SEALs on deployment watched a ton of movies, and among the long list of quotable favorites was the dark, satirical comedy by Stanley Kubrick. Scott knew exactly what Colt meant.
The general’s dark fury directed at Colt suggested that he wasn’t too far gone to understand the reference to the general in the movie who thought twenty million deaths were worth it to destroy the Soviets.
“I assure you, the Russian threat to the US is not a joke,” Murray said. “They are far more dangerous than ISIS or a lone-wolf terrorist with a car or a bomb. Look what happened in the last election. That is only the beginning. They have the ability to destabilize not only our government with technology but our entire infrastructure with their close-to-operational antisatellite weapons. And this is in addition to the known military threat and the rumors of a secret doomsday project.” So apparently Team Nine’s mission hadn’t been a complete ruse, Scott thought. “Someone needed to do something. What I did was for the good of the country.”
Scott didn’t disagree with the threat; he disagreedwith one man playing God and murdering people to achieve his ends. Murray could call it what he wanted, but slaughter wasn’t sacrifice. It was betrayal, treason, and murder.
Disgusted, Scott picked up the general’s phone and handed it to him. “Call them off.”
“Who?”
“The men you have doing your dirty work,” Colt said. “I recognized one of the CAD operatives you sent after Travis.”
“Why should I do that?” Murray said, continuing his defiance.
“Because it’s over, but it’s up to you how it ends.”
The general looked at him for a long moment, weighing his options. But it was clear he understood. Justice would be served, but whether that was in this room or in a courtroom would be his decision.
Murray picked up the phone and made the call. Whatever threat there was to Natalie, her parents, or the other survivors was over.
When Scott and Colt left the room a few minutes later, the general was slumped over the desk, a gun in his hand and a bullet through his temple. Ever the soldier, he’d fallen on his sword rather than face the public shame of what he’d done.
The end had been written and justice had been served. Nine men could finally rest in peace.
All that was left was to clear Natalie, and Scott had an idea about that.
EPILOGUE
ONE MONTH LATER
Natalie had just finished cleaning the glass from the newly installed living room windows when she heard the car drive up.
With a cry of happiness, she tossed the rag into the bucket and ran—or waddled—down the new sturdy wooden porch stairs. The spray of bullets had torn up most of the front of the house, but thanks to help from Becky Randall and a good portion of the town selectmen (as well as an appearance or two from the sheriff), the house had been mostly repaired within a few days of Natalie’s return to the farm in Vermont a few weeks ago.
As promised, Scott had taken her to Minnesota to visit her family right after the general’s death. Scott hadn’t been able to stay long as he’d had to return to Washington to contact command and deal with the political shit storm of five members of the Lost Platoon, as Brittany Blake had dubbed them, coming back from the dead.
As Natalie’s fate for her role as an unwilling Russian agent was still uncertain, Scott thought it better that she stay in hiding until it was decided. To avoid the chance of someone recognizing Natalie Andersson, she’d stayed with her family for only a few days before returning to Vermont as Jennifer Wilson.
But her family would be coming for a visit soon, and she hoped to convince them to stay. She had a few propositions for them.
Scott had managed to get away for a few days at a time to visit her, but the debrief and damage control plan were both time-consuming and stressful. As Colt had predicted, Scott had spent a lot of time locked up in a little room going over every facet of what had happened.
But now he was here, and she was in his arms before the car door had slammed shut.
He spun her around, kissed her, and then put her down to look at her as if memorizing every inch.
She smiled a little self-consciously as he put his hand on her stomach. “You look so different.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes. “You mean I look pregnant.”
He looked crushed by the changes. “I’ve been gone too long.”
It had been only about ten days since he’d been here, but she’d “popped,” as they called it. There was no hiding it now.
“You have,” she agreed. “But you are here now, and believe me, I still have a long way to go. You have plenty of time to watch me get fat.”
He frowned. “You aren’t fat; you’re pregnant.”
