Day of Wrath

“Yes, ma’am.” Thorn obeyed gladly, relieved to hear the bantering tone in her voice. That was a lot more like the Helen Gray he’d come to know and love over the past two years.

She sat down gracefully on the cot facing him and said more, seriously, “I really was surprised to see you pop out of that helicopter, you know.”

“I know,” he answered simply. “I almost didn’t.”

“Oh?”

Thorn shrugged. “I wasn’t exaggerating much when I said I had to hold my breath and throw a tantrum to win a spot on the team. Even then my boss practically told me that he’d yank me back to D.C. the second he heard any complaints from the NTSB … or from the Russians, for that matter. I’m the inspection agency’s liaison here on sufferance.”

Since a team from the On-Site Inspection Agency had been aboard the downed Russian plane, both Washington and Moscow were willing to allow an observer from the agency at the crash site — somebody who could help identify the victims, round up their personal and professional effects, and funnel reports back to O.S.I.A’s Washington headquarters. But none of the top officials involved in either capital were likely to have much patience with him if he pissed off the experts tasked with the real work of investigating the crash.

Helen leaned forward and asked softly, “Is O.S.I.A really that bad, Peter?”

“It’s Siberia without the perks.” Thorn tried smiling and failed.

“Seriously, I have a nice carpeted office, a nice new computer, and a nice clean desk. but nothing important or interesting ever comes across that desk. I write reports analyzing terrorist threats that go straight into a circular file somewhere. And the rest of the time I sit around waiting to answer questions that are never asked.”

He snorted in disgust. “I’m forty years old, Helen, and I’m stuck behind a desk when I should be out leading troops. But I wouldn’t mind that so much if they’d at least let me do the job they hired me for.”

“Then why not resign?” Helen asked bluntly. “Why stay in the Army if they won’t let you do what you’re best at?”

Resign? Leave the Army? Thorn pondered that for a split second and then shook his head decisively. “Can’t do that. They can fire me if they want to, but I won’t quit.”

She frowned.

“Jesus, Helen. I know that sounds stubborn, even muleheaded.

But I’m a soldier. That’s all I’ve ever been. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be since I was just a kid.” Thorn paused, remembering the pride he’d felt as a little boy watching his soldier father march past with that green beret sitting proudly on his head. “I took an oath to serve my country. I’ll honor that oath however I’m allowed.

Whether it’s behind some goddamned desk. or out here in these damned woods.”

Helen’s frown faded. “Now that’s the Peter Thorn I’m used to hearing.”

Her lips curved upward into a slight smile. “Pigheaded, yes.

Opinionated, yes. But not a whiner. or a quitter.”

Thorn winced. “I guess I did sound pretty damned bitter, didn’t I?”

“Yep.” She reached out and put a hand gently on his knee.

“And not a bit like the same man who told me to stay in the FBI whenever I wanted to give up. Who pushed me back into the ring every time I got knocked down.”

She looked down at her lap for a moment. “I haven’t forgotten the months you spent getting me back on my feet, Peter. Not a second of them.”

Thorn nodded slowly. While leading an FBI Hostage Rescue Team raid on a terrorist safe house in northern Virginia, Helen had been badly wounded. Her doctors had warned her that her injuries might be permanent. That she might never walk unaided or without a severe limp.

Well, she’d proved them wrong. It had taken months of rigorous physical therapy — months of constant pain and hard work but she’d regained the full use of her legs.

He’d encouraged her to fight for her health and her career every step of the way. Some members of the FBI’s old-boy network would have been very happy to see her accept a presidential commendation for heroism and retire on disability. But she’d surprised them all. She’d reported back for active duty with a clean bill of health from every doctor she could corral.

Thorn smiled to himself. Helen had more courage in one of her little toes than all the bureaucrats at the FBI’s Hoover Building headquarters put together.

Her sigh startled him. He looked up and found her studying him intently.

“Peter …” She hesitated, then fell silent. She tried again.

“Peter, I think we need to talk”

“Yeah. We do,” Thorn cut in hurriedly. Those were not words he wanted to hear right now. He took his hand off hers and quickly tried to change the subject. “You’ve had more time on the ground here. What’s your first take on this plane crash? Do you buy the accident theory? Or do you think we’re looking at some kind of sabotage?”

Christ, I’m babbling like an idiot, he thought.

Helen rolled her eyes. “Peter Thorn, you are the most irritating man I’ve ever met.” She sounded exasperated beyond endurance.

Bingo.

Thorn grinned slowly. “Does that mean you still like me?”