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CHAPTER 20



It was thirty hours later, midmorning, when they met to gather loose ends. Kyle had told his story, sketched everything he could, shared photos with their new hosts, looked at their reports and images and spent the entire day doing paperwork and loving it. No matter how bad it was, it was infinitely better than watching a madman wave a mercury switch around. He’d remember that.

Which didn’t mean his current love affair with paperwork was more than a fling.

And there were no friendly deaths this time. Their wounded allies were recovering, Sam and Cafferty were unhurt, Wade was unhurt, Kyle was shaky but would be fine in a few days. The mission had been pulled off and no one had died. That alone was cause for another celebration.

He’d add that to the tally for tonight. Apparently, many toasts and drinks were planned at the DGIPI headquarters, in the section used by the counterterror platoon. For now, they were all eating catered food while they wrapped up. And it was good food, local, without pretension or gimmicks, just ethnic and hot and delicious. Almost dying had nothing to do with it.

They all sat back for a moment, pausing between one round of forms and another. Something that had occurred to Kyle a while back came to mind.

“Mister Pavenic, Mister Cafferty, I need to ask one favor,” he said.

“Yes?” Mick prompted. Pavenic just looked at him and waited.

“The Ruger and the Browning. Could Romania officially confiscate these?”

“We can,” Pavenic said. “But why? I’d thought for you to keep them as well-deserved trophies.”

“That’s just it,” Kyle said. “The Ruger is Army property. If I try to take the Browning back, likewise. The best that can happen is they’ll be stuck on display at the school. The worst is that . . . a certain person in my chain of command”—he didn’t mention Wiesinger by name—“will have them disposed of. No military weapons can be let into civilian hands, thanks to Bill Clinton. But if they’re seized by your agency and turned over to a dealer, I can then arrange to buy them and import them. They’re perfectly legal weapons if they aren’t military property.” He couldn’t import the suppressor for the Ruger, of course. But otherwise it was just a very nice little rifle.

“A rimfire rifle and a basic pistol are illegal for soldiers to take to a country where they can buy almost anything?” Pavenic asked. “I will never understand bureaucrats. But yes, I’ll do it.”

“I’ll call about the import,” Cafferty said. “And have the papers to you before you depart. What about you, Wade?”

“The AK has a short barrel, and automatic fire. Somehow, I don’t think they’ll let me have it,” Wade replied. “So let the school have it for braggin’ rights and I’ll shoot it when I’m there. But I wouldn’t mind a real tour of Bran Castle before we leave. The top parts.”

“Yes, me, too,” Kyle said. “Heck, it can’t be nearly as scary.”

“You haven’t met the tour guides,” Pavenic said with a chuckle. “But yes, you shall have a tour, and dinner, and we shall toast success.”

“It was a good mission,” Kyle said. “And I think I deserve one beer.”


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Framed