Free The Ares Decision by Kyle Mills

community has connecting the Iranians to Bahame and recommended responses in the event the president is aware of the association and asks questions. Frankly, it wasn’t too difficult. The intel is pretty tenuous at this point.”
    Drake skimmed the Iranian section for a moment and then tossed the file on his desk. “Another excellent job, Brandon. It’s what I’ve come to expect from you.”
    Gazenga’s smile had a slightly queasy edge to it, and he took another swipe at his forehead. “Thank you, sir.”
    Drake looked over his reading glasses and scowled, mindful of the importance of maintaining his role as a replacement for the father who had been lost. “Is there a problem?”
    Fear flashed briefly in the young man’s eyes. “No, sir. Why would there be?”
    “Because this is a tough assignment. About as tough as they get. But that’s the job we’re stuck with. Castilla is a damn fine man, but he’s a politician. I’d already been working in intelligence for fifteen years when he decided to leave his law firm and run for local office. We’re the experts, and to some extent we have to protect the country from the revolving door of Congress and the White House.”
    “Yes, sir, I understand.” His voice had a comforting force to it, but there was still something audible in the background. Doubt.
    “You’ve seen the same things I have, Brandon: the military and intelligence communities getting more and more politicized and bureaucratic. Constant grandstanding and posturing by the people who are supposed to be leading us. A deficit that’s pushing us into another collapse. This country is on life support, and as much as I hate to admit it, the energy coming out of the Middle East is our blood supply. Without it, this country dies.”
    “I completely agree, sir,” Gazenga said, but Drake was unconvinced and decided to press his point home.
    “Can you imagine what will happen if we let Iran modernize and go nuclear? There won’t be any way for us to combat their influence in the Middle East—we’ll end up in a groveling contest with the rest of the world to see who gets the opportunity to spend the rest of their lives kissing Persian ass. We have a window of opportunity here, Brandon, and it’s closing fast. We need to make the politicians understand that the American military’s failure as a nation-building organization doesn’t mean that it’s not the greatest instrument of punishment ever created.”
    Gazenga nodded, seemingly regaining the resolve he’d let slip. But for how long? Drake was starting to see the limits of his influence over the young man, and it worried the hell out of him.
    “All right. That’s all, Brandon. I’ll go through your report in detail tonight and let you know if I find any problems.”
    Gazenga seemed relieved to be dismissed and hurried from the office. A moment later a side door opened and Dave Collen strode in.
    “Have you had a chance to go through this yet?” Drake said, tapping the folder on his desk.
    “Yeah, Brandon sent it to me this morning. His normal thorough job. Hell, he almost had me convinced.”
    Drake nodded slowly, fixing his gaze on a blank section of wall across from him.
    “This has the potential to put our problems with Castilla to bed,” Collen said. “Why don’t you look happy?”
    “It’s Brandon. I’m starting to see cracks.”
    “Are they wide enough that you want to do something about it?”
    “No. Not yet. But I think we have to start considering the possibility that he’s going to become a liability sooner than we’d planned.”

16
     
    Near Bloemfontein, South Africa
November 14—1620 Hours GMT+2
     
    D EMBE KAIKARA GRIMACED AS the ancient Volkswagen bounced through a deep rut, causing the bullet lodged in his thigh to grind against bone. The bleeding in his side had stopped on its own, but the wound in his leg was far worse. The scarf tied around the entry wound was so tight, he could no longer feel the accelerator