Chapter Sixteen
Galindez was the first one to arrive on the scene.
"Clay? What's going on? Penny just came running upstairs crying and…" he trailed off as he spotted the ruin of the Mercedes. "Holy shit! What happened to your car?"
"Sarah happened," Clay muttered. He slowly rose to his feet and stared down the driveway in the direction Sarah had gone. She didn't even have her purse. She couldn't get far.
He raked a hand through his hair and looked to where the black Altima was parked. "Give me your keys."
Galindez stared at him incredulously. "Are you nuts?" His gaze flashed back to the convertible, with its gleaming red hood dusted with potting soil and shards of broken terra cotta. "If that's the way you treat your wheels, no way am I letting you near mine."
"Damn it, Vic! I don't have time for this! I've got to go after her!"
Victor's eyes narrowed. "Go after her?" He quickly scanned the scene of the disaster, noting the dented bumper, the broken tail light and the mixture of potato salad, potting soil and mangled geranium that had smashed against the doors and liberally spilled across the leather seats into the plush carpet of the interior.
"What happened?" he asked softly.
Webb's laugh, harsh and hollow, bit through the distance between them. "You were right," he said simply. "I should have told her. –Now give me your goddamned keys!"
Wordlessly, Victor handed over the ring. He watched as Clay stalked to the car. The Nissan started with an impatient roar and peeled out of the driveway. He stood there, alone in the driveway, and watched the Altima's brake lights as they flashed brightly before disappearing around the corner.
The muffled trill of his cell phone caught his attention. He pulled it from his jacket pocket and flipped it open.
"Galindez," he said abruptly, glaring down into the phone. The bewildered face of Mike Davis, one of Webb's three Special Protection Officer's, stared back at him.
"Yo, Vic," Davis's thick Bronx accent rang clearly from the phone. "We just saw the boss peeling out of here in your car, after a woman on foot who looked a hell of a lot like the missus. –What gives?"
Christ, was nothing sacred anymore? Galindez sighed. "Nothing, Mike. It's just a little domestic dust-up." He raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing out here anyway? –I thought the boss gave you the day off."
"The boss may have, but Kennedy didn't," the SPO groused. "He told us to keep an eye on the old man just the same. I think the whole heart attack thing freaked everybody out."
No kidding, Victor thought grimly. "You got somebody on him?"
"Yeah, Cordova."
"And her?"
"Wakefield," Davis replied.
"Tell Cordova to break it off."
"But Kennedy said--
"I don't give a damn what
Kennedy said!" Galindez snapped. "If the boss spots
you on his six, Kennedy will be joining the three of you in the unemployment
line. Have Valerie stick with her until the boss catches up then break it off.
–I mean it!"
Davis hesitated. "You sure about this, Galindez?"
Victor ground his teeth. God, he missed the days when nobody gave a damn who they were. –Back when they could almost be two regular guys. He stared hard into the phone.
"They need the alone time, Mike. Trust me on this one."
Davis shrugged. "Ok," he said finally, "But he gets carjacked, it's your ass."
"It's my ass anyway," Galindez growled, "Paulina and I are three payments away from owning that car. It comes back with so much as a paint chip and I'll never hear the end of it."
Davis snorted. "Better you than me." The screen went black, and Galindez flipped the phone shut, returning it to his pocket.
"You know, Webb warned me about Tiner's kids, but I thought he was joking."
Victor turned to see Sturgis, standing at the end of the brick walkway, staring at the convertible in amazement.
"Yeah, well, they might actually have an alibi for this one."
Turner bent down and picked up the plastic lid to the bowl that had held the potato salad, then slowly rose and took in the damage. "I guess the cat is finally out of the bag," he mused.
Galindez flashed Turner a look of surprise. "You knew?"
Sturgis nodded. "Bobbie mentioned a couple of things. The rest wasn't too hard to put together."
"I see," Victor said, feeling a bit uncomfortable. He hadn't really had the chance to know Sturgis Turner outside of the occasional parties and social engagements hosted by Clay and Sarah or Bud and Harriet that they all participated in. He had already left JAG by the time Turner came on board, and he'd never really had a chance to work with him. He did know, however, that Turner and Rabb had been close friends. He could sense the unspoken question in the other man, but he waited for it to be asked, just the same.
Turner gave him a searching look. Some of what he was feeling must have been written on his face, for although there was no accusation in them; Turner's words caught him squarely in the gut.
"You know what really happened to Rabb, don't you?"
Victor laughed hollowly. "Considering that you're married to the opposing council, I think I'd better plead the fifth on that one."
Sturgis considered Galindez for a moment. "You got a dollar?" He asked at last.
"What?"
"A dollar," Sturgis said calmly. "…a buck, a George, you got it?"
Galindez frowned. "Sure," he said, cautiously, not quite certain where this was leading.
"Give it to me," Sturgis ordered.
Digging into the pocket of his jeans, Victor pulled out his wallet and extracted a bill. Sturgis took it from him, calmly folded it and stuck it in his own pocket.
"You have now just put me on retainer," Turner informed him. "As your lawyer, I am bound by attorney-client privilege. Anything you may choose to say to me cannot be revealed to anyone else –including and especially my wife—without your express permission."
Galindez raised one eyebrow. "You're still licensed to practice? I thought you were commanding deep water ops for the Pentagon."
Sturgis allowed a slow smile to spread across his face. "Well, the shingle might be a little dusty," he allowed, "but last I checked it's still good. I registered with the Virginia bar last year.--Figured I might pick up a case or two when I retired."
Crossing his arms, he leaned against the stone ledge, half sitting in the gap left by the erstwhile geranium. "Now," he said easily, "you strike me as a man with a story to get off his chest. Whether or not you tell it, now that's completely up to you, but you've got my word that it stays right here." Sturgis shot him a calculating look. "Besides," he said shrewdly, "Daddy always said confession was good for the soul."
Galindez snorted and shook his head, looking at the car. He suddenly thought he understood exactly how Clay felt. "I wouldn't even know where to start," he said at last.
"How about the truth?" Sturgis suggested quietly.
Galindez looked back over his shoulder and threw Turner a wry smile. "And just which truth would that be?"
"It really isn't Harm in that grave, is it?" Sturgis asked.
"No," Victor said softly, surprised to hear the word on his own tongue. He hadn't meant to answer.
"Is he dead?"
"Yes."
Sturgis took a moment, absorbing the certainty he heard in Victor's voice, and then continued. "Did the CIA have anything to do with it?"
Victor laughed hollowly. "No," he said at last. "The truly ironic thing is that they didn't know a damned thing about it. –We did it all ourselves."
Taedong River,
Somewhere in North Korea
Ten Years earlier…
The sails of the small fishing boat caught the swift spring breeze and sliced the craft smoothly and silently through the black waters of the Taedong River. The moon was little more than a thin sliver in the midnight sky, radiating barely enough light to discern the tree tops from the sky line. It was the perfect night for this kind of operation. Just enough light to see what you were doing, and just enough dark for no one else to notice. Back home in New Mexico, they would have called it a rustler's moon. Glancing around the shabby little boat with its crew of silent men in dark clothing, Galindez supposed that it was a smuggler's moon as well.
The men moved quietly about their work. They seemed like little more than swift, efficient shadows and their soft hushed tones blended easily with the sounds of the water and the night creatures. By contrast, the conversation in hushed and halting English carried far too easily from the stern of the boat to his own ears.
"So, you figured out how much this is gonna set me back yet?" He could hear the gentle amusement in Rabb's voice and snuck a quick glance at the Navy intelligence officer. Rabb was crouched down behind the open structure that served as the pilot house and rearranging a few sacks of rice to make a pallet for the boy.
Kim considered the question with a gravity that made him look far older than his years. "Yes," he said at last. "I have chosen my price."
The boy hesitated, hope and fear warring for control of his features. Whatever it was, Victor thought, it was going to be big, for the boy was clearly afraid to ask.
"Well?" Rabb prompted.
Kim swallowed hard, and the words spilled out of him in a rush that was almost incoherent. "I go with you to America."
Well, hell, Galindez thought sourly. He hadn't seen that one coming. –Apparently Rabb hadn't either, for he didn't speak for several long moments.
"I don't know if that is possible, Kim," Rabb said carefully. "There are laws and rules about something like that. They would have to find your parents…"
"My mother is dead," Kim said, his voice was blunt and without emotion.
And likely, Victor thought, he had never known his father.
Harm nodded, "I know," he said quietly, "But that still doesn't mean that the government will just allow me to take you with me. They will have to appoint a guardian. We would need to get permission. You would have to have special papers."
"I get papers!" Kim said scornfully. "I get papers that say anything!"
"Kim," Harm said patiently, "It's not that easy."
"I go with you!" the boy pleaded, his brown eyes desperate. "I work hard! I can get you whatever you need!"
Sensing Kim's rising agitation, Harm nodded and laid a hand upon the thin shoulder. "I said it wouldn't be easy," he reminded the boy. "I didn't say it was impossible."
He tightened his grip upon the boy and fixed him with a serious expression. "It's a big price for a big favor." He said quietly. "Like you said earlier, this is no small thing. You have to be serious about this, Kim. You have to be sure that it's what you really want. And if it is, then we have to do it the right way. –It's the only way it will work."
Kim nodded his understanding.
"You'll have to be patient," Rabb warned. "This will take time. –And they might not let you go with me. I travel a lot. So much that I don't really have a home any more. They might say that you'll have to live with someone else. Would you still want to do this?"
"Yes," Kim whispered fiercely.
"OK," Harm said simply. "I have friends who can help. When we get out of this, we'll go and talk to them."
"Promise?"
Rabb ruffled the kid's hair. "Yeah, kid," he said gruffly, "I promise."
The conversation died away as Rabb told the kid to go to sleep and sat with him a while, watching the gray foam that eddied in the boat's wake as it forged its way up stream. Victor finished wiping down the automatic weapon he had been cleaning and set it aside. He picked up the next weapon, a high-powered rifle with a silencer and scope and began to oil it. He heard the soft creak of the deck board behind him and looked up to see Rabb standing over him.
"You should get some shut-eye, Gunny."
Galindez smiled. "Nah, I tried that already."
Rabb smiled faintly. "It must be a Marine thing."
"What?"
Rabb nodded to the rifle. "Cleaning guns. Mac always cleaned guns when she couldn't sleep."
Galindez chuckled. "An old platoon sergeant of mine back in San Diego used to say a clean gun was a happy gun. Happy guns have never let me down yet."
Bracing himself against a steel drum, Rabb slowly slid down to the deck and sat across from Galindez. His eyes traveled slowly over the crew and his voice dropped to a soft murmur as he spoke.
"So what do you think?"
Victor raised his eyes and quietly surveyed the men around them. "I wouldn't trust them as far as I can pick them up and throw them, but they seem to know the country and they look like they can fight."
His eyes traveled the perimeter of the boat, and he hesitated. "I'm not so sure that was a good idea, though."
"What?" Rabb asked.
Galindez nodded to the boy who was now asleep on the sacks of rice. "Bringing the kid along," he said quietly. "This whole plan is risky enough. A kid could be a real liability."
"Or an asset," Rabb countered. "How's your Korean lately?"
"Rusty," Galindez admitted ruefully.
"Yeah, well mine's non-existent," Rabb muttered and tilted his head to indicate the rest of the smuggling crew. "And if any of these guys speak English, they sure don't show it. –Not that I'd put much faith in them if they did."
Rabb carefully scanned the silent figures that piloted the boat. "Out of this whole lot, the kid's the only one I trust."
"That could be one too many," Victor warned, setting aside the rifle. "Don't forget, the kid's the one who brought us to them."
Rabb scowled. "He's a good kid, Gunny."
Galindez shrugged. "There's a lot of good kids out there. Afghanistan, Iraq, Lebannon…. Not all of them are on our side."
Rabb looked at him thoughtfully. "You've changed, Galindez." The tone of his voice indicated that he did not necessarily think it was for the better. "You sound almost as cynical as Webb."
Galindez smiled faintly. "It's kept me alive this far."
Rabb was silent for a moment. "I still can't believe you left the Marines. I always figured you'd go the full twenty."
Galindez chuckled. "Yeah, me too."
"So why'd you do it?"
"Jump ship?"
Rabb nodded.
Galindez shrugged. "Webb offered me the opportunity. I took it." He slid back the bolt on the rifle, and worked the action a few times to make sure it was smooth, then laid it aside. "I never looked back."
Rabb looked at him curiously. "You took the job because of Webb?"
Galindez drew his knees up to his chest and braced his arms across them. "More or less," he said easily. "After Afghanistan and Paraguay, Webb tagged me for a couple more ops when I was still in the Corps. I didn't turn him down. We worked ok together, and it beat crawling around between the sand dunes trying not to get my six shot off. It was something different –and sometimes a hell of a lot more dangerous—but it had its perks, too." Galindez paused. "It felt like we were actually making a difference, you know?"
Rabb looked at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head. "You mean to tell me you actually like working with Webb?"
Galindez raised an eyebrow. "You don't?"
Rabb shifted against the bulkhead and the faint sliver of moonlight caught the white of his teeth as the grin slashed across his face. "Well, I'll grant you that working with Webb has never been boring, but I don't know that I'd go right to 'like.'"
Galindez chuckled. "That's because the two of you are too much alike. –Both of you always want to be in charge. Me? I just keep my mouth shut and follow orders …and improvise when necessary. It's a lot simpler that way."
"Still, being Webb's man Friday can't always be that easy."
"Not always," Galindez admitted, "but it's better than a lot of other things I've done."
He leaned his head back against the side of the boat and stared thoughtfully up at the stars, contemplating the man that they were risking everything to rescue. "You know, he's different than most people think," Galindez said quietly. "He comes off as an arrogant hard-ass. Nothing bothers him, nothing gets to him. It's all about the job and the mission. Nothing else matters. He does what has to be done, and damn the consequences. –But it's all an act."
"Yeah? --Well, he's one hell of an actor," Rabb said dryly.
Galindez nodded. "One of the best," he agreed, "But don't let him fool you. It gets to him. –More than he wants to admit."
"He's not an easy man to get to know," Harm said quietly.
Victor seemed to consider this. "He's a good man," he said finally, "…and a good friend." Galindez lifted one shoulder. "I guess that's all I really need to know."
"Maybe so," Harm agreed, surprised at the conviction in the other man's words.
He realized that it wasn't so much the depth of feeling, but the bond that inspired it that caught him off guard. When he'd heard Galindez had transferred to the CIA and was working with Webb, he'd never really given much thought to their working relationship. He'd thrown it into the usual category of superior and subordinate, leader and follower. Somehow, he'd never really expected them to be friends.
For one thing, it just didn't fit the pattern. Webb's Harvard educated, old money background and Galindez's impoverished back street upbringing were enough of an unlikely combination without even factoring in their personalities. Webb was brusque, arrogant, and hard-nosed even on his best days. Galindez, by contrast, was usually quiet, polite, and soft-spoken. They shouldn't have gotten along, but they did.
Rabb shifted uncomfortably against the hard deck of the small boat. His own relationship with Webb was far more ambivalent, and it tweaked him a little to realize that in a couple short years Victor Galindez had somehow developed a far better picture of Clayton Webb than he had been able to in almost fifteen. This made him consider his own acquaintance with the acerbic spy and he wondered –not for the first time—just what in the hell it was that he was really doing here.
It wasn't like he and Webb were the best of friends. Hell, they hadn't seen each other in five years. And even then, they'd hardly been bosom buddies. Outside of work, they'd rarely spoken, and yet there was something in their association that was more than just business. There was a willingness to do for each other that went beyond the bounds of quid pro quo, and he really had no other name to give it but friendship. But was it possible to call a man of whom one knew so little a friend?
When he thought back over the years, he realized that Clayton Webb had always been something of an enigma. He'd known almost nothing about Webb's private life until that case with Clark Palmer and the superconductor, back when everyone had thought he was dead. He'd learned more about the man that day by walking through his empty townhouse and talking with his mother than he'd learned in all the years he'd known him. He could count on one hand the personal details he had gleaned over the years. Webb liked seafood and polish dogs. He was a former Olympian. He played the piano and cello. He kept fish. He danced a mean tango, and his mother was one wily old broad. In retrospect, Harm supposed that it wasn't a lot to show for someone he'd known for over half his career. Hell, he didn't even know what Webb's favorite color was.
But in spite of it all, Webb had been a friend. He'd kept an eye out for information on Harm's father. Webb had sprung him from prison when he'd been framed for murder, and one Christmas Eve, he'd risked life and limb to get Sergei out of Chechnya. He'd nearly tanked his career turning over the Angel Shark tape. And, much as Harm hated to admit it, the spook had saved his own neck more times than he could count –and maybe even more times than he knew of. All of which, the small voice inside him gently chided, begged the question: What had he done for Clayton Webb in return?
He'd helped him out with a few missions of course, but that was work. He'd gone looking for his "killer" when Clay had had to go underground after skirmishing with Palmer. But that had been guilt. He'd resigned his commission, hopped a plane to Paraguay and ended up pulling what was left of Webb's ass out Sadik Fahd's hell-hole before they finished torturing him to death. But that really hadn't been about Webb at all. His only thought had been for Mac.
Mac.
Harm closed his eyes against the old hurt. He'd stood there on their wedding day, and kept his silence when the minister had asked for objections, but that had been common courtesy. And when the wedding was over, and the vows were made, he'd walked out of their lives and never looked back. That, he thought bitterly, had been cowardice. But the question remained: what had he done for Clay?
A half-forgotten memory came to him suddenly of Webb, younger, thinner, more uncertain of himself, standing beside that fancy red BMW he used to drive. It had been the night Jason Magita had taken Mac and the Admiral hostage, and he'd been pressing Webb once again for a favor. Webb's patience had suddenly snapped and he'd rounded on him suddenly, anger burning brightly in his eyes.
"You don't do it for me, Harm," Webb's voice, exasperated, and more than a little pained, echoed softly in his memory. "—Never for me…"
Webb had been right about that. The bitch of it was that he really wasn't doing it for Webb this time, either. But he should have. Just once, he should have put it on the line for Clayton Webb, and nothing more.
"So what about you?" Galindez's voice broke the silence and interrupted the downward spiral of his thoughts. "You're giving me grief about jumping ship. Why did you decide to move to Naval Intelligence?"
Rabb grinned. "I don't know. I guess I figured it was a shame to let all that Company training go to waste."
Galindez snorted. "If you'd really thought that, you'd have been more careful to keep your face off of ZNN." The younger man sobered, "Maybe that's not the real question after all."
"What is?" Rabb asked. He could feel Victor's eyes upon him, black and penetrating.
"Why did you transfer out of JAG?"
Rabb hesitated as he considered the real purpose behind the question. He supposed there were a lot of answers that he could give to that question, but Victor Galindez wasn't stupid. He resisted the urge to stare out across the water, and forced himself to look at Galindez instead.
"I think that's obvious, isn't it?"
"You left because of them?" There was no need to clarify which "them" they were talking about.
Rabb nodded.
Galindez considered this for a moment. "You did the right thing."
For all the wrong reasons, Rabb thought, but instead, he shrugged. "A marriage isn't big enough for three people."
"And she needed to move on," Victor said quietly. "All of you did."
"She moved on," Harm murmured, not quite able to contain the bitter flavor of his words. "A rich husband, a cute kid, a house in the suburbs and a bench to sit on --she finally got everything she ever wanted."
"Not everything." Galindez said.
"No," Harm agreed softly. There had been a time when she had wanted him.
The small sounds of the night intruded once more. The whispers of the crew, the gentle lapping of the water against the sides of the boat, the soft calls of the night birds and insects slowly crept in to fill the space between them.
"They really are good together," Victor said finally. "You shouldn't hold it against them."
Rabb sighed. "I don't hold it against them."
Galindez chuckled. "The hell you don't."
Rabb smiled faintly. "The hell I don't," he admitted, and rolled his head back to study the other man more carefully.
"Is she happy?"
The multitude of emotions that suddenly rolled across Galindez's face, could have filled a volume, but in the end, he simply shrugged. "Is anyone?"
But he must have sensed Rabb's deep need to hear the answer, for he finally expelled a long, weary breath.
"They love each other," he said quietly, "…and they adore that little girl." He hesitated. "Yeah," he whispered, "I think she's happy."
Rabb nodded, feeling the old ache tighten in his chest once again. He'd known that. He supposed he'd always known that, but he needed to be certain –now more than ever.
From somewhere near the front of the boat, a voice called out in Korean. The words were hushed, but tinged with excitement. From behind them, the captain bit out a sharp order and cut out instantly, leaving the small fishing boat to drift aimlessly in the water. Both men were craning their necks, hoping to spot the cause of the excitement, when the small, silent form of the Korean woman suddenly drifted over them. She brought a hand to her lips in an age-old gesture of silence, and motioned for them to stay down. They nodded their understanding, and wordlessly pressed themselves to the deck, ears straining and hearts racing loudly in the sudden, tense silence of the night.
A minute later, they heard it: the deep throaty chug of a diesel engine as the other vessel drew near. A voice echoed out across the water, tinny and crackling with the static of the cheap bull horn. The Captain called back. His voice was easy and cheerful, belying the tension that had gripped every member of his crew. There was no response, but a moment later the blinding beam of the flood light swept across the length of the craft. Rabb caught a glimpse of Galindez as the beam spilled over the bulkhead above them. His face was cold and ready, his fingers were inches from the rifle.
Several long minutes of waiting followed. –Probably no more than four or five, but it felt like an eternity to Rabb as he lay there with his cheek pressed tight to the worn, reeking deck of the old fishing boat. He locked eyes with Galindez, and they stared at each other all through the rest of the long, intense minutes that followed.
The voice on the loudspeaker reverberated again. The captain shouted back a response. The floodlight switched off abruptly. The sound of the diesel engine faded once more into the night.
"What the hell was that?" Rabb asked a few moments later, when they were assured the coast was clear.
"North Korean river patrol," Galindez replied. "Captain told them we were a fishing boat, on the way home to a village upstream. –At least that's what I think he said."
Rabb shot him a meaningful look. "Good thing they didn't decide to board us and ask what we were fishing for."
Galindez grinned. "Not much chance of that. He called one of them by name. If these guys are any kind of smugglers, they've probably already bought off every official on the river."
"Speaking of payoffs," Rabb said, raising a meaningful eyebrow.
Galindez shifted and pulled out the hard sided aluminum briefcase he had tucked behind his back. He shoved it across the deck towards Rabb.
"What have you got in there, anyway? –If you don't mind my asking, that is."
Rabb laid the briefcase across his lap and splayed his hands protectively over the cool metal surface. "Webb's money got us in," he said simply, "but this will get him out."
"What is it?"
Rabb shook his head and smiled faintly. "I think this is another one of those cases where the less you know, the better."
Galindez's eyes narrowed. "And you say I sound like Webb."
Rabb's expression was uneasy. "You know, this whole thing is still a crap shoot," he said quietly. "I've been thinking about the exchange tomorrow. I don't think we should go in together. It will be better if we split up."
Galindez nodded. "Agreed," he said. "These guys may have the means to get us in and out, but that doesn't mean I trust them to cover our sixes. One of us needs to find the high ground and cover and play guardian angel while the deal goes down."
"That would be you," Rabb said.
Galindez frowned. "No way," he said flatly. "You're not going anywhere near the camp. I'll make the exchange."
Rabb sighed. "Not the logical choice, Victor. You're the Marine with the expert marksman badge." He nodded to the sniper rifle. "I took my shots with laser guided missiles and a RIO to tell me when to pull the trigger. You'll be lucky if I don't shoot you by mistake."
Galindez shrugged. "I've seen you with a rifle. I'm willing to take that chance." He paused, "but I'm not willing to risk you going in there and getting captured. Bad enough they've got Webb. If they take you it will be a disaster."
Galindez leaned forward and dropped his voice even lower. "You and I both know those photographs you laid on the Ambassador and the Secretary of State this morning weren't taken by any damned satellite. When they break Webb, they'll get the whole Asian network. –They'll know every major player that we have in the orient. None of our people will be safe. If they get you, they'll get the most sophisticated plane that's ever been built." He shook his head, "we're already running the risk of losing our human intelligence network. We lose our technology and we'll be going into this war blind. The answer is no, Captain. There is no way in hell you are going into that camp."
Rabb ground his teeth. It was a hell of a lousy time for Galindez to demonstrate his leadership ability. There was only one way that this was going to work. He had to make him see that. He drew a deep breath and summoned what was left of his patience.
"Look, Gunny," he cajoled, "I have to go in. What I'm handing over to them is technical as hell. I'll have to explain some of it, and I don't have the time to teach you. –And you're still the better shot with the rifle."
Galindez lifted one eyebrow. "Then I would say we are at an impasse."
The night wind rose softly, blowing the heavy odors of the river and the dank, oily smell of the fishing boat between them as they sat, stone faced and glaring at each other.
"You know it's the best way." Rabb said.
"I know."
Rabb hesitated. "I will give you one thing," he said at last. "If this thing goes down wrong, none of us can afford to be taken alive."
Galindez tilted his head, his brown eyes burning with the unspoken question. Rabb nodded slowly. "They've got Webb. They'll get your people. They get me, they'll get Aurora, and nobody will be safe. I need you to promise me, Victor." He said softly. "I need you to promise me that you'll make sure it never comes that."
Victor felt the knot tighten in his stomach as he realized exactly what Rabb was asking, but he had to be certain. He had to be sure.
"How?" He whispered. His voice was so quiet that it could barely be heard above the chugging of the engines.
Rabb's eyes seemed to bore into his soul, clear and dark and cold in their intensity. "You know how," he murmured.
Galindez eyed him for a long moment. "Alright," he said finally, "—on one condition."
"What?"
"Don't let it come to that. This is one promise I don't want to have to keep."
***
Galindez leaned heavily against the low stone wall. His eyes were fixed upon the mess that was Webb's convertible, but Turner could see that his mind was still trapped ten years back on a seedy little boat on a river in North Korea. It explained a hell of a lot, he realized. –Especially the wall that Bobbie, Bud and Mac had been running into with the Navy. It was just like Harm to go running off to play cowboy and not tell anyone about it. And given the fact that both Harm and Galindez had been working for and with people who made it their job to know everything, he highly doubted that either one of their respective agencies would have wanted to admit that they hadn't known what the two men had been up to with their plan to rescue Webb. He shook his head in amazement. It was fool hardy. It was insane. It was also classic Harmon Rabb. Given the charmed life that Rabb had led, that alone should have ensured its success. But apparently, Harm's charm had run out.
Sturgis studied Galindez, trying to read the jumble of emotions that were still evident on the man's face. There was sadness there, and guilt …and anger. All of it combined to remind him that he still really didn't know what had happened to Harm. But whatever it was, he could tell that it was something Victor Galindez was still struggling to accept, all these years later.
"I take it things didn't go down as planned?" he asked gently, hoping to prod more of the story from the man.
Galindez laughed. It was a harsh, painful sound, and Sturgis once again sensed the anger that was buried deep inside the CIA operative.
"Oh, it went according to plan, alright." Galindez said grimly. "The only trouble was that I didn't know the plan."
"What?" Sturgis asked, confused.
Victor's jaw tightened. "I should have known what he was up to. I should have figured it out." He shook his head. "But he played me. The son of a bitch played me, and by the time I realized, it was already too late."
Galindez's eyes swung to Turner's and Sturgis could read the guilt and self-reproach that burned within them. "If I'd known what he was going to do, I never would have let him do it," he said softly. "I just didn't think he'd do something so crazy."
"What did Harm do, Victor?" Turner asked, feeling the cold chill begin to creep over him.
Galindez didn't answer. He seemed to be lost in his own thoughts and memories. He shook his head as if trying to puzzle out some mystery with an answer that he knew must be obvious but still couldn't see.
"All these years," he said softly, "I've always wondered why he did it." He shook his head. "I guess never knowing is the price I have to pay."
"For what?" Turner asked.
Galindez smiled sadly. "For making that promise," he said.