Page 39 of Gryphon

“It’s a method.” If the guy was fishing for tips on how to woo Holly, let him go to Hell along with Father Stevens back at the orphanage and all the rest of them.

“That’s how Pop swept up Mama. Served him just fine going on forty years now.”

Forty years? He and Holly in forty years? A cold chill shook him, one that had nothing to do with the midday sun reaching a bare handspan above the southern horizon.

Jobson rolled until his back lay against the closed passenger door as he stared up at the sky. “Seriously heavy shit you folks deal with. I had no clue. I flew plenty, shot my fair share on missions. Saw some buddies there one second and blown out of the sky the next. But that line of body bags last night. That pilot lady in there,” he nodded at the building, “dying inside because of her friend going down. Not clean. Not in battle. Going down in the fight is part of the gig and you grow used to the idea that your ticket on the life-ride might be the next one punched. But not this shit. Sabotage? That’s just wrong.”

“It killed the US Vice President.” And some others he wasn’t cleared to name but were a part of Miranda’s team legacy.

Tad glanced at him, though his body still leaned back and faced the sky.

His posture mimicked the disconcerting memory of the 737 pilot’s snapped neck—the way his head had moved so wrong between Mike’s hands.

And Ingrid’s. He knew her through Liisa; come to admire her by the testimony of another. But he also knew the neck was gone when she’d described how Ingrid never reached for the parachute toggles. She was dead long before she hit that mine; a stay of execution that would only have lasted until she hit the ground—with or without the land mine.

“The VP? That was you guys?”

Mike nodded. “Especially Miranda and our former rotorcraft specialist. But, yes, it was us.” Sabotage had downed the VP’s helo, too.

“Shit, man. Big shoes to fill, I got that message loud and clear. Don’t even know if I can.” He turned back to facing the sky. “How do you hack knowing all that shit?”

As if Mike was doing such a sterling job of that at the moment.

31

Holly checked throughout the main building at Uppsala Air Base.

No Mike.

Interview Room Three where Mike had interviewed Liisa? Empty. The other side of the mirror? Nope.

Busted in on a couple officers in the men’s bathroom busy dangling it at the urinals and laughing about who-cared-what. One-star Swedish and Two-star NATO stared wide-eyed, dribbling on the walls beside the urinals as they turned to look at her.

“Reconfirm your target lock, boys,” she called out as she looked under all the empty stall doors.

No Mike.

He was around. Another of Mike’s standards: always there when needed. Not soldier trained, but nobody had your back like Mike Munroe. Miranda’s, Jeremy’s, Andi’s, right down to defending Taz’s motherhood as if it was second nature. Hers—even when it pissed her off. The shocker? That he had any attention left over for himself.

No bludger of a layabout our pal Mike.

As she hurried out the front door, she wondered why she kept treating him like one?

Nothing out of place out here.

The blinding sun low enough to shine sideways through the windows of Miranda’s plane. No heads in any of the windows.

Half turned back to the admin building, she spotted the shadow of the open lid of the Citation’s front cargo hatch sticking out from the shadow of the plane’s nose. Squinting against the sun, she spotted two sets of legs. She knew one was Mike’s. The other guy’s calves were so big, it had to be Tad Jobson.

Was Mike digging around for some weapon she didn’t know he kept in his luggage? About to kneecap Jobson?

No, that wasn’t Mike’s style. He’d be polite if it killed him.

She moved closer, keeping the raised cargo hatch between her and Mike until she was close enough to overhear.

“Look, Tad, this is the top NTSB team. It draws the ugly shit: military crashes, launches I can’t tell you about even with your clearance because they’re code-word classified, attacks that are political rather than military, never mind the merely civilian pilot error. To survive on this team, you need to decide if you’re up to the challenge. You, personally.”

Holly had never made such a decision in her life. Or was it that it had never been a question?

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