“
Thanks again, sir.” Jules shook his hand again.
“You’re welcome again,” the captain said, his smile warm. “I’ll be back aboard the ship myself at around nineteen hundred. If it’s okay with you, I’ll, uh, stop in, see how you’re doing.”
Son of a bitch. Was Jules getting hit on? Max looked at Webster again. He looked like a Marine. Muscles, meticulous uniform, well-groomed hair. That didn’t make him gay. And he’d smiled warmly at Max, too. The man was friendly, personable. And yet . . .
Jules was flustered.
“Thanks,” he said. “That would be . . . That’d be nice. Would you excuse me, though, for a sec? I’ve got to speak to Max, before I, uh . . . But I’ll head over to the ship right away.”
Webster shook Max’s hand. “It was an honor meeting you, sir.” He smiled again at Jules.
Okay, he hadn’t smiled at Max like that.
Max waited until the captain and the medic both were out of earshot. “Is he—”
“Don’t ask, don’t tell.” Jules said. “But, oh my God.”
“He seems nice,” Max said.
“Yes,” Jules said. “Yes, he does.”
“So. The White House?”
“Yeah. About that . . .” Jules took a deep breath. “I need to let you know that you might be getting a call from President Bryant.”
“Might be,” Max repeated.
“Yes,” Jules said. “In a very definite way.” He spoke quickly, trying to run his words together: “I had a very interesting conversation with him in which I kind of let slip that you’d resigned again and he was unhappy about that so I told him I might be able to persuade you to come back to work if he’d order three choppers filled with Marines to Meda Island as soon as possible.”
“You called the President of the United States,” Max said. “During a time of international crisis, and basically blackmailed him into sending Marines.”
Jules thought about that. “Yeah. Yup. Although it was a pretty weird phone call, because I was talking via radio to some grunt in the CIA office. I had him put the call to the President for me, and we did this kind of relay thing.”
“You called the President,” Max repeated. “And you got through . . .?”
“Yeah, see, I had your cell phone. I’d accidently switched them, and . . . The President’s direct line was in your address book, so . . .”
Max nodded. “Okay,” he said.
“That’s it?” Jules said. “Just, okay, you’ll come back? Can I call Alan to tell him? We’re on a first-name basis now, me and the Pres.”
“No,” Max said. “There’s more. When you call your pal Alan, tell him I’m interested, but I’m looking to make a deal for a former Special Forces NCO.”
“Grady Morant,” Jules said.
“He’s got info on Heru Nusantra that the president will find interesting. In return, we want a full pardon and a new identity.”
Jules nodded. “I think I could set that up.” He started for the helicopter, but then turned back. “What’s Webster’s first name? Do you know?”
“Ben,” Max told him. “Have a nice vacation.”
“Recovering from a gunshot wound is not a vacation. You need to write that, like, on your hand or something. Jeez.”
Max laughed. “Hey, Jules?”
He turned back again. “Yes, sir?”
“Thanks for being such a good friend.”
Jules’s smile was beautiful. “You’re welcome, Max.” But that smile faded far too quickly. “Uh-oh, heads up—crying girlfriend on your six.”
Ah, God, no . . . Max turned to see Gina, running toward him.
Please God, let those be tears of joy.
“What’s the verdict?” he asked her.
Gina said the word he’d been praying for. “Benign.”
Max took her in his arms, this woman who was the love of his life, and kissed her.
Right in front of the Marines.
”
”