“Lime,” he said. “At ease. Take a seat.” And he indicated the lone chair directly in front of the desk.
“Thank you, sir.”
“How are things at the Pentagon these days?” Rush asked.
“About the same, sir.”
“I’m sorry you had to pull that duty. I know you prefer spending more time in the field. But as they say, eternal vigilance is the price of liberty.”
The full-bird colonel had an impressive fund of aphorisms, maxims, and clichés that he drew on frequently. Lime answered in kind. “In our business, sir, a quiet day is a good day.”
“Amen. Well, as you might have guessed, I wouldn’t have asked you to report if today were a quiet day.” Other than the phones, his desktop held only one folder, liberally stamped and sealed. Now he opened it. “It appears,” he said, turning pages, “that we might have a breach in the levee.”
These words were spoken almost casually, but upon hearing them, Lime instinctually stiffened.
“Intel is still being assembled,” Rush said, “but as you know, with this kind of situation we can’t wait. We have to mobilize.”
“Of course, sir.”
Rush closed the folder and pushed it across the desk. “You’ll get further orders via normal channels. But this should give you the background you need to begin an initial reconnaissance.”
As Lime reached for the folder, the colonel placed his own palm on it. “Looks like you’ll be getting a break from desk duty.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Rush lifted his palm and allowed Lime to take the folder from the desk and place it in his own lap.
“The missile operations officers in old nuclear silos liked to say their job was ninety-nine-point-nine percent boredom, and point-one percent panic,” Rush said. “What we do here for our country is never quite that boring, and with vigilance we’re able to keep it panic-free. But the principle is the same. We maintain watch against those who would do us harm. The worst kind of harm: the kind that comes, intentionally or not, from inside. And when necessary, we act. The only difference is those missile officers were given credit for their loyalty. The sacrifices we make for our country—the purpose we’ve dedicated, and sometimes lost, our lives to—must remain secret.”
“It’s the most difficult kind of patriotism—and the most important.”
This statement came not from Rush, but from someone behind Lime. Immediately, the colonel stood, and Lime followed his example, turning as he did. To his immense surprise, standing just within the office was Major General Zephyr, in overall command of their unit. Zephyr—his actual name was unknown—was a figure of legend, and Lime had seen him in person only twice before: on his squad’s induction day, following advanced training school, and again two years ago, at the end of a particularly puzzling and frustrating hunt.
Lime had not heard him come in or close the door. He realized his presence here could only be to underscore the importance of this mission.
“We’re guardians of a sacred trust, Mr. Lime,” he said. “Always remember that.”
“Yes, sir,” Lime replied.
“And there is no more dangerous enemy than the one who appears to be an ally and friend—but whose actions threaten our safety and, indeed, undermine our very existence.”
“Yes, sir.”
“This time, the stakes are particularly high. Discretion and patience will be of utmost importance, because those who threaten us with their ignorance are very close to home. But you must not let that cloud your judgment…or your mission.”
“Understood.” Yet Lime felt puzzled: everyone in his unit would die to protect America in an instant—no questions asked. How close to home did the general mean? He told himself to wait until he’d read over the material in the folder.
“Very good. You’ll be taking your orders—and mission authorizations—directly from Colonel Rush. I wish you good luck.”
They saluted, then the general turned and stepped out of the office. Lime blinked once, twice, still mildly shocked. Then he turned back to Rush.
“As I said—no more desk duty for a while.” And the colonel offered the ghost of a smile. “Dismissed.”
13
THE FOLLOWING AFTERNOON, Nora watched the corkscrew of dust drift off the horizon into blue nothingness, signaling the departure of Corrie, Morwood, and the FBI team with their van carrying the corpses, the bizarre device, and other evidence. Tappan stood next to her—he always seemed to be around, an interested but quiet presence—and he said: “Strange, don’t you think?”