The Hangar
Floyd Bennett Field, Brooklyn
December 19, 8:19 P.M. EST
We came in low past the Gil Hodges Bridge and landed in a fenced-off compound near the Rockaway Inlet, just outside of Hangar Row in Floyd Bennett Field. There were six black unmarked DMS choppers lined up. Two AH-64D Apache Longbows, a monster of a Chinook like the one we were in, and three UH-60 Black Hawks. There were rows of Humvees
and TacVs. Everywhere we looked there were armed guards. Everyone looked tense.
DeeDee and John Smith hadn’t arrived with Black Bess, but knowing the way DeeDee drove, they wouldn’t be far behind.
Sgt. Gus Dietrich met us on the helipad. He held out a hand. “Glad to see you boys in one piece. Well, mostly. Sorry to hear about Rudy taking a hit.”
“Could have been worse,” said Bunny.
“It could always be worse,” agreed Dietrich.
Nurses and orderlies arrived with two-wheeled gurneys. Circe O’Tree took charge of the wounded as if it was her right, and the nurses did not argue the point. I found that odd but didn’t comment on it.
The prisoner was hustled off with a pair of armed agents flanking his gurney. If he thought his day had been crappy so far, he was on his way to see Mr. Church, so it wasn’t like things were going to be sunshine and puppies.
Dietrich led Echo Team and me through the main entrance.
This was the first time I had visited the headquarters of the Department of Military Sciences. It was at least twice the size of the Baltimore Warehouse, which was pretty big in its own right, and even bigger than Department Zero, the massive office in L.A. It housed over six hundred scientists, soldiers, and support staff.
“Mr. Church landed ten minutes ago,” Dietrich said as he punched the code to open a side door. “Top, why don’t you take your team in for some chow? Ask anyone and they’ll show you where it is.”
Top nodded and peeled off with the others to follow the gurneys. Dietrich turned back to me. “The Big Guy’s expecting you.”
Dietrich led me into the Hangar’s operations command center. Ghost trotted along at my heels, eyes wide, nose and ears gathering data. The massive main room was circled with glass-enclosed labs and workrooms, and overhead was a latticework of steel walkways. There were more armed guards inside and a lot of people moving like busy ants in a nest. There were tiers of stainless-steel catwalks and elevated computer stations. Metal gleamed; colored lights flashed. It was Christmas in Bill Gates’s head.
“Wow,” I said. “Nice to see my tax dollars at work.”
I saw Church, his head bowed in conversation with a short black woman with a round face, granny glasses halfway down her nose, and long dreadlocks. The person he was talking too made me do a double take. I tapped Dietrich on the shoulder.
“Okay … why is Whoopi Goldberg here and why is she talking with Mr. Church?”
Dietrich laughed and didn’t reply. I felt like I was going crazy. The woman looked exactly like the actress. She wore a blouse with an orange Sudanese print, a necklace of chunky colored stones, and rings on every finger except her trigger finger. She smiled as we approached, but there was no trace of humor in the polished black ice of her eyes.
Church beckoned us closer.
“Captain Ledger,” he said, “I want you to meet the DMS Chief of Operations—Aunt Sallie.”
I was convinced that this was some kind of bizarre practical joke. “Um … hello?” I said, but as I extended my hand the woman spoke and the illusion was shattered as if she’d struck glass with a hammer.
“Feel free to wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, Captain,” she said in an accent that was pure back-alley Brooklyn. “I’m
not
her, so let’s just bury that nonsense right now.”
I am seldom at a loss for words, but the best I could manage was a mumbled, “Ma’am,” as I took her hand. She had a grip like a vise and she gave me one hard pump while she looked me up and down. Her gaze had the same invasive and impersonal precision as an X-ray.
Ghost sniffed her and then quickly backed up several paces and lay down.
Aunt Sallie studied me. “So, you’re the hotshot shooter from Baltimore.”
“I’ll have to put that on my business card.”
“The one who let Marty Hanler get killed.”
I did a slow three-count before I trusted my voice to reply.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too.”
“Are we going to have to make sure you have full-squad backup every time something gets a little rough?”
“Feel free to kiss my ass,” I said pleasantly.
“You got your full and complete share of mouth, don’t you?”
Beside me I heard Dietrich murmur, “Oh boy.”
Aunt Sallie turned to Church. “Give us a minute?”
Without waiting for a reply, she took me by the elbow and led me twenty paces away. The placement of her fingers on the nerve clusters was very precise. It hurt and she knew it hurt, but I didn’t let so much as a flicker show on my face. She knew that, too.
When we were out of earshot she said, “Okay, Ledger, here’s the deal. Marty Hanler was a good friend of Church’s, and more important, he was a good friend of mine. We’d been through fire together. You let someone put him on their trophy wall, and that means you lost all points on my scorecard. Mr. Church may think you piss rainbows and shit little gold coins, but as far as I’m concerned you’re a reckless field agent and a psychological basket of worms.”
“We were ambushed by ten shooters with automatic weapons in a professional cross-fire attack. Let’s see
you
do better.”
“I
have
done better, and even at my age I can run your ass all over a live-fire combat range.”
“Do you want to blame me for the four thousand dead at the London just because I was in England? How about Hurricane Katrina? I went to Mardi Gras once. Do I look good for that?”
“Don’t try to be smart, Ledger; you don’t have the tools for it.”
“You’re a charming lady. So happy to make your acquaintance.”
She let that pass. “Before Church hired you, all you did was some penny ante police bullshit and an Army tour during which all you did was jerk off. Before the DMS you had zero field time.”
“And since then, ma’am, I—”
“Call me Aunt Sallie or Auntie,” she snapped. “Call me ma’am again and I’ll kneecap you. Don’t think that’s a joke.”
“Whatever. If I’m supposed to be impressed by all this, I’m not. You don’t like how I handle things? Too fucking bad. Church scouted me, so if you have any problems with my qualifications then you can take ’em and shove ’em where the sun don’t shine. But let’s be real clear on one point,
Auntie:
I don’t give a rat’s hairy ass what you think of me. Honestly. I really don’t. I don’t know you well enough to dislike you, but I could put some effort into that.”
“Nice speech. Here’s the bottom line: I read your psych profiles and I
think you’re a danger to our cause. Sure, you racked up some wins, but a lot of good people seem to die around you, and that marks you with a permanent red flag in my book.”
“You finished?”
“For now.”
“Fuck you,” I said.
She smiled, then turned and walked back to Church and the others. I took a breath and followed.
“You two kiss and make up?” Church asked.
“Sure. I promised him a blow job later if he buys me dinner.”
“Looking forward to it,” I said.
Church said nothing. He carefully unwrapped a stick of gum and put it in his mouth, then folded the silver wrapper into a neat little square. We all watched him do it and I saw Dietrich’s eyes flick from Church, to Aunt Sallie, then to me, and then he stared past me into the middle distance. He was having a very hard time keeping a straight face.
Finally Church said, “Captain Ledger, I would like you, Dr. O’Tree, Dr. Hu, and Aunt Sallie to join me for a brainstorming session. Let’s convene in fifteen minutes. It’s been a long, bad day for everyone, but we need to be sharp for this.”
Auntie nodded and headed off to set things up, throwing me a short and pointedly dismissive look as she went.
Dietrich turned to follow, but I leaned in to whisper to him.
“Is she always like this?”
“Nah, you caught her on a good day. She’s usually pretty cranky.”
Church said, “Captain, you might use that time to clean up.”
I nodded. My clothes were dark with dried blood and I still hadn’t looked at the damage to my thigh, which hurt like a son of a bitch. I turned to go, but Church touched my arm.
“Hold on,” he said quietly. We walked out of earshot of the rest of the staff. After the reaming from Auntie I thought I was going to get fried by him, too, but instead he offered his hand. “You did good work today, Captain.”
“Doesn’t feel like it,” I said honestly.
“Anyone can be ambushed. It’s the nature of war.”
“That doesn’t make me feel any better.”
“No,” he agreed. He adjusted his glasses. “However, if the call you received is good intel then it’s probably a game changer.”
“You know, Boss,” I said, “I listened to the tapes of your conversation with Deep Throat, and Toys isn’t the guy who has been calling you.”
“Same anti-trace technology, though.”
“Yeah, which brings up its own set of questions. If Toys and Gault are part of the Kings organization, then can we continue to believe that Deep Throat is
not
also part of the Kings?”
Church nodded. “I’ve been giving that considerable thought, Captain, and I tend to agree with you. Either he’s a mole who shares his phone with another mole or we’re not seeing a conflict between organizations. I think this is an internal matter.”
“Which explains why Deep Throat was so cagey about giving you much information.”
“Yes. If two groups within the Kings are pursuing different agendas, or—more likely—if two operations within their organization have come into conflict with one another, then using the DMS to injure the other party can be viewed as a clever strategic move.”
“It’s pretty damn devious.”
He spread his hands. “Secret society.”
“Yeah, okay, but what does that mean? Are Deep Throat and Toys calling from different ends of the playground? Or are they working together?”
“Impossible to tell at this point. What would your guess be?”
“My gut tells me that they’re on the same side.”
He nodded.
“But,” I added, “considering that we
know
that every move in the Seven Kings playbook is built around deception and misdirection, I’m not sure we can trust any guess.”
“I don’t intend to.”
“Toys said that the Kings had agents among the people I trust, and among the people we have to rescue.”
“Feeling paranoid?”
“Yep.”
“Welcome to my world. I’ve long considered paranoia to be a job requirement.”
“Is there anyone in our ranks we should be looking at?”
“I’m looking at everyone.”
“Isn’t there anyone you trust completely?”
Church gave me his tiny fraction of a smile. “Everyone I trust is in this building,” he said.
“But not everyone in this building has your trust.”
“No.”
“Where do I stand?” I asked.
“Where do I?”
Before I could answer, he patted me on the arm.
“Get cleaned up and we’ll talk more at the conference.”
Church turned and walked away.