Chapter 58
SCOTT brODIE SAT IN THE sand and breathed the night air as he watched the waves break along the beach. He looked out to the horizon, but it was almost impossible to detect where the starless and polluted sky met the black ocean.
He wasn’t sure why Caroline Dixon wanted to meet here, except that it was near the airport. And the chances of being recognized by anyone were about as close to zero as you could get in a big city.
The debrief at Fort Irwin a week ago had been as frustrating as he’d expected.
The brass insisted on separate debriefs for him and Taylor, and the guy conducting them, an amiable colonel in his early fifties, had listened with rapt attention to everything they said.
The guy had the clearance to already have a general idea of what was going on at the secretive camp to Fort Irwin’s east, but the details nonetheless shocked him.
He’d promised to take it “up the chain,” to which Brodie responded it would just come back down the chain along with a message for everyone to shut their mouths.
The colonel didn’t dispute that. In fact, be barely commented on it.
The system was the system, as sure as the sunrise, and only lunatics and fools would waste their energy arguing with it.
Scott Brodie was neither a lunatic nor a fool, but he was fed up.
He also couldn’t get a clear answer from anyone about where Captain Ed Spencer was being detained.
This was, in fact, the first time in Scott Brodie’s career that he’d lost his perp.
Well, maybe Spencer wasn’t his perp anymore.
Maybe the case wasn’t either. They were rolling things up, funneling the crimes at Camp Hayden, along with any culpability on the part of senior-ranking brass or corporate honchos at Synotec, into some dark recess of the national security state, where it would sort itself out away from the reach of the military justice system.
And there was something else. Something deeper. It was that dusty road at Camp Hayden strewn with the bodies of the Rangers. It could have been Fallujah. It was Fallujah. And seeing that again, and this time without having jihadi psychos to blame, had changed something in him.
He barely heard Dixon approach over the roar of another jet. She sat next to him in the sand. She was still wearing a cast, now covered in signatures from the Rangers of Camp Hayden, along with a tank top, shorts, and sandals.
He said, “You look like a beach bum.”
She looked him over. He was wearing jeans and leather shoes, plus a button-down shirt. “You look like you don’t get out much.”
“Thank you.” He gestured to the cast. “When do you get that off?”
“Few weeks. And maybe a little longer before they can remove the pins. I might not get full mobility back.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I paid a small price compared to others.” She asked, “Where’s Maggie?”
“Quantico. I told her to keep her flight, that I needed time here alone.”
“Did she buy that?”
Brodie looked at her. “Why wouldn’t she?”
Dixon shrugged.
Brodie, because he was a bit annoyed, asked, “How’s Colonel Howe?”
If Dixon was bothered by the question, she didn’t show it. “Haven’t spoken since Fort Irwin. I doubt we will again. She travels a lot. Plus, I don’t think she liked…” She trailed off. “Well, there’s no reason to get this personal with you.”
“Being in a life-and-death situation with someone is already pretty personal, Caroline. Go for it.”
“Right. Well, let’s just say I play for both teams, and she doesn’t, and I think there’s some judgment there.”
Brodie nodded. “I agree with the colonel. Why the hell would you bother with men if you don’t have to?”
Dixon smiled. “I know you were wondering.”
“Don’t flatter yourself.”
“I know you were wondering because Taylor told me you were.”
Why the hell would Taylor tell her that?
Well, regardless of her motive, maybe this night was about to get more interesting than he’d planned.
But then he thought about why he was there, and why she was there, and that killed the mood inside him.
They sat in silence as another plane roared over the beach, and the drunk kids by the fire started taking their clothes off to skinny-dip.
After a while, he asked, “Do you have an address for me?”
Dixon pulled a slip of paper from the back pocket of her shorts and handed it to him. He put it in his pocket without looking. He asked, “How did you get this?”
“Is there anything gained by you knowing the answer to that?”
“No. So here’s another question: Why are you doing this?”
Dixon looked at the dark ocean as the kids threw their naked bodies into the cold waves and screamed.
She said, “The person I’d sent the Praetorian code to was an old friend of mine named Greg Meeks.
Brilliant man who used to work for DARPA.
” She looked at Brodie. “Four days ago, armed men broke into his house in Arlington and shot him in his bed. They stole his computer and hard drives, left everything else of value. Not even subtle.”
“Jesus. I’m sorry, Caroline.”
She shook her head. “This is big, Scott. Maybe so big we’ll never see it all, and it will consume us too. But you know what? You’ve got to get your punches in when you can, and where you can. Let the bastards feel it. Let them know you were there.”
Brodie looked at her and nodded. “Thank you.”
Dixon leaned over, gripped his hair, and kissed him on the lips. It was brief, but intense. Then she pulled away and said, “It was good knowing you and fighting alongside you, Scott Brodie. Godspeed.” Then she got up and walked down the dark beach toward the parking lot.
He sat there, a little dazed, a little confused, but more resolved than ever to go through with this.
The mother of the Hispanic family was now yelling at the naked kids, while her own teenage daughter was burying her face in her hands in embarrassment.
One of the boys tried to apologize to her in Spanish and she told him in English that his Spanish sucked, and then no one could hear each other over the roar of the airplanes, and Brodie laughed to himself about what a beautiful mess this world was.
And then he saw the Rangers’ bodies in the road, and his smile faded. He’d hold on to that one forever. More ghosts to bring along for the ride. It was the least he could do for them.
No, actually, it wasn’t. He took the slip of paper from his pocket and opened it: 17 Aurora Drive, Las Vegas, Nevada. That was where he’d go. That was where he’d get his punches in.