The Last Good Man

Fallout from the Mission

Lincoln notes when True and Alex leave the reception. He’d like to leave too, but leadership demands his presence. It’s his duty to show confidence in his people and in his company. So he circulates. He talks to Khalid. “You’re not officially employed yet. We’ve got paperwork to do. But I want you to come in tomorrow with everyone else and get your interview done.”

“Yes, sir. That’s what Chris said. I’ll be there.”

Miles is waiting to talk to him, his parents and sisters smiling behind him. “Lincoln, I’m heading out, but I want to thank you—”

Lincoln holds up his hand. “I just wish we’d come in sooner.” He leans in and adds in a hoarse undertone, “I know True asked you to sit on this…” He hesitates, considering how to phrase it. “…this Jon Helm rumor. I’m asking you to keep it quiet for a little longer. You’re going to get slammed with a thousand requests for interviews, but if you could keep this under wraps for another day, I’d appreciate it. I don’t want to hit my team with the news tonight, but I want them to hear it from me.”

Miles nods. “I can do that. Anyway, the name is going to stay ‘Jon Helm’ until I can confirm… well, the other.”

“Okay. You take care.”

As Lincoln turns away, Tamara intercepts him, reminding him about the recovered electronics. “Who’s got custody?” she asks. “We need to make sure those bags are not opened or there’s no point doing a pollen and fungus analysis.”

“I’ll talk to Chris about it,” he promises. “And I’ll take the bags into headquarters tonight. Leave them in your lab for safekeeping.”

He realizes this is a good excuse for making an early exit. With that in mind, he checks in on his two daughters—eight and ten years old—who are playing big sisters to Jameson’s three-year-old twins. “We’re going to leave soon,” he warns them.

“No,” Anna, the older, protests. “Everyone just got here.”

“We’re having fun,” Camilla chimes in.

“Five minutes,” he growls. “I don’t want any argument.”

God, he adores them. But he gets impatient anyway, too aware that they live in a different reality, blithely ignorant of the terrors of the world. That’s a good thing. That’s as it should be, but it’s hard to make the shift between their world and his.

He continues around the room, shaking hands, thanking his people and their spouses. When Chris sees him coming, he whispers something to his wife, who melts away.

Lincoln doesn’t like the idea that Chris has an agenda, not tonight. Tonight he just wants to get clear. “Let’s save the analysis for tomorrow,” he says. “I’m heading out. Hayden’s got the key card. He’s in charge of making sure everything gets cleaned up. I just need to round up the girls and get the recovered electronics from you.”

“Sure,” Chris says. “I’ve got the bags. They’re with the rest of my gear. But I need to ask you: what the hell was going on with True, right after we got in? That did not look like a friendly conversation.”

The fingers on Lincoln’s prosthetic hand tap in quick rhythm: thumb to index, middle, ring, and little finger. “Fallout from the mission,” he says gruffly, using truth as an evasion. He isn’t ready to talk about Shaw. Hell, he isn’t ready to believe it—and he’s still burned by the way True ambushed him with her allegations. She did it that way on purpose, not saying anything until just before her plane touched down, a ploy aimed at shaking him up, shaking the truth out of him—but he’s always told her the truth. And the truth is, he believed Shaw was dead.

This idea that he’s not, that Shaw is alive—there’s no joy in it. Not for him. Eight years ago, yes. Yes, he would have been happy to find Shaw, but now…

Far better that Shaw Walker died in the line of duty than that he walked out on that duty, walked out on the memory of the men of Rogue Lightning who followed him into that Burmese forest to die there—five of them, with Diego on the cross.

For all the differences Lincoln had with Shaw, and despite the falling-out after their last mission together, he meant every word of praise he spoke when he delivered the eulogy at Shaw’s funeral. Shaw was a skilled warrior, daring, decisive, a fast thinker who could recast any mission the moment circumstances changed, and he was blessed with more than the usual share of luck. He was a hard man too—and that was appropriate. No sympathy for those who talked tough but couldn’t measure up. His men admired that, and they loved him. They trusted him not to waste their lives.

But like any man, he had his flaws. He could be self-righteous, humility was never a strong point, and he resented being held back or overridden by commanders who did not have his experience in the field. Sometimes he refused to be held back. But Shaw’s flaws were flaws of ego. Lincoln cannot believe he is the same man as the hostage-trading mercenary Miles described.

“Fallout from the mission?” Chris echoes. His gaze is intent, suspicious. “What fallout? If True had a problem with the mission, she should have come to me.”

“She didn’t have a problem with the mission.”

Chris needs to hear this rumor about Shaw Walker. He’s part of Rogue Lightning and so is Jameson. But they’re not the original team. Both were brought in after Nungsan, and neither knew Shaw except by reputation.

“We’ll go over everything tomorrow,” he promises. Then he collects the electronics and his protesting daughters and makes his escape.