Free The General and the Elephant Clock of Al-Jazari by Sarah Black

, you’re ready to get fucked on the hood of my pickup truck!”
    It was all John could do not to howl like a dog.
     
     
    T HE plane ride was comfortable, with Painter’s first class seats. They got off the plane at Dulles, and Gabriel grabbed their suit bag and carryall from the overhead bin. John picked up the briefcase, slid the long strap over his chest. It wasn’t a briefcase anymore, Kim had told him. It was a messenger bag. The message, John thought, was that he was turning into a pretentious twit or his kids were dressing him. Either option felt uncomfortable but possibly true. “Hey, boss. Ranger at 1300.”
    John looked to the one o’clock position, saw the young man waiting for them. He must be one of Painter’s guys, with a profile like a cliff, hair buzz-cut so short John couldn’t tell what color it was. He was holding a sign with “General Mitchel and Mr. Sanchez” printed on the front. John stopped in front of him, and the man looked down. When he turned his head, John could see the scarring on the right side of his forehead. It looked about a year old, maybe eighteen months. If he was working for Painter, he must have been discharged already. He didn’t look too happy to be picking up old generals and their boyfriend-lawyers at the airport.
    “I’m John Mitchel.” John held out his hand.
    The man hesitated for a moment, surprise sliding over his face. “General Mitchel, I’m Sam Brightman.” John came to his shoulder, but the man’s handshake was gentle. “Sir,” he said, shaking hands with Gabriel and taking the suit bag from him. “General Painter asked me to bring you to the hotel. He’s going to meet you in your suite later this evening for a briefing, if that will work for you. He got you a room in Crystal City.”
    “That’s fine,” John said. “Have you been assigned to be my aide for this op?”
    Brightman glanced at Gabriel, then back at John. “Sir, I was ordered to do everything you wanted me to do, up to and including sucking your dick if so desired.” His jaw was like a rock.
    Gabriel sighed, staring through the glass at a departing plane. “Can David Painter possibly be a bigger shit? I don’t think General Mitchel will be needing any blow jobs, Brightman. But we will need a decent briefing, intel, secure coms. You a Ranger?”
    “Not anymore,” Brightman said, and now all the humor was gone from his face. Then he looked at both of them. “I guess now I’m General Mitchel’s aide.”
    “Excellent,” John said. “I’m retired. You’re welcome to call me John.” Brightman reared back, shaking his head no before John finished speaking. It seemed like the blow job had gone down better than first names. The man was definitely a Ranger. “We have a suite? Set up a couple of secure work stations, Brightman. Are we going into Tunisia?”
    He hesitated. “Sir, I’m not authorized to say anything until General Painter sees you tonight.”
    “Okay,” John said. “No problem. But after that meeting, you’ll be working for me, understand?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    In the back of a black Lincoln, Gabriel turned and looked at him, a question on his face. “We need an aide,” John said.
    “Do we want to do some due diligence first?”
    John studied Brightman’s rock-like neck in the driver’s seat. “I think we’ll be good.”
    Gabriel smiled, turned back around. “Yes, sir.”

Chapter 7

     
    T HEY checked into the Embassy Suites. Their room had a well-appointed bedroom with a king-size bed, and a sitting area with a small dining table and couch. Gabriel studied the arrangements, then pulled the table closer to the wall. “Brightman, we can work here, give General Mitchel the desk. I need to fax a contract over to Painter.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “You don’t have to call me sir. I’m retired, too.”
    “I know who you are, sir. Everybody knew the Horse-Lord. I wish I had seen you in combat. Some of the older guys used to talk about it, being pinned down by