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“Tell me what happened.”
It sounds like an ambush, like the whole thing was a setup. Our people were fired on before they were ever on target, and from the first to the last, they were on the defensive. When the SEALs finally reached Captain Wilkes’s emergency beacon, there was no sign of her, only blood-stained snow and a bullet-dented helmet. The SEALs fought their way back to the border, dragging their wounded and their dead.
“Do you have the names of who we lost?” Brennan asks after they’ve dissected every moment of the attack, backward and forward and left and right.
“Right here, sir.” Marshall hands him a red-banded folder. “I’ve cleared my morning, Mr. President, if—”
“Thanks, Patrick, but I’m going to make these calls on my own.”
They leave, but I stay. Exhaustion wars with defeat in Brennan’s eyes.
“These were the first of what will likely be many if this all goes horribly wrong.” He sighs. “It’s going to be a punishing day. Can I see you tonight?”
“Of course, mon cher.”
Damn the secrecy. I sneak into the Residence and wait for him. I’m not careful, and I’m not circumspect, and for once, I don’t care. I wait, and I pace, and I don’t give a damn about anything except him.
