Search and Destroy by JT Sawyer (top non fiction books of all time .TXT) 📗

He knew it was unlikely that he’d be advancing anytime soon, and with the CIA gaining a tool like Perseus, his analyst duties would be further reduced. He’d be faced with becoming a training instructor working with new recruits or making a lateral move back to the Special Collections Service and overseeing satellite retasking again.

“Fucking guys like Patterson who are cozy with the players on the Hill just keep muscling their way into my territory. Pretty soon, the NSA will be absorbed by the agency if guys like him have their way.”

Rourke felt his wife’s hand on his back, giving him a perfunctory pat on the shoulder before she turned on her side and went to sleep. He knew her primary concern was whether she would have to return to the trenches of being a medical transcriptionist and cut back on her private yoga classes and weekend getaways to Atlantic City with her girlfriends.

Soon, we’ll never have to worry about money again.

His mind drifted to his recent phone conversation with Adam Hunley, who had assured him that their plans to install Ernesto Rimaldi as the Venezuelan president were on track. With the satellite footage and electronic eavesdropping that Rourke had provided, Hunley and his team were able to gain critical information on Rimaldi’s political rivals and, most importantly, on the fateful gathering at Burke’s place earlier in the week. It was Rourke who had first notified Hunley about Burke’s use of satellite imagery over Caracas on the day that Montoya was in that city eliminating an anti-Rimaldi journalist.

Rourke had met the former ambassador six years earlier during a diplomatic meeting in DC when Hunley had just joined the NSA. He knew the man was as capable as he was ruthless and had far more international connections than Rourke, but what started as a seemingly lucrative plan to install a puppet politician in Venezuela to bolster Roth’s oil holdings had turned into a nightmare of mass murder at Burke’s place, which Rourke had only discovered on the eight o’clock news that night.

Rourke had no idea that his satellite footage was being used for reconnaissance for an attack on the CEO’s estate, but the time for repentance would have to wait for the afterlife.

Now, I just need to get through these next few weeks and keep a low profile at the NSA.

Despite Hunley’s confidence in their undertaking, Rourke couldn’t stave off the gnawing anxiety that Shepard would somehow blow their whole operation wide open if he got wind of what was happening.

Of all the people to have as a random variable right now, we’ve got a Special Activities guy with nothing left to lose. He’s gonna be worse than a rabid lion if Hunley doesn’t put him down…and fast.

The touch of his wife’s hand on his arm caused him to lunge forward as a jolt of adrenaline tore through him like he had been ensnared in a trap.

“Christ, Tim, relax. You scared the hell out of me. I just wanted you to turn the TV off.”

He gulped down a breath, feeling the rush of nighttime air from the open window wafting over him. “Sorry, just frazzled today, is all. I need to get some sleep.”

Rourke removed his pants and socks then reached over to his nightstand and popped a Valium from a pill bottle. He slumped back in bed next to Alicia, who turned onto her other side, facing away from him.

“You work so hard,” she said. “You should take a day off soon and go have some fun somewhere.”

Sooner than you think, he told himself, trying to focus on a postcard image of Bermuda, where he wanted to take Alicia in an attempt to rekindle the pallid remains of his third marriage. He tried to calm his racing heart, feeling like his life was entwined in a web whose tenacious hold he couldn’t shake. He just had to remain cool for one more month until the election was over and his service to Hunley and Roth was finished.

As he lay in bed, staring at the moonlight flitting along the lacy curtains, he tried to force away the images from the news of the eleven innocent people who died in the explosion, waiting for the narcotics and alcohol in his system to cascade over his weary brain.

17

Cal’s senses barely registered the faint drizzle and overcast sky during the outdoor service for Cassie at the cemetery, but the gloom of the morning penetrated him to the core.

Despite the somber weather, there was a nice turnout of Cassie’s friends and co-workers from the law firm, along with their neighbors that Cal had gotten to know better during his time stateside.

Seated beside Cal was Cassie’s sister Sara, along with her husband Mike and their two toddlers. Mike had been gracious enough to handle the remaining funeral details, as Sara was as much of a wreck as Cal.

Patterson had driven Cal to the service and was seated in the second row beside several colleagues from the agency. Behind the rows of seated mourners, he noticed Lynn Vogel standing in black beside a massive oak tree, seeming out of her element away from her intel desk at Langley.

Cal stared at the closed brown casket surrounded by bouquets of flowers and a photograph of Cassie, the surreal image of it all deepening the abyss in his soul.

Last week at this time, we were walking along the beach, talking about the baby girl we were anxious to meet, and now…

As the priest’s sermon came to a close, Cal heard the man speak of the three things that last after death: faith, hope, and love. He would never stop loving his wife, and he yearned to follow her into the world beyond this one.

But hope and faith…

He couldn’t even recall what those feelings were anymore.

Why did I survive? I should be with you now, Cass. Tears streamed down his face as he felt his whole being tremble.

When the sermon finished and everyone had