Free Running from the Devil by Jamie Freveletti

she’s not a covert operator, she’s a civilian. I would think they’d text the person they love the most.”
    Before Banner could reply, the door swung open and Whitter strode into the room. From the look on his face it was clear that he did not have good news.
    “Banner, I just spoke to the secretary of defense. There’s been a strategy reversal. You are to tell the press that we already have five hundred special forces personnel in place in Colombia whose sole mission it is to find and free these people.”
    Banner snorted. “Sole mission? Five hundred? Miguel said he’s working with twenty.” Banner pointed at Stromeyer’s computer. “Is Rubenstein there? The smart one from that cable channel?”
    She checked the computer monitor. “You betcha.”
    “And,” Whitter continued, “you are to tell them that we flew these men down within twelve hours of learning of the trouble. You are to let them know that we had fighter planes scrambling in one hour and ready to go within three.”
    “What a crock of shit,” Banner said.
    Whitter bristled, pulling himself up like a private on roll call. “It’s not shit. We do have five hundred men in Colombia.”
    “There to protect some private corporation’s precious pipeline.”
    “There to fight terrorism whenever and wherever it may be found!”
    Banner grabbed a clipboard that contained his notes and headed to the door.
    “Do you hear me, Banner?”
    Banner was gone. Stromeyer made herself busy with her ever-present manifest lists. Whitter slammed out of the room.
    The news conference went fine for twenty minutes and slid south at twenty-two, when O’Connor threw the first mud ball.
    “Major Banner, isn’t it true that this breach of security would never have happened if the liberals in Congress had approved additional spending for Homeland Security?”
    Banner gave O’Connor his patented military stare, a look that had quelled greater men than the soft reporter. In his relentlessly perfect suit, with his erect military carriage, and with his reputation as a former military man who’d seen battle, even the jaded media guys in the room felt a certain respect.
    “Mr. O’Connor, save the spin for your television show. We don’t have the time for it here.”
    The other reporters snickered.
    “Isn’t it true that this administration had fighter pilots in the air within two hours of learning of the event and over five hundred special forces personnel on their way in three?” O’Connor said.
    Banner glanced at Whitter, who leaned against a wall in the back of the room. The smirk on his face was enough to tell Banner that he intended to get the ridiculous story out one way or another.
    Banner knew if he confirmed the lie, then he would be the one in the hot seat when Congress convened a committee to review the events. Whitter leaned against the back wall and looked very pleased with himself while he waited for Banner to take the fall.
    Over my dead body, Banner thought.
    “There are five hundred special forces personnel in the area and available to assist should we need to call on them,” Banner said. At least that much was true. Banner figured a guy with O’Connor’s simplistic thought processes would never see the difference in the two assertions. He was right. O’Connor gave a supercilious nod, as if Banner had confirmed what he already knew.
    Banner wasn’t out of the woods, though. While O’Connor wasn’t bright enough to see the fine distinction Banner had drawn, Rubenstein was.
    “What were they there for, if not to assist in this operation?” Rubenstein said.
    Banner watched an alarmed look wash over Whitter’s face.
    Serves you right, asshole, Banner thought.
    “There are several projects proceeding in Colombia that require a U.S. military presence,” Banner said. He eyed Whitter, who seemed to hold his breath.
    “Like the joint effort between Colombia and the U.S. to spray herbicide on the coca plants to reduce cocaine production?”