Page 123 of Nobody's Hero

Hannibal Lecter in a Ramones T-Shirt

Chapter 132

Nine months later.

Draper arrived first. She was on time. Wouldn’t have mattered if she hadn’t been. Smerconish always made her wait. She’d once watched him circle the block so he could arrive second. Underlings waited on their boss. It was never the other way round. She’d forgotten how much stock the intelligence community placed in who had the more powerful position. It was a game she hadn’t missed.

Exactly five minutes later, Smerconish slid into the booth. Took the opposite side to her. Picked up the menu, even though they both knew he wouldn’t be there long enough to order anything. Another power play.

Yawn.

‘How’s the patient?’ he said.

Draper stifled a sigh. She picked up her mug of coffee and took a drink. Smerconish rarely asked a question he didn’t already know the answer to. She played the game anyway. ‘Discharged himself a week ago,’ she said.

‘Prognosis?’

‘The infection’s cleared up.’

‘The leg?’

‘He had his last operation a month ago,’ she said.

‘And?’

‘He’ll limp for a while, but there were no life-changing injuries.’

When the F-35 pilot had aborted his missile strike, the recovery teams rushed in. Koenig and Carlyle were airlifted to Boulder City Hospital, where they were both stabilised. Tas’s bullet had entered Carlyle’s neck but hadn’t punctured a major blood vessel. She’d lost blood and consciousness, but the life jacket she was wearing was designed to keep the head above water. Koenig was transferred to Walter Reed, where a specialist in leg trauma was flown in from Germany.

‘And the radiation?’ Smerconish asked.

‘Our guys will keep him under observation, but they don’t think he was on the boat long enough. Guess we’ll find out.’

‘You took him out of Walter Reed,’ Smerconish said.

‘I did.’

‘Why?’

‘I wanted the best physiotherapy for him. Walter Reed’s good, but Koenig needed one-on-one attention. Plus, you know what he’s like. He was making the others uneasy. The way a jungle goes silent when a puma walks through it.’

‘Where did you put him?’

Draper told him.

‘You like him, don’t you?’ Smerconish said. ‘That place isn’t cheap.’

‘He’s a self-centred, arrogant asshole.’

‘A description that would have fitted you, fifteen years ago.’

She shrugged. It was probably true.

‘Do you have what I asked for?’ he said.

She pulled a Manila file from her briefcase. It was thin. She placed her hand on it. ‘The guy who funded it?’

‘The money man Ms Wexmore approached—’