Page 27 of Enemy of My Enemy

“Madigan believes he’s smarter, better than everyone else. He thinks he can play games with people. Taunt them. He thinks he’s playing with us.”

“Us?”

“The United States government. You. Me. He knows he’s enemy number one and he loves it.” Irwin shook his head. “I always thought he was a prick when we shared the Situation Room.”

Jack’s eyes twinkled. “To be honest, so did I.”

Irwin chuckled and then turned back to the intel and the photos. “Three maximum security prisons were taken out in Peru and Bolivia. It looks like he’s moving south from Colombia and heading overland. We’ve got some rough projections on where he might go from here.” Irwin pointed to a prison in central Bolivia on a map of South America and to several colored tracks showing possible routes Madigan might take.

“He could stay in Bolivia for a while.” Irwin flipped to a new sheet and a dossier on the Bolivian president. “President Angelo Gamez. Your basic South American military pseudo-dictator.”

“Haven’t most of those guys been thrown out by the people down there?”

“Most have. But he’s been reelected in sham elections for twenty years. Rose to power through the Bolivian military. His career really took off, though, after he graduated from the Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation.” Irwin’s eyebrows rose. “Guess who his instructor was?”

“Shit.” Jack pinched the bridge of his nose.

The Western Hemisphere Institute for Security Cooperation was the controversial school for foreign military and police officers to learn counterterrorism, counterinsurgency, and Special Forces tactics and techniques. Many of the graduates had returned to their countries and instigated bloody civil wars or perpetrated massacres. It was a sore point of international politics for the United States and a dark corner of their military history.

Of course Madigan would have taught there.

“And Peru’s head of intelligence services is also a graduate, again, attending while Madigan was an instructor.” Irwin slid the dossier for Peru’s chief intelligence officer out, setting it beside the Bolivian president’s.

“So he’s couch surfing with his friends, is that it?” Jack shook his head. “Going from country to country where he can be protected?”

“And possibly building an army.” Ethan sighed. “Where have the prisoners all gone?”

“Unknown. There are a few reports of rearrests made, but they’ve all been mentally unstable prisoners captured out in the open. Standing naked in the street or masturbating in a chicken coop.”

Jack’s eyebrows shot straight up.

“He’s collecting criminals. Breaking them out and getting them to join him.” Ethan ran a hand over his mouth. “To what end?”

“We’ve got to figure that out.” Irwin started to stack the photos and folders. He paused. “Do you know howbadyou have to be to get put in a maximum security prison in South America? These are not good men.”

“What’s our counter?” Jack leaned back against his desk when Irwin had cleared it and crossed his arms. “What’s our move here?”

“We send our strike team.” Irwin looked to Ethan. “You ready to take command?”

Ethan nodded.

“I need to draft orders for the SOCOM commander.” Jack spun his laptop on the desktop and pulled up the secured document creator. Word, but on classified steroids.

“General Bell might be difficult to work with. He’s territorial of his men. We tasked a few units to the CIA in Afghanistan, and it was always a challenge.”

“I should fly down there and speak to him. Deliver the orders. Give it a personal touch.” Ethan arched his eyebrows to Jack, questioning.

Jack nodded, and the printer in his private study down the hall spooled to life, spitting out the orders onTop Secret Eyes Onlyletterhead from the Oval Office.

“General Bell is in his office at MacDill Air Force Base. I also checked on Lieutenant Cooper and his men. He’s assigned to MacDill and SOCOM, and he and his men are not currently deployed.”

“I want our strike team down there ASAP.” Jack smiled at Ethan. “Feel like a trip down to Tampa today?”

* * *

Ethan hada stop to make in the East Wing before leaving. Daniels went with him, ducking into his office to ready for their trip as Ethan made his way to Brandt’s open door. Four televisions mounted to the wall were all on, replaying at low volume Brandt’s interview from that morning and news commentary on the Washington Eagle tell-all article. Brandt had his back to the door and was fixated on the dual monitors arrayed on his desk. Five paper cups of coffee littered his desktop.

“Hey.” Ethan shouldered the doorjamb and crossed his arms.