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Damn the torpedoes, indeed.
He says, “My crew and I raided a Russian bot farm and took it out.”
“Where was it?” she asks. “Africa? Baltic States? One of the ’stans in Central Asia?”
“Just outside of Saint Petersburg,” he says.
“Saint Petersburg?” she asks with awe. “The one here or the one over there?”
“Don’t be silly,” he says. “The one over there.”
Noa lets out a low whistle. “That’s some damn impressive shootin’ there, cowboy. How did it go?”
“Went off fine, without a hitch,” he says, and then, correcting himself, adds, “One small hitch. Ops like that one tend to lend themselves to last-minute complications.”
“When you say ‘raid’ and ‘took it out,’ mind clearing away the sterile language and telling me exactly what happened?”
Liam says, “We got there, pretending to be a domestic package delivery outfit. About a minute before knocking on the door, one of my guys disabled their electronics, surveillance gear, and communications. We then went in and killed everybody in the building, and then set off thermite charges to burn everything, including concrete and steel.”
Another low whistle from Noa. “You overseas boys sure don’t mess around.”
Liam says, “This bot farm was run by the Russian GRU and was responsible for that civil war in Myanmar last year, the one that killed thousands, and also responsible for fouling up that special Senate race in Montana. We also left a calling card. A pistol and charred notebook indicating the raid had come from the KDB in Belarus. Shed no tears for them, Noa.”
“I won’t,” she says. “What was the hitch?”
“The GRU tends to be a chauvinistic unit,” he says. “Every GRU officer in there was male and got two taps to the head and one to the chest … except for a young woman, hiding out in a bathroom. Maybe nineteen years old. Twenty.”
Noa says, “Shit.”
“Yeah. We had strict orders. No prisoners, no wounded GRU officers, no witnesses. But the orders didn’t say anything about a scared teenager hiding in a WC.”
Noa says, “Must have been hard, doing what you did.”
Liam is surprised. “How do you know what I did?”
“You outlined your rules of engagement. You don’t get to where you are by ignoring them.”
Liam says, “You’re a cold one.”
“If so, we’re both hanging out in the same freezer. So answer the question.”
Liam says, “She was in a military uniform, in a military facility, and she pulled a pistol on me and a fellow operator.”
“Then you did your job,” she says.
“I did.”
Noa says, “Well, we’ve got a new job now, friend.”
“What’s that?”
“Keeping an eye on POTUS, along with me,” she says. “He says he chose us for particular reasons, to do what’s right. Okay, so far, we’ve signed off on his targeting plans. They may be a stretch, but they’re legitimate. But you know what they say about absolute power and how it corrupts. At some point, we may get a target from Barrett that’s not legitimate. What are we going to do then?”
“Respond appropriately.”
“That’s mush.”
“No, that’s what we’ll do,” Liam says. “Like LBJ said last century, better to be on the inside of the tent pissing out, than outside and pissing in. He’s trusting us, he’s liking what we’re doing, and we can be in a position to gently steer him away if he gets too enthusiastic.”