National Burden (29 page)

“So you got in bed with Geoffrey Dryburgh and concocted this scheme with the Russians.”

“It never would have happened if the old president hadn’t left office. With Zimmer we had a real chance. Sure, he’d be the scapegoat, but that was the price we were willing to pay.”

“It wasn’t just him, Leo. There were a lot of others who were hurt, who were going to lose it all.”

“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t care? Well I fucking do, goddammit. I care so much that I’m willing to risk everything I have to see that my country doesn’t fall into the hands of the Russians and the Chinese.”

“What about the money you were set to make? You mean to tell me that wasn’t part of it?”

That question rocked Leo back on his heels. “What…what money?”

“Your old security chief left some files in a safety deposit box. He was tracking you for almost a year. He had everything, the names of the companies you and Dryburgh manipulated, the politicians you coerced or paid off and the exact plan you were already in the process of implementing to short sell millions of seemingly random stocks and then buy up as many treasury bills as you could once the President’s new plan was implemented. He even had a taped conversation of you and Dryburgh talking about how he would help you once he took over the presidency. Oh, and that doesn’t even include the people you either had killed or were going to kill just to get your way. Are you saying that wasn’t true?”

Leo smiled, the facade gone. “Okay. You got me. What do you want me to say? That I did it all for my country? That I didn’t want to make a dime? I’m human, okay?”

“And what about the employee that you killed, your own head of security? How did you do it, Leo? Let me guess, you lured him to your place and--”

“He deserved what he got! I warned him not to go snooping, but he didn’t listen.”

“So you killed him.”

“I could tell that he was getting antsy. He was going to tell someone,” said Leo, his eyes still cold.

“So why did you call us? Did you even know my father?”

“I knew who he was. And it wasn’t even my idea to call you, it was Dryburgh’s. He said you were somehow tied to the president and that if--”

“You took an oath, to defend our country against all enemies, foreign and domestic.”

“If you still believe that word-for-word, you’re more naive than you look, Cal. Arrest me if you want, but you know the friends I keep. I’ll be out before you can say Smedley Butler.”

Leo laughed and turned to walk back to his house. A stupid thing to do. He didn’t get three steps. Zimmer had told Cal on his way to Southampton to assess the situation and deal with it as he saw fit. See what Martindale had to say and either bring him in or seek an alternative.

No hesitation. Cal’s arm was around Martindale’s neck and pulling him toward the roiling surf. Struggling to free himself, Leo first pulled with his hands and then threw elbows back into Cal. It didn’t slow the Marine, who took the ineffectual blows as his shoes entered the water, then his ankles, a wave finally crashing over and soaking them both. In the lull between two waves Cal made his move, letting go of his chokehold and whipping Leo around to face him, Cal’s hands now gripping the man’s neck, thumbs inserted on either side of Leo’s Adam’s apple. The two Marines stared at each other, one in fear, the other with unwavering determination.

“You should know this part, Leo. One of the first lessons you learn in boot camp. There’s only one thing you can do with a traitor.”

Leo’s eyes bulged as Cal dove forward, plunging the billionaire under the waves, blasting the last shred of breath out of his lungs with the freezing salt water and Cal’s two knees driving into Leo’s chest. The struggle lasted less than a minute, but still Cal held, taking the pounding of the relentless waves as they crashed in one after another. Finally, when he was certain Leo couldn’t possibly be alive, Cal dragged the body deeper into the ocean, looking for the current he knew to be there. And then he found it, the undertow so strong that it almost swept him with it. Cal released the body and felt the tide take hold without prompting.

He turned back toward the house and moved to join Daniel who stood waiting with a towel on the beach. They had a plane to catch.

The fog rolled over the rises and into the valleys without a sound, like a white carpet being put into place by an unseen hand. There wasn’t a sound except for the drip of still-melting snow falling from the end of the roof and into a small puddle. Geoffrey Dryburgh loved those mornings, fresh cool air, the same his ancestors had probably felt years ago in the hills of the old country. Men and women carving out simple lives, oppressed by the Lords of Britain, struggling just to stay alive. He had more than they ever had, won by hard work and perseverance.

His thoughts were interrupted by thumping steps on the old wood floors, originally installed in the late 1800s. The front door squeaked open and Igor Bukov stepped out holding two steaming cups of coffee, their aroma quickly making their way to Dryburgh’s senses. Dark roast, black as night.

“Here you are, Geoffrey.” Bukov handed the first mug to his friend, who took it gratefully, inhaling deeply over the offering. He’d invited Dryburgh up for the day, no security. It had seemed like a strange request, but Dryburgh understood his friend’s current predicament. The Russian President was not happy with his ambassador. Bukov had called in the middle of the night and asked for his help in containing the situation, and possibly helping him hide if needed. It wasn’t the first time they’d met outside official channels.

“Nothing beats a cup of coffee on a morning like this.”

Bukov chuckled. “While that may be true in America, in my country we tend to start cold days with a mug of vodka.”

Dryburgh smiled, having spent more than a few of those early wake ups with his friend in some God-forsaken land, miles away from civilization.

“I like your place,” said Dryburgh, sipping his coffee and enjoying the welcome warmth flowing through his body.

“It reminded me of one of my family estates in Russia. I bought it from an old farmer who could no longer maintain the land.”

“Would you ever sell it?” Dryburgh was always on the lookout for good property. Land meant more to immigrants than the gold it was bought with, a lesson his father taught a young Geoffrey almost daily.

“If I was offered the right price…possibly.”

Dryburgh returned his gaze to the pastures as Bukov took a seat in the Adirondack chair next to him. “So, what was so important that I had to drive all the way to Manassas?”

Bukov sighed. “This business with your president, it has my government very worried.”

“As well they should be! Old Zimmer really called your bluff!”

“Geoffrey, it was you who told me that the President would have a very different reaction. Now I am the one being blamed for this mistake as the entire world comes down on my people.”

It was true. The last two days had not been good for the Russians. Banks from Japan to Switzerland were threatening to freeze all Russian assets until the debacle was concluded. Every ally the Russians made in their planning went back on their word, their leaders personally calling the American president to apologize and seek to form bonds more solid than before. As far as the world was concerned, Russia was the leper no one wanted to touch. Even everyday Russians were clamoring for their once popular president to pull back and rescind the threat.

“I’m sorry it happened that way, but this isn’t over yet. I still have a couple things up my sleeve. Trust me, by the end of the month, Zimmer and Southgate will be out, and I’ll be in.”

“Tell me what you plan to do.”

Dryburgh told him.

Bukov nodded. “It sounds like you have things under control.”

“You’re goddamn right I do.”

Bukov stood and looked out over his fields. “I think I may take a walk to think about what you’ve said. Do you have time to come?”

Dryburgh looked up at his friend and shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

As he rose to join Bukov, he went to sit his coffee on the arm of the white chair. Just as the mug touched wood, his hand disappeared, followed by the most blinding pain Dryburgh had ever felt. He held the stump as it gushed blood, geyser-like. Pitifully, he looked to his Russian friend, who was by now down the four steps standing on the brick path leading to the fence.

“I’m sorry, my friend,” said Bukov. He turned and continued on his way, leaving Dryburgh on the porch, his lifeblood splattering onto the creaking wood slats.

The last thing Dryburgh would know was looking out to the foggy fields. The next second his head exploded like a watermelon from the supersonic .50 caliber round screaming for his life.

Bukov kept walking, breathing in the cool moist air, not an ounce of remorse on his conscience. He would be granted asylum in exchange for telling the Americans everything he could about Russia. It could take years. Meanwhile, he would live a very comfortable life in the United States.

Two figures emerged from the hillside, as if coalescing out of the mist. Ghosts. They took their time as they made their way down to Bukov.

Cal and Daniel met him by the old watershed, bricks crumbling from neglect, icicles still clinging to its edges like sad daggers used for the last time.

Daniel was carrying his Barrett sniper rifle and Cal had the weapon’s accessory bag slung over his shoulder. Both Marines were wearing jeans and black t-shirts. There hadn’t been much need for camouflage.

“You okay?” asked Cal.

“I’m fine, thank you,” answered Bukov.

“Good. Daniel, you take care of the house and I’ll get the ambassador to the car. The debriefing team is waiting.”

Less than ten minutes later, the three men drove down the worn dirt path, the rising flames of centuries old wood filling their rearview mirror.

The smell of paperwork made Cal want to take a flame thrower to his entire desk. No matter how much he did, there always seemed to be more. His once tidy office was covered in mounds of files and reports. It wasn’t even noon and Cal already had four paper coffee cups stacked in his trashcan.

It had only been a week since they’d wrapped up things with the President, but to Cal and his endless supply of admin work, it felt like a lifetime. Unfortunately, with the world back on the mend, he didn’t have an excuse to avoid his office.

The Russians had finally caved and the President’s bold initiative was scrapped. In exchange, the Russians and their cohorts had agreed to severe penalties, each assenting to give the United States five years without having to pay a penny of interest on their debt. Further, the guilty countries would have to pay an extra tax on top of any future investments they made with the U.S. It was a hefty price to pay, but much better than the alternative of having the world’s financial markets go into a free fall.

With Travis now permanently in Washington, and Zimmer and Southgate on the same page, there wasn’t much Cal could do except return to the task of helping SSI’s new CEO, Marge Haines, get the company more business. He’d offered to be part of the team to debrief Igor Bukov, but the CIA had whisked the man away as soon as Cal and Daniel had dropped the former ambassador at the CIA safe house in Manassas.

Cal huffed for the umpteenth time that day, wishing he could delegate the mundane tasks of his position to someone else. Just as he reached for another inch-thick file, Marge Haines stepped into his office.

“And to what do I owe the pleasure of your presence, milady?” asked Cal, happy for the distraction.

“We need to talk.”

Cal searched Marge’s face, trying to read her expression. Nothing.

“Okay. What’s up?”

“Not here. Let’s go to my office.”

“Hold on. If I’m about to get a scolding, I’d rather do it in here.”

Marge stared at him with those lawyer eyes, accustomed to breaking lesser men. “Fine. If that’s what you want.”

“It is. Now, by the way you stormed in here I’m assuming it’s something I did, although I can’t imagine what that could be.”

“I’ve been analyzing how SSI is doing business, and I think we need to make a few changes.”

Cal flew out of his chair. “And what the hell is that supposed to mean? This is
my
company remember?”

Marge’s face softened. “Look, I’m just doing what should’ve been done a long time ago.”

“And what would that be?” Cal couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He thought Marge was a friend, someone who believed in the company his father had started, that his cousin had grown, that the hard working employees called home. Now she was looking to take apart the well-oiled machine? It was total bullshit!

“Cal, I agree with everything you’ve done over the last couple years, but it’s getting to the point where we can’t hide it anymore. We’re getting too big. Something will leak out eventually. It almost has before. We need to make a change.”