Primary Target. Джек Марс

awkward,” she said.

      “It’s old news,” Don said. “You either climb back on the horse, or you don’t.”

      Luke nodded. He raised his hands. “I know. I’m sorry. I know that. Okay? So let’s say I go in. What if Parr doesn’t want to come quietly? What if spending the rest of his life in prison doesn’t exactly appeal to him?”

      Don shrugged. “If he resists arrest, then you terminate his command, and terminate his group’s ability to operate, by whatever means available to you at that time.”

      “You realize we’re talking about Americans?” Luke said.

      They both just looked at him. Neither one answered. A long moment passed. It was a silly question. Of course they realized.

      “Do you want it?” Don said.

      It took a minute before Luke spoke. Did he want it? Of course he wanted it. What choice did he have? What else was he going to do? Sit in this office building and go crazy? Sit here and turn down missions until Don finally got the message and let him go? This was what he had been hired for. Compared to the things he had done previously, it wasn’t even much of a mission. It was practically a weekend getaway.

      An image of Rebecca, very pregnant now, out at her family’s cabin, flashed across the screen in his mind. His son was growing inside her. He would be here soon. Despite this desk job, despite the long commute, despite the fact that he was gone all day five days a week, the past month was about the happiest they had ever been together.

      What was Becca going to think about this?

      “Luke?” Don said.

      Luke nodded. “Yeah. I want it.”

      CHAPTER SEVEN

      6:15 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time

      Queen Anne’s County, Maryland—Eastern Shore of Chesapeake Bay

      “You look beautiful,” Luke said.

      He had just arrived. He had ripped off his shirt and tie and changed into jeans and a T-shirt as soon as he walked in the door. Now he had a can of beer in his hand. The beer was ice cold and delicious.

      The traffic was insane. It was a ninety-minute drive from DC, through Annapolis, across the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, and on to the Eastern Shore. But none of that mattered because he was home now.

      He and Becca were staying at her family’s cabin in Queen Anne’s County. The cabin was an ancient, rustic place sitting on a small bluff right above the bay. It was two floors, wooden everything, with creaks and squeaks everywhere you stepped. There was a screened-in porch facing the water and a kitchen door that slammed shut with enthusiasm.

      The living room furniture was generations old. The beds were old metal skeletons on springs; the bed in the master bedroom was almost long enough, but not quite, for Luke to sleep comfortably on it. By far the sturdiest thing in the house was the stone fireplace in the living room. It was almost as if the grand old fireplace had been there already, and someone with a sense of humor had built a clapboard shack all around it.

      To hear tell of it, the house had been in the family for a hundred years. Some of Becca’s earliest memories happened in that house.

      It really was a beautiful place. Luke loved it there.

      They were sitting on the back patio, enjoying the late afternoon as the sun slowly went west over the vast sweep of water. It was a breezy day, and white sails were everywhere out there. Luke almost wished that time would stop and he could just sit right in this spot forever. The setting was amazing, and Becca did look beautiful. Luke wasn’t lying about that.

      She was pretty as ever, and almost as petite. Their son was a basketball she was smuggling under her shirt. She had spent part of the afternoon digging a bit in her garden, and she was a little bit sweaty and flushed. She wore a big floppy sun hat and was drinking a big glass of ice water.

      She smiled. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

      A long pause drew out between them.

      “How did your day go?” she said.

      Luke took another sip of his beer. He believed that when trouble was brewing, the thing to do was to get right to it. Beating around the bush was not normally his style. And Becca deserved to hear it right away.

      “Well, it was different. Don is staffing the place up. And he dropped a project in my lap today.”

      “Well, that’s good,” Becca said. “It’s good news, right? Something to sink your teeth into? I know you’ve been feeling a little bored by the job, and frustrated by the commute.”

      Luke nodded. “Sure, it’s good. It could be. It’s police work, I guess you’d say. We’re the FBI, right? That’s what we do. The downside is, if I’m going to take the assignment—and really, I don’t have a lot of choice since it is my job—then I need to go out of town for a few days.”

      Luke could hear himself hemming and hawing. He didn’t like the sound of it. Go out of town? Was it a joke? Don wasn’t sending him to Pittsburgh.

      Now Becca sipped her water. Her eyes watched him over the top of the glass. They were wary eyes. “Where do you have to go?”

      Here it came. Might as well put it out there.

      “Iraq.”

      Her shoulders slumped. “Oh, Luke. Come on.” She sighed heavily. “He wants you to go to Iraq? You just came from Afghanistan, and you nearly got killed. Doesn’t he realize we’re about to have a baby? I mean, he knows this, right?”

      Luke nodded. “He saw you, babe. Remember? He brought you down to see me.”

      “Then how can he even think of this? I hope you told him no.”

      Luke took another sip of his beer. It was a touch warmer now. Not quite as delicious as a moment ago.

      “Luke? You told him no, right?”

      “Sweetheart, it’s my job. There aren’t a lot of jobs like this available to me. Don threw me a rope and saved my neck. The Army was going to say I had PTSD and put me out on my butt. That didn’t happen because of Don. I don’t have a lot of room to tell him no right now. And as things go, this is a pretty easy assignment.”

      “An easy assignment in a war zone,” Becca said. “What’s the job? Assassinate Osama bin Laden?”

      Luke shook his head. “No.”

      “What is it then?”

      “There’s an American military contractor over there that’s out of control. He’s looting old Saddam Hussein hideouts and stealing cash, artwork, gold, diamonds… They want me and a partner to arrest him. It’s not a military operation at all. It’s a police job.”

      “Who’s the partner?” she said. He could see in her eyes she was thinking about what happened to his last partner.

      “I haven’t met him yet.”

      “Why don’t they just have the military police do this?”

      Luke shook his head. “It’s not an issue for the military. Like I said, it’s a police matter. The contractor is technically a civilian. They want to make the difference clear.”

      Luke thought of all the things he was leaving out. The restive nature of the region, and the fierce fighting going on there. The atrocities Parr had committed. The team of badass operators and remorseless killers he had accumulated around himself. The desperation they must feel right now to get out alive, unscathed, with all their loot, and without being captured by the law. The dead men, decapitated and burned, and hanging from a bridge.

      Abruptly, Becca started crying. Luke put the beer down and went to her. He kneeled by her chair and hugged her.

      “Oh God, Luke. Tell me this isn’t going to start up again. I don’t think I can bear it. Our son is coming.”

      “I know,” he said.