Page 19 of Enemy of My Enemy
“To freedom.”
Madigan passed Cook a tin cup filled with rotgut whiskey. It was too warm, and amber liquid sloshed over the rim. Madigan shrugged his apologies as Cook sucked the alcohol off his fingers.
Above, the Milky Way stretched across the midnight sky, from horizon to horizon, and below, in the valley they were making camp in, freed prisoners mingled with Madigan’s handpicked men, the first officers of his new army. Rolled cigarettes and glass pipes were passed around, along with bottles of pesco and tequila. Bonfires crackled, and here and there, guitars strummed softly.
“I’m sorry it took so long. You were rotting in that cell for too many years.”
Cook sipped his whiskey. Even though it was terrible by any standard, he didn’t flinch. “I always knew you’d come. I never lost faith.”
Madigan raised his own tin cup in a silent toast.
“I’m sorry about Gottschalk. He was a good man. A good operative.”
“I think that kid could have done anything.” Madigan stared down into the amber whorls of his whiskey, remembering Gottschalk’s sullen frown and his dark eyes. “He was always up for the hardest project. Always ready for a challenge.”
“Chief of staff in the White House.” Cook whistled low. “I still remember the young kid we recruited in Iraq.”
“He grew up. He did everything perfect. Everything. He deserved more than what he got.”
Cook stared at him over the rim of his cup. “He didn’t die for nothing. We’ll do this, General. Our new world is coming.”
“I remember when we started down this path. You, me, and him. Do you?”
“How could I ever forget?”
“We were perfect. We had the world in our hands. So much power. We could have remade the whole world, and then—” Madigan shook his head, scowling.
Everything had changed in the Iraq War. Everything. In the beginning, he’d been a warrior unchained, alive for the first time in his life. They had chased their enemies across the planet, hounded them again and again until they were begging in the dust. Cities rose and fell in the palms of their hands. They owned the whole world with bullets and bombs.
Men were made and defined in the war, their souls cut and hardened in fire and fury. It was the only way to be alive, to feel like you were worth something. To fight, to hunt, to destroy, to bleed. Strength was finally valued, true strength, and he and men like him had a place in the world.
And then, everything changed.
America changed. The presidency. The politics. The people.
They didn’t want men like Madigan anymore.
They’d given up on the warrior’s dream: the world remade into an iron crucible, all for America’s future. America had given up on them. Given up on the missions. Given up on a future of power. America had turned its back on the generation of men they’d forged out of sand and rage and combat.
The forgotten warriors worked hard to figure out how to live again, figure out how to bury that dark part of themselves, shove it deep down into the bottom of their soul and desperately try to forget what they could be, if only. Some took to the bottle. Others grabbed their guns, swallowed steel bullets while screaming in rage.
And Madigan picked up so many more, gathering them close and promising retribution. So many wounded hearts and bruised souls. He’d said, “America turned their backs on us, but we won’t forget. We won’t ever forget. We will rise again. Forge a new world out of the ashes of their broken promises.”
America had decided to change. So, Madigan decided to change, too. He worked instead toward a different future, one for him and the men he’d bled for, ached for, killed for, for the length of his whole life.
He’d give the whole world to them. Let them run free, their hearts blazing.
“How many do we have now?” Cook nodded to the valley and the band of freed men grouped together under the watchful gaze of Madigan’s new officers.
“Four thousand after today. We’ll get more tomorrow. And more after that. Not counting the others I still have in play around the world, undercover and wholly devoted to our cause.”
“I’m impressed. Four thousand hardened criminals? I would expect them to be slitting throats down there by now.” He toasted Madigan. “You haven’t lost your touch, General. You could recruit the wolves to our cause.”
“It’s the same way I recruited you. I gave those men a dream and a promise. You were quite a wolf yourself when I found you. The Butcher. I knew I needed you.”
Cook’s smile vanished. “You swore to me there was a world coming where I would be free. I wouldn’t ever suffer again, and I would live all the rest of my days in joy. I could drink the blood of my enemies and bathe in their bones and laugh in the face of anyone who cowered in fear. I wouldn’t ever have to hide again.” His eyes blazed, gleaming unnaturally in the still South American midnight.
“I’m giving that world to you,” Madigan swore. “A new dawn is coming for us, Captain. A new sky awaits us all. We’re close. So close.”
