Drone

“Bullshit. You walked away. I can’t make politicians or bureaucrats or the ring knockers do the right thing, but I sure as hell can stand up like a man and do my job. Myers is right. The nation is under assault. You want to keep us out of a shooting war? So does she. The only difference is, you’re the only one who can prevent one by doing what you do best. Now. Before it’s too late.”

“It’s not that simple,” Pearce said.

“Sure it is. You’re hiding behind a bad memory. You loved her. She died. I get it. But ask yourself this. What would Annie do if she were you?”

Early tossed the ax aside, grabbed up his shirt, and yanked it on.

“Where are you going, muffin top?” Pearce asked.

“Plane to catch.” Early stormed toward his government car.

“Hold on,” Pearce called out.

Early whipped around. “What?”

Pearce opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He still had Annie’s voice in his head. Knew exactly what she’d say to him.

Still had her ring, too.

“Say again?” Early asked.

Pearce snapped out of his fog.

“Wait up. I’ll grab my stuff.”

21

CIA Headquarters, Langley, Virginia

November 28, 2005

Pearce stood as cold and lifeless as the Vermont marble wall in the lobby. The ceremony was over. Everyone else had left. Even Early. The newest star had been carved into the Memorial Wall.

Annie’s.

No name, of course. None of them had names. But even in the black leather book sealed under glass attached to the wall there was only a gold star by her number. Her name would be kept secret forever. Killed on a mission she shouldn’t have been on. Killed in a country she wasn’t supposed to be in. Killed because some political fucks were playing their political fuck games instead of fighting the real goddamn war.

So Annie stepped up. Hell, they all did. But Annie was the one who laid it all down. Now she was a nameless star. One among many. There’d be more.

Pearce’s vacant eyes scanned the inscription in gold block letters again.

IN HONOR OF THOSE MEMBERS OF THE CENTRAL INTELLIGENCE AGENCY WHO GAVE THEIR LIVES IN THE SERVICE OF THEIR COUNTRY.

That was Annie all right.

Pearce had resigned a month ago. The deputy DCI had personally asked him to take a sabbatical, think it over. He was too important to the war effort to quit. Needed him to lead a team into Syria right away. The best we have.

The country needs you.

Pearce turned him down. Mumbled something about how he loved his country, hated politics. Should’ve said “politicians,” too. Maybe he did.

The deputy said he understood. Had the decency to include Pearce in Annie’s memorial. Early was there. So were her parents.

Annie was a spook to the end. Kept her secrets. Hadn’t told her folks about Pearce so he hadn’t been invited to her funeral. It was just as well. He’d stood beside too many graves already.

Pearce left. Stepped out into the cold Virginia sunshine and didn’t look back.

Coronado, California

Pearce lived in a high-rise condo on the beach, not a hand grenade’s throw from the famed Naval Amphibious Base, home to the West Coast Navy SEALs, among other commands. There was nothing like watching a Pacific sunset from his penthouse balcony, but he also enjoyed rooting for the soaking wet BUD/S trainees pounding the sand in front of his building, hauling a three-hundred-pound Zodiac over their shaved heads into the freezing surf.

The CIA’s Secret Activities Division (SAD) recruited heavily from among the SEAL teams for its paramilitary Special Operations Group (SOG), to which Pearce had belonged. And not the other way around, he’d remind his squid friends with a nudge. In the special forces community, SOG was considered the elite of the elite. Pearce had been one of the few SOG members recruited directly from civilian life straight out of grad school. Still, some of his best friends from his SOG days had been former frogmen and he felt a deep kinship with anybody wearing the fearsome SEAL trident.

Pearce wasn’t on his balcony tonight. Instead, he was in his media room on a video conference call with his team. Early was still in Washington with Jackson, while the rest of Pearce’s team was already in position around their various targets in Mexico.

Early had developed the target list with Jackson’s help. The DEA had kept close tabs on the Castillo organization’s leadership for years.

“When you said decapitation, you weren’t fooling around. This is almost genetic cleansing,” Early told Jackson as he reviewed the list. Nearly every name on the list was related to César Castillo.

“Castillo’s a bad seed. We’re just weeding out the garden,” Jackson said. “Castillo puts a lot of faith in blood relations. He doesn’t trust outsiders much. He’s the one who’s condemned his family to be blotted out, not us.”