Patriot by M.A. Rothman (summer reading list TXT) 📗

ride was smooth, and the sound buffering was better than anything Connor had ever experienced. Every noise, down to the purring of the engine, was effectively reduced to nothing.

Beside Connor, Thompson turned and draped his arm across the back of the seat. “First, I’d really like to thank you for not making us shoot you back there. That would have turned out badly for everyone.”

“Oh?” Connor said. “Way I had it figured, you guys would have been pushing daisies before you’d cleared leather.”

“Maybe,” Thompson said. “But the sniper we had aiming at your dome would have put you in line at the pearly gates right behind us.”

Connor laughed. “You don’t really expect me to believe that, do you?”

As if on cue, Richards pulled the car to the side of the road and the front passenger door opened. A man dressed in an identical suit slid into the seat in front of Connor, balancing a long package wrapped in a navy-blue sheet between his knees. He looked over his shoulder and nodded at Connor. “Thanks for not doing anything stupid in that parking lot.”

Connor opened his mouth but found he didn’t have the words to respond. A part of him still maintained that these guys were full of crap, but the rest of him was somewhat impressed. Even if this third guy was just for effect, it was a convincing act.

The sniper extended a hand over the back of his seat. “I’m Shane. Shane Henderson.”

Connor hesitated, then shook the man’s hand. “Connor Sloane.”

“Yeah.” Henderson pulled a crumpled paper from his inside jacket pocket. “Got your profile right here.”

“You really were going to shoot me?” Connor asked, his confusion beginning to morph into a kind of admiration. He prided himself on being aware of his surroundings; it was a skill that all field operators picked up. But these men had not only managed to approach him without him so much as realizing they were there, they’d done it in broad daylight. And carrying around a rifle like that, in the open in DC, was a brave man’s game. This guy had done it without so much as a sneeze from anyone.

The term “shadow ops” crept into his mind, and immediately he tried to push it from his thoughts. There was no such thing. There wasn’t a black operations bureau somewhere that had stealth choppers flying overhead…

Connor looked out the side window. The sky was clear. Still, the thought was unnerving.

“You won’t see it,” Thompson said.

Connor turned away from the window, and the man grinned.

“I’m not psychic, I swear. But you’re looking for a chopper, right?”

The two men in the front looked over their shoulders, as if anxiously awaiting Connor’s answer.

Connor couldn’t prevent the half-smile forming at the side of his mouth. He sniffed. “Yeah, that’s right.”

“Damn it,” Richards said, slapping the wheel.

“I told you he’d go all paranoid on us. Pay up,” Henderson said, holding out a hand.

“I’m kind of busy right now.”

“Yeah, well, don’t forget like the last time.”

“I didn’t forget anything.”

“Uh-huh.”

Connor shifted in his seat. “All right, enough of this crap. What is this all about? How the hell do you know so much about me? Who are you people?”

“Right,” Thompson said. He cleared his throat. “First of all, we wouldn’t be using a chopper to track you. That’s the kind of crap we’d leave to the bureau. We’ve had you under satellite surveillance for quite a while.” He pointed up at the roof. “About seven hundred miles up, there’s a spy satellite we’ve borrowed for just this encounter. Anyway, there’s really no point in beating around the bush here, and I’m sure that most of the answers we give you will just lead to more questions. Suffice it to say that we’re not the enemy here. Not by a long shot.

“Our employer doesn’t have a name in the traditional sense of the word. Richards and I are case managers, to be honest. We team up to manage operations for a handful of cases, and you happened to drift into our radar. We’re all patriots, just like you, and while we serve the good ole US of A, we don’t work for the government. At least, not directly.”

“Well, that just clears everything up, doesn’t it?” Connor said.

“We’re also aware of your situation at work,” Richards said from the front seat. “We know you’re having trouble cutting through all the agency’s BS and red tape. We know you’re onto something big, something that could potentially change the geopolitical landscape, and we know that you’re being effectively shut out of the process.”

Connor was speechless. There was absolutely no way anyone outside the agency could’ve known about Hakimi, or about Connor’s problems with Pennington. No one inside the agency would have shared that information. Well… except for him. He’d been on the verge of leaking national security secrets to the press.

He shifted in his seat again, consciously restraining himself from reaching for his gun. Who would have the resources to know all this? If the crap about the satellite was true, these guys had to be Russians.

The tips of Connor’s fingers tingled as he studied these people. A firefight in such a small space would be a disaster. He’d have almost no chance of getting all three before being plugged with all sorts of holes, and he wasn’t even wearing a vest.

“I know what you’re thinking,” Thompson said.

“You have no idea what I’m thinking,” Connor replied, keeping his tone level despite his rising anxiety. “You guys sure do talk a lot without saying very much. And I’m not the only one at the agency dealing with red tape. In fact you could say the same about half of the analysts. You guys are on a fishing expedition.”

Thompson cleared his throat again. “Mohammad Hakimi, connections to Hamas, ISIS, all the cool kids on the terrorist lists. Identified as a person of interest in multiple suicide bombings throughout the world. Disappeared off the radar until recently and is most likely in possession of a nuclear