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“At Reagan National picking up Amena. I had Kylie fly her up here.”

“Really? You’re going home tomorrow.”

“I know, but when we talked to her last night she begged.”

He smiled, saying, “And you can’t tell her no.”

I took a sip of my drink and said, “Nope. That’s the truth.”

Bryce came over and took their orders. When he left, I said, “So what’s going on with Dylan Hobbes?”

Wolffe said, “That’s a sticky one. President Hannister wants to keep the Iran narrative alive. If Dylan’s actions hit the light of day, it’ll be a debacle. Iran will use it as leverage any time we say they’re doing something wrong.”

“Just like the WMD thing from Iraq.”

“Exactly. If we say they’re starting up new centrifuges, they’ll say, ‘You mean like when you said we hacked your spacecraft?’”

“So, what’s going to happen?”

“Well, as far as Iran knows, we fervently believe they did it—and our actions against them may very well give them pause if they’re planning on any cyberattacks in the future.”

“I meant with Dylan. Tell me he’s just been labeled DOA.”

Wolffe chuckled and said, “We don’t do that to American civilians.”

“We have before.” A long time ago, on the same mission where I’d almost been killed in this very bar, I’d uncovered a cancer inside the National Security Council. A man who was Ollie North times ten. He’d almost started a war, and when I’d prevented it, he’d met his just rewards.

Wolffe said, “Standish wasn’t a civilian, and we didn’t kill him.”

I laughed and said, “Only because he was already dead when we arrived.”

Wolffe waved his hand and said, “Old history. Either way, Dylan isn’t DOA.”

“So, he just skates? Keeps raking in the money with his corporation like nothing happened?”

“He thinks he’s a patriot. He believed he was bringing the country together, trying to fuse the partisan divide by focusing our attention on a common enemy.”

“Off the backs of people he murdered? Who cares what he thinks? We’re giving him a pass because he thought he was doing good?”

Blaine held up a hand and said, “Keep it down. He’s not getting off. He’s going to jail for murder.”

“Murder? How?”

“Last week one of his guys fell down the stairwell, bashing his head into the concrete. The fall killed him and was ruled an accident.”

“Now?”

“Now the authorities are taking a harder look. And Dylan, because he doesn’t want to be DOA, has agreed to plead guilty to murdering him.”

“Did he?”

“Not as far as I know, but it works.”

I leaned back and said, “I guess that’s the best we’ll get.”

Blaine said, “Shit, you’re just lucky your entire team wasn’t thrown in jail from the assault.”

After we’d solved the ransomware problem, we’d secured the crisis site, then I’d thrown the entire mess into Wolffe’s lap, letting him figure out how to conduct extraction. He’d pulled some strings, and we’d given control of the site to Department of Homeland Security guys from the National Counterterrorism Center down the road. Their agents processed the people we’d tied up while we fled the scene, dragging Dylan Hobbes with us.