russian embrace, he’d look the same. Talib was soaking wet and bruises covered his chest and neck. Blood ran down from his temple. His lip was split, and there was a fresh burn stretched across his right shoulder.
“You know this man, yes?”
Jack glared at Puchkov over the folder’s edge. “Everyone knows Talib Al-Syria. He’s gone to ground. No one has been able to get any intelligence on his movements, not for years. When was this taken?”
Puchkov checked his watch. “About three hours ago.” He waited for Jack’s response.
Silence.
“We caught Mr. Talib up on the Iraq-Iran border.” Puchkov waved Jack’s sudden frown away. “Yes, we’re already in Iraq. We moved into Iraq when we moved into Syria, but you were all so concerned about Syria that you paid no attention to what we were doing over the Black Sea.” A smarmy smile, his hands outspread. “You’re so concerned about something that has already been happening, Mr. President.”