Chapter 2: Chapter 2
Yeah, I liked to screw guys. Sue me.
I stared out the windshield. Visibility was pretty much zero. "Sir, I've got a problem here. Have you watched the Weather Channel this afternoon?"
"Just a second." I could hear him get up and turn on the small television he kept in a corner of his office. He was silent for a minute, then returned to his desk and said, "Please tell me you're not in New York."
"I'm sorry, sir. I flew in for the weekend." Bert didn't have much longer, a few weeks at most.
"It looks like all the metropolitan airports are shutting down, if they haven't shut down already."
I was afraid of that. "I've got a rental. I can drive to Philly or Baltimore...."
"No, the roads are just as bad. They're saying the highway rest stops are filling up with stranded travelers."
Shit. "I'm sorry, sir. What did you want me to do?"
"I'll send Director Sperling to get a handle on the situation."
"Uh...." Sperling was one of those directors who'd never worked away from headquarters. "Will he be able to deal with someone of the Archbishop's caliber?"
The Archbishop was dangerous in the way a rabid dog was dangerous, and unpredictable in pretty much the same way. Sperling didn't have the experience necessary to get the job done.
"I'll worry about that, Vincent," The Boss said in his ice-cold voice. "You fly out as soon as you can."
"Yes, sir."
* * * *
I spent the next couple of days at Bert's bedside, and while he dozed fitfully, I put together the operation--Sperling could play head honcho all he wanted, but this was my op--and hounded UB's doctors to make sure he wasn't in pain. As soon as the airports opened, I told him I had to leave.
"Mark." His grip was feather-light. "Thank you for everything you've done for me."
"Bread on the water, UB." I couldn't tell him not to talk as if this was the last time he'd see me. He was dying. I covered his hand with mine and cleared my throat. "You're welcome. I'll see you as soon as I get back."
"Sure, son."
I leaned down and kissed his forehead, then walked out.
It would take me about forty-five minutes to drive to JFK if road conditions and traffic on the Southern State weren't bad.
The drive sucked.
* * * *
My flight took off shortly before a second blizzard hit the area, but that didn't matter. My attention was focused east, toward Europe and the job.
* * * *
The job--that was a fucking laugh.
It was supposed to be a simple mission--well, simple for me: fly to Berlin, get to Prague from there, and cancel the man known throughout the intelligence community as the Archbishop.
Only before I arrived on the scene, everything went south. The Archbishop got away, and the WBIS lost two men. According to Stanley, Seaver and Turner had been shot to ribbons attempting to rescue Bennett, who'd been sent by Sperling into an ambush and was snatched by the Archbishop's people.
Bennett had been with them in this building for three days, and I didn't think he'd be much use to us anymore. Just now, he was curled in a fetal position, a thin line of drool darkening his collar. If he ever recovered from the physical torture--he'd lost an eye, a nipple, four fingers of his left hand, a chunk of his ear, and the skin over his right rib cage--he'd wind up in a mental facility funded by the WBIS.
As for Stanley, he had gotten into a skirmish with the Archbishop's men--I could see the bloodstains where their bodies had been dragged away--and wound up with a through and through gunshot wound to his thigh. He was pale and sweating, and from the way the blood was pooling on the floor beneath him, I had a hunch it might have nicked the femoral artery.
I crouched beside him and worked my belt free; I'd have to use it as a tourniquet. Stanley grabbed my tie and tugged me close. "He led us into it. I tried to tell him it was a trap, but he wouldn't listen."
"Sperling?"
"Yeah."
"Don't speak about me as if I'm not here!" Sperling ordered shrilly.
"Shit." I ignored him. "What about Claude?" I fastened my belt around Stanley's thigh and tightened it.
"No...no clue."
"Where's Pluie?" I asked Sperling.
"Who?" He looked green, and I wondered if he was about to toss his cookies.
"The DGSE agent."
"What DGSE agent?" But his gaze skittered off mine. "I don't know who you're talking about."
"Jesus, all you had to do was cancel the Archbishop and get Claude out of there. Didn't you have any kind of plan?" Did the Archbishop still have Claude? That wouldn't be good--the Archbishop's preferred method of interrogation included forms of medieval torture. If he realized Claude was working undercover, what had happened to Bennett wouldn't compare to what he'd do to the Frenchman. Rape, castration, eventually being strangled with his own intestines, as my partner had been.... I'd have to go after Claude.
"Of course I had a plan!" Sperling sputtered. "It was...it was...." He licked his lips, unable to describe whatever he'd planned to do. "It wasn't my fault things fell apart!"
This operation should have been a lead-pipe cinch. How could he have fucked it up so badly?
I shook my head, turned my attention back to Stanley. "I'll loosen this in fifteen minutes."
"Don't...don't worry about me."
"What makes you think I'm worried? You're one tough old man."
"S-smile when you call me that." He tried to laugh, and then he was unconscious.
I rose and glared at Sperling, trying to contain my fury. "Did you call the Cleaners?"
"N-no. There's no cell reception here."
"Goddammit!" I'd tell him to get the fuck back to DC, but I needed him to keep watch over Stanley and Bennett. "Okay, I'll go make the call."
"You're leaving me?" His voice got strident. "Alone?"
"No, I'm leaving you with Smith & Wesson."
Gifts
-- Gift
received Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone