Washington, D.C.
0500 hours
Bleary eyed, Jack kept his gaze glued to the TV screen. WTF? rang continually in his mind. The world had gone mad and marched closer to total chaos with every passing minute. Each report coming from Saudi Arabia and Qatar grew worse in scope of the damage done to the oil refining and storage facilities in both countries. More importantly, the economic and political ramifications of the attack were out of control.
The unifying Muslim world had little doubt that the US and its allies-namely Israel-were responsible for the devastation.
Already financial experts predicted a global economic collapse unlike any the world had seen before. The overseas financial markets had crashed and closed early for the day-China, Japan, Hong Kong, Shanghai, Germany, France and England to name a few. Reports were they might not even open tomorrow.
And worse yet, many moderate peace-loving Muslims now supported the radicals, joining their cry for a Jihad driven world war to ensue and for Israel's annihilation. Westerners, Jews and Christian tourists around the globe were under attack no matter what country they were from. A cruise ship in the Mediterranean had been torpedoed. A group of mountain climbers in Nepal executed. A school bus of children in Israel demolished.
He was so absorbed in the horror and the devastating implications of it all that he almost missed the news story from Sao Paulo, Brazil. Reporters questioned if murdered Atlanta businessman, Bill Collins, was also a victim in the growing hate crimes against Westerners by radical jihadists. The mug of the man they pasted on the screen was an exact match to the blond terrorist he'd shot in Lebanon.
Jack picked up the phone, his hand shaking. Was he losing his mind? How was it possible? But the more he compared the picture with his memory, the more he believed he was right. The man he'd shot was Bill Collins-or his exact double. There were nuances to the man's features and the amused glint in his eyes that were identical to Jack's memory, which happened to be coined as photographic. Even with that fact in his bank, this discovery would be a hard sell. He had difficulty believing it himself.
Jack tried to call Beck first, to see what he thought. He and Beck went back farther than either of them would like to remember, back to boot camp where as greenhorns they'd made a pact to always watch each other's back no matter what. Jack had always known that if he went MIA Beck would be the man to bring him home and Beck would come running now if Jack needed him. All he had to do was press a few buttons and Beck would be here.
Or was that even true anymore? Something heavy was up with Beck, and Jack found himself a little torqued. Jack was the one hospital bound and Beck's ass should be the one here worrying about him. The man could sell ice to an Eskimo, and Jack could sure use him at the moment. Beck didn't answer and Jack left another message, one that left a questioning knot in his gut and had him wondering what was wrong.
The man had been to the hospital only once, just after Jack had awakened from the coma he'd been in. Beck was likely as damaged by the Lebanon blast as the rest of the team, but on a psychological level. Survivor's guilt. But hell enough was enough. "Hey, bro, it's DT. You need to stop by so I can beat your ass on the treadmill. Bring us both a beer and some poker cards too. Maybe they'll kick my ass out of here early then."
Jack hung up the phone and dialed his commander with reservation. Weston was a top of his class West Pointer who played every hand straight and narrow.
"Weston here." The man sounded as crisp and clear as an ice covered mountain. Weston had apparently regained the equilibrium after the fissure of emotion he'd shown last night and was back to his usual self.
"You've seen the news?" Jack said.
"Been up most of the night watching. It's bad. I spoke with Anderson earlier."
Considering it was just five, Jack imagined the president had been up all night as well. "What's the take on the attacks?"
"Though Israel is denying it as vehemently as we are, some are wondering if they're behind the attacks. And before you ask, yes, I tried reaching Meir again. He didn't answer and he hasn't returned the calls. None of our contacts in Mossad are responding. So getting an unofficial inside scoop of the situation is dead in the water right now. Anderson did say he was meeting with Prime Minister Shalev this morning. We're at DEFCON 2 with DEFCON 1 a breath away."
Jack grunted as his mind raced. DEFCON 2 with a strong possibility that Israel's gone rogue. Shit. He hoped to God it wasn't true and Meir would get in touch with them. Though any intel gleaned from other government operatives was in no way remotely official, it often proved to be an accurate barometer of that government's collective state of mind.
"You want my take on it?" Weston asked, surprising Jack. The commander didn't often toss out an opinion aside from what came down the brass pipeline.
"Yeah."
"I think somebody is using the US as a scapegoat for their own agenda. By making this attack on the heels of al-Qaeda's destruction to the US oil industry last week, they've got the perfect cover. It could be one of our allies looking to strike a heavy blow against Saudi Arabia, but it could also be one of Saudi Arabia's allies wanting to knock the king off the OPEC Mountain, so there're more riches for them."
"Venezuela?"
"Iran. Any of the other countries or a combination of them, really. Sounds unbelievable, but it's a possibility considering how torqued Iran is at Saudi's cooperation with the US in the fight against radical terrorism."
"I'd believe it," Jack said. "But I've something you're not going to believe. I found the blond SOB I shot in Lebanon."
"What do you mean you found him?"
"His name is Bill Collins, a businessman from Atlanta. His mug's being plastered on Fox News as a possible victim of attacks on Westerners. Report says he was murdered in Sao Paulo last night, but I'm sure I shot him two weeks ago."
"Come on, Jack. This is stretching too far. The guy must be a look alike."
"Yeah, if they're identical twins even to a mole on the left temple."
"Someone is beeping in, I've gotta go. I'll check out this Bill Collins and get back to you, but I think you're grasping at straws."
Jack hung up the phone and started pacing, running a number of scenarios through his mind about what he'd do when Weston called back. The more Jack thought about it, the more he concluded that he'd likely have to piece together the Bill Collins puzzle on his own.
He owed it to Neil, to Pecos, to Rico, to Beck. And to himself.
A couple of hours later, he found out that debt might cost him his career. Weston's sit down and shut up, let the blond terrorist thing go call back about Bill Collins left Jack no choice. He had to go find out what Collins's widow knew about his activities.
Both Weston and US officials insisted Jack had to be mistaken. The Brazilian authorities swore Bill Collins had been murdered in Sao Paulo. Witnesses claimed they'd heard gunshots during the night and Bill's body had been found a short time later. And even though the report of multiple gunshot wounds to the chest matched how Jack had killed the terrorist in Lebanon, Weston insisted he needed something more than Jack's sketchy memory before taking this to the brass and arguing with the Brazilian authorities. Jack didn't have more, and one way around that problem would be if Collins's spouse asked for an investigation into her husband's death. He planned to get Lauren Collins to do that if she wasn't neck deep in her husband's shit. If she was then he'd deal with the pile when he came to it.
He left Walter Reed AMA to go AWOL.