CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
5:35 p.m.
Joint Interagency Task Force South, Naval Air Station Key West
Luke sat on the phone, listening to elevator Muzak and trying not to feel sorry for himself. Piano notes tinkled in his ear, playing a watered-down version of some song that had been popular twenty years before. This was the hold music at Susan Hopkins’s New White House?
A few moments before, Ed Newsam had stormed out of the room on his crutches. Ed was upset the kid had died. Ed was quiet for several minutes, and then he exploded, shouting at Luke.
“You design a mission, you got to do it up, man. You don’t send us in on some half-assed mission. We gonna do a raid? We go in guns blazing.”
“I didn’t send you on a mission, Ed. I was there with you. Remember?”
Ed shook his head. “It was half-ass
