Black Dragon, page 33
“Yes?” said the major.
“I bet you’re from the government. I hope you’ve got a pretty big checkbook to pay for all this mess.”
Hours later, after being questioned by the police and agents from Homeland Security, Mitchell and his people were allowed to go on their way, knowing that it wasn’t over by a long shot. They all knew that they would be interviewed for days when they got back home. After helping ferry Sheriff “Red” Thomas and the wounded police to the nearest hospital, Yuri, seeing that he was no longer needed, faded out of sight and then disappeared completely. Mitchell told Cardinal and Sam to take a couple of days off before reporting in at work. Mitchell then asked Red for a lift to the airport.
Accompanied by Jackson, Mitchell sat in the passenger seat of the police cruiser, quietly lost in thought. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say. He decided to leave out her decision to stay and die with Cypher. Mitchell prepared himself to pass on the awful news.
At the airport, Taro Satomi took the news of Atsuko’s death with considerable poise. With a granite-like expression on his face, his only question was how she died. Mitchell looked into his sad eyes and told him that she died saving the lives of thousands of innocent people. Satisfied with the answer, Taro Satomi simply bowed his head slightly, thanked Mitchell, turned about, and then boarded his airplane for the long, sad flight home without his only child.
Mitchell walked outside of the hangar and took a deep breath of cool night air. He closed his eyes for a moment and thought back over the events of the past couple of weeks, wondering why so many people had to die, and for what. Nothing had been gained. Lives had been shattered, and the world would never know the truth of what had happened. He felt tired and old.
With a pat on Mitchell’s back, Jackson said, “Don’t beat yourself up. Miss Satomi was as guilty as Cypher. If she had survived, she probably would have spent the rest of her life in jail. She knew what she was doing when she chose to stay with Cypher.”
“I know,” replied Mitchell wearily. “It just seems so pointless.”
“You can’t save everyone.”
Mitchell nodded; Jackson was right.
With a loud gurgle from his stomach, Jackson grinned. “Still want that steak?”
“I sure do. You buying?”
“Hell, no,” said Jackson, producing a gold-colored credit card. “Tonight’s on the general.”
“Well, if he’s buying, I believe more than one beer is in order.”
Jackson asked Red where the best steakhouse was in town. As they pulled away from the airport, neither man saw Taro Satomi’s plane take off into the night sky.
51
Polaris Operations Complex
Albany, New York
Jen leaned over and gave Mitchell a quick kiss on the lips. Lingering for a moment, Jen slowly pulled back and smiled “I’ll be to be back in a couple of hours to pick you up. Don’t go volunteering for anything new without my permission. Got it?”
Mitchell nodded and reluctantly climbed out of the jeep and made his way inside. Jen waited until she couldn’t see Mitchell anymore before driving away.
After clearing security, Mitchell headed straight for the conference room. When he arrived, he found Jackson, Cardinal, and Sam already seated around the table. With a wink, Jackson handed Mitchell a cup of coffee from the cafeteria.
Thanking Jackson, he took his seat. A few seconds later, Mike Donaldson and Fahimah walked into the room. With a wide smile upon his face, Mitchell stood up and shook Fahimah’s hand. “How are you doing?”
“Fine, as long as I don’t overdo it,” replied Fahimah as she took a chair near the front of the room.
“Well, it’s sure good to see you up on your feet,” added Jackson.
“It’s good to be back at work. My parents were driving me crazy.”
“At least someone knows when to turn up to work,” said O’Reilly as he walked into the room, his gaze fixed on Mitchell.
Raising his hands in mock surrender, Mitchell said, “Don’t blame me. Jen drives the speed limit. We’d have been here a lot sooner if I had driven.”
“I’ll tell Jen you think she’s a poor driver the next time I see her,” said O’Reilly.
“Don’t you dare, sir. I’m already in the doghouse for not calling enough during the last assignment.”
At the far end of the room, a picture of General Pak waving to a crowd of adoring schoolchildren filled the screen.
“Behold the new great leader of North Korea,” said Donaldson. “This is his first official photograph, taken during a visit to a school in Pyongyang.”
“The king is dead, long live the king,” said Mitchell sarcastically.
“Aside from the president, a small number of people in the State Department, and of course all of the people in this room, absolutely no one in the world is aware that Pak was the man behind the recent spate of events,” explained O’Reilly.
“What about Colonel Hwan and his men and the other bombs?” asked Jackson.
“Hwan and his men were given the option of returning to North Korea knowing they had failed miserably, or remaining here in the United States,” explained Donaldson. “To a man, all of the North Korean agents chose to stay. The State Department then quietly circulated a rumor that a number of North Koreans were killed during a failed attempt to cross the border. Their bodies were burnt beyond recognition when the truck they were being smuggled in rolled over and caught fire, thereby saving their families from retribution.”
“Clever,” observed Mitchell.
“My sources tell me that Colonel Hwan is a gold mine of information and is singing like a canary.”
O’Reilly chuckled. “A new identity and a couple of million dollars is a great incentive to cooperate.”
“I’ll take some of that,” said Cardinal, earning him a punch on the arm from Sam.
“What about the incident at the farm? Surely they can’t gloss over that?” said Mitchell.
“You underestimate the creativity of the current administration,” said O’Reilly. “The attack on the police was retribution for the recent arrest of a Mexican drug lord on our side of the border.”
“The earthquake?” said Jackson.
“Precisely—it was a minor tremor that destroyed the farm and flooded the cavern.”
“Mister Farragut, what about him?” Sam asked.
“Two days ago Taro Satomi purchased the land from Farragut and moved him into a trailer park,” said Fahimah. “From what I have been able to discern, for now, Mister Satomi intends to do nothing with the land. I suspect that when things quiet down, he will build a garden there.”
“Surely that old coot won’t be able to keep his mouth shut,” said Sam.
“He’s an alcoholic with a flair for embellishing stories. No one is going to believe him if he starts talking about what really happened,” said Donaldson.
“How is Cypher’s death being portrayed in the media?” asked Mitchell.
An obituary flashed up on the screen. Quickly reading it, Mitchell shook his head. “Are they serious?”
“Yes, they are,” said Donaldson. “Gabriel Cypher and Atsuko Satomi are presumed lost at sea when the yacht they were travelling in failed to arrive in Sydney, Australia. A massive air-and-sea rescue operation turned up nothing other than a couple of life jackets and some debris from the ship. Both families have asked for some privacy during this trying time.”
“Good lord, they’ve thought of everything except for us. What is to stop us from speaking to the press?”
“Let’s see, now: your contracts with me and the fact that the State Department promised to send us some work next year worth several million dollars,” said O’Reilly bluntly.
“Well, that’s good enough for me,” said Jackson. “I like getting a steady paycheck.”
“You haven’t said if they found the three other devices,” said Mitchell.
“Within hours, they found them all. Most were still sitting in the back of the trucks used to transport them,” said O’Reilly.
“So this is over,” said Mitchell.
O’Reilly nodded. “Taro Satomi closed his account with us yesterday. You will all be receiving a small bonus with your end-month pay.”
“I like the sound of that,” said Jackson. “I think it’s time my family and I took a trip to Disneyland.”
“Does anyone have any further questions?” asked O’Reilly, looking into the eyes of Mitchell’s team. When no one said a word, he stood up and said the meeting was adjourned. With that, O’Reilly, Donaldson, and Fahimah left.
Chatting loudly, Sam and Cardinal left the room, trying to decide how to spend their bonus, while Jackson and Mitchell quietly sat at the table.
“Why is it that after these post-mission debriefs I always feel like I need a shower?” mused Mitchell.
“Because you let it get to you. That’s why,” said Jackson. “I warned you years ago about having a conscience.”
“After so many deaths, no one is being held accountable. It just doesn’t seem right.”
Jackson stood and placed his hand on his friend's shoulder. “Ryan, you’re alive. Your teammates are all alive. That’s all that matters at the end of the day. We’re family. We have to look after one another. You sure as hell know no one else is going to. You have a job to do, and you do it well. Don’t let the world get to you. It’ll eat you alive if you let it.”
Mitchell took in a deep breath and then wearily nodded.
“Come on, it’s still early. Let’s head up to the cafeteria and get us a couple sticky buns each before heading to the gym for a couple of hours to blow off some steam before our ladies return to pick us up.”
“You buying?”
“Sure. Why not? You can pick up the tab for supper tonight.”
“How about we play for it?”
“First one to twenty-one wins?”
“You’re on. I hope you have a fat wallet,” joked Mitchell, knowing that before the game was finished, the gym floor was going to be covered in sweat and blood. Neither man was particularly gifted on the basketball court, but that never stopped them from playing like a pair of eighteen-year-olds.
Walking away from the table, Mitchell felt his spirits rise. Perhaps he couldn’t change the world, but with friends like Jackson at his side, he knew that he could always take it on and win.
###
Richard Turner, Black Dragon
