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“End of the line, folks,” he said, opening the passenger door and lowering the airstairs.
I grabbed Alekseyev and marched him out. West followed. As we went down the stairs, a convoy of three Chevy Suburbans approached.
I pushed Alekseyev across the tarmac toward them. Secretary of Defense Eli Carver stepped out of the second vehicle, and his close-protection team emerged from all three vehicles to assemble around him.
Two of the team, large Secret Service agents in dark suits, stepped forward and searched Alekseyev to ensure he didn’t pose a threat to Carver. When they were satisfied, they waved us forward.
“Director Alekseyev, welcome to America,” Carver said. “We can’t tell you how grateful we are you decided to defect.”
Alekseyev snorted derisively.
“Take him,” Carver commanded, and two of his detail grabbed Alekseyev and marched him toward the rearmost Chevy.
“You’ve outdone yourself this time, Jack. A rogue Chinese and Russian network. We’ve had back-channel thanks from the Chinese Government, which isn’t something that happens very often,” Carver said. “The Russians aren’t so happy, at least not officially, but Alekseyev has made many enemies over the years, so their diplomatic protests might be for show only. Many of the higher-ups will secretly be glad he’s gone. You did good. Real good.”
“Thank you, sir,” I replied. “I hope he’s a useful source.”
“Cut this ‘sir’ crap, Jack. I’ve told you before, it’s Eli,” he said. “And are you kidding? The director of the SVR? He’ll be very useful. In ways he can’t even begin to imagine. What now for you?”
“I need to find my team,” I replied.
“Where are they?” he asked.
“In the city somewhere.”
Carver turned to one of the Secret Service agents. “Take Alekseyev for processing. We’re going to give Mr. Morgan and Master Gunnery Sergeant West a ride.”
“Yes, sir,” the agent responded crisply, before heading for the SUV that contained Alekseyev.
We watched it pull away.
“Come on,” Carver said, turning for his Suburban. “Maybe we can finally have that beer together?”
CHAPTER 106
“JACK?” JUSTINE ASKED in disbelief.
“Yeah. It’s me. We just landed in New York. At Teterboro.”
I heard sobs of relief down the phone.
“Jack, oh my God,” she said. “Are you OK?”
“I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” She sounded happy beyond reckoning, and I was too.
“I’m fine. Feeling so much better now I’m home. Hearing your voice.”
“Me too, Jack. Me too.” She was crying now, but they were tears of joy.
“Where are you?” I asked, eager to see her.
“Sci, Mo-bot, and I just sat down for a late lunch at the Edition. Near the office.”
“The Edition Hotel,” I told Carver, who was beside me on the back seat of the Suburban.
“You get that?” he asked his Secret Service driver, and the man nodded.
