Point of Contact

Rhodes felt the blood drain out of his face. “What’s the problem we’re having here, Tervel? I thought we had an understanding.”

Zvezdev raised his pistol and pointed it at Rhodes’s face. “We did, until you threatened me.”

“I just needed one big score, I told you that.”

“Sure, ‘one big score,’ and then there would be another and then another, always with the threat hanging over my head. I know how it works, Weston. I use the same technique myself.” He nodded at the corpse. “He was a problem, too. Two birds? Is that what you say? And when I tell my bosses, they will be pleased. Maybe even give me a medal.”

A man’s scream broke outside the farmhouse. Zvezdev turned toward the living room. Rhodes raised his Makarov and pulled the trigger.

Click.

Empty. Rhodes’s heart sank.

Zvezdev had switched guns on him.

Gunshots rang out as the front door crashed open. They couldn’t see what was happening.

Zvezdev pivoted toward Rhodes, his pistol held high, as more shots rang out from the living room.

Rhodes recoiled from the gunfire, slamming his back against the kitchen wall. The butt of the Bulgarian’s gun cracked into Rhodes’s head, knocking him senseless.

Zvezdev grabbed Rhodes by the collar and retreated to the back of the kitchen as the body of one of his men crashed through the blankets and spilled onto the floor, an ax buried in his spine — followed by Paul, blood-spattered and crazed, a gun in his fist.

Zvezdev lifted his pistol to shoot, but Rhodes had recovered enough to push the Bulgarian’s arm down as he fired. Paul grunted as blood erupted from his knee.

Paul grabbed at his wound with one hand as he went down, but he lifted his pistol with his other, taking aim at Zvezdev, now cowering behind Rhodes. He held a fistful of Rhodes’s hair in one hand and jammed his pistol into the back of Rhodes’s neck.

“Weston! Tell him to put the gun down!” Zvezdev shouted from behind Weston’s back. “We can work this out!”

Rhodes’s hands were up, his face a grimace of pain and fear.

“Paul! He’s right. Take it easy. We can work this out.”

Paul’s aim didn’t waver. “Let him go.”

“Drop your gun first,” Zvezdev shouted.

“Let him go,” Paul repeated.

“Okay. Okay. I’ll let him go. Don’t shoot. All friendly, yes?”

Zvezdev released his grip on Rhodes and lowered the pistol.

Paul saw Rhodes relax.

Zvezdev shoved Rhodes forward, took aim—

Paul’s weapon fired.

78

SULLY, IOWA

PRESENT DAY

The rifles fired a third time. The seven CIA Honor Guardsmen lowered their weapons and stood at ceremonial rest.

Jack Junior stood solemnly, his eyes glued to the casket as it lowered into the ground. It should’ve been him being put into the cold earth today, not Paul. He felt grateful, and ashamed.

The funeral ended. President Ryan shook hands and offered condolences to the friends and family in attendance, ignoring his chief of staff’s silent reminders. They were supposed to be wheels-up in forty-five minutes for the flight to Beijing and they were more than an hour away from the airport. Ryan shot him a look that finally drove Arnie off. First things first.

Jack Junior approached a distinguished, silver-haired gentleman chatting with John Clark. He offered his hand. “Captain Miller, good to see you again. I just wish it wasn’t under these circumstances.”

The airline pilot smiled. “I understand, on both counts.”

“How do you two know each other?” Clark asked.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Jack said.

“David and I go back a long way, don’t we?”

“When dinosaurs ruled the earth.”

The two old vets shared a chuckle, and obviously an unspoken bond.

“And you both knew Paul,” Jack said.

“All of us old-timers knew Paul Brown,” Miller said. He glanced back at the grave. “It’s a shame more people won’t.”

Jack shook Miller’s hand again. “Take care.”

“Same to you.”

Jack drifted over to the other gravestones, weathered but well maintained. A lot of Browns. Paul was laid to rest next to Carmen, but he was surrounded by five generations of family. A long history in one place. Jack felt a hand on his shoulder.

“How’s that busted wing coming along?”

Gerry’s voice was unmistakable. Jack turned around and lifted his cast. “You know, this thing would make a pretty good weapon.”

“I bet. And how are you doing, son?”

Jack shrugged. “Can’t shake the feeling I let Paul down.”

Gerry shook his head. “You were out of commission. Paul stood up when it counted.” He nodded back toward the grave. “He’s with Carmen now. He would tell you everything is as it should be. The two of you did a helluva job. Thanks to you, the world economy is still humming along, and the world never knew about it. That’s a good day’s work, as far as I’m concerned.”

“Paul was the one who figured it out while I was running around chasing my own tail. Speaking of which, any news on Yong Fairchild?”