Brodie called out, “Greer!”
Greer sprang to his feet and looked at them. He was wearing cargo pants, boots, a khaki T-shirt, and a light desert camo jacket. Near his feet was a camo-patterned military backpack.
“Show me your hands!”
Greer didn’t move.
Brodie leveled his pistol and walked forward. “Hands!”
Brodie was well outside the SIG’s firing range, and if Greer had a long gun, they might have a problem. But Brodie didn’t spot a weapon, and Greer didn’t make a move.
Taylor had drawn her weapon and was advancing to the right of her partner. She called, “Tom, let’s be smart. Hands up.”
Greer stood frozen another moment, then slowly raised his hands.
Brodie and Taylor lowered their weapons as they approached. Once they were within normal speaking range, Brodie asked, “What are we doing up here, Private?”
Greer stared at them with his soft, innocent-looking face. “Enjoying the view, sir.”
Brodie and Taylor walked the rest of the way and stopped next to him. Brodie saw a combat knife sheathed in the man’s belt. “I’m taking your knife and checking you for any other weapons.”
“Yes, sir.”
Brodie detached the sheathed knife and handed it to Taylor. He slipped his SIG back in its holster and then patted the guy down. Nothing. “You can lower your hands.” He said to Taylor, “Check his pack.”
Taylor opened the man’s pack and began going through it. Lyingnear it was a portable propane stove with a mini kettle on top, an open thermos full of steaming liquid, and a sealed MRE pouch labeledMenu 9 Beef Stew.
Brodie eyed the MRE and asked, “They still subjecting you guys to the veggie omelet? In Iraq that was more likely to kill you than al Qaeda.”
Greer was looking out at the desert and didn’t respond. Brodie followed his gaze to take in the view from atop the mesa. The sky above was bright blue, and growing orange toward the horizon and the westering sun. The flat desert spread in all directions, studded with bushes and short trees, and beyond it were the low hills north of Camp Hayden.
The entire camp could be seen from this vantage. A dense, ugly strip hemmed by a black cage with a crown of sharp coils. Brodie saw the flagpole in the center of the parade ground, a tiny white line from this distance. The American and Ranger regiment flags hung limp in the still air.
Brodie asked, “Why’d you run, Tom?”
“Because I could.”
“Why did you lie to us about your relationship with Ames?”
Greer seemed to ignore the question and stared at the distant camp. “I’m not going back there.”
Brodie said, “You’ve got people worried.”
“Good. They should be worried.” He turned to Brodie. “Of what I might say.”
“You don’t want to do that, Private. Unless you want to go to prison.”
“I’m already in prison.”
“Yeah, well out here you’re halfway through your stint. You leak a top-secret project, you’re in for life.”Or worse, he thought.
Greer did not react to that. He picked up his thermos, along with a metal camping cup sitting next to it. He poured some of the hot liquid into the cup and handed it to Brodie. “Have some tea.”
“No thank you.”
“It will feel good out here.”
Brodie took the cup and smelled it. Ginger. “Sure. Thanks.” He took a sip. In addition to the ginger was a strong lemon taste.
