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

as the lone seagull out on the waves in the distance.

Hopefully, Lynn will turn something up on that van driver soon. That’s the first breadcrumb.

As he thought of the scope of what he was planning to undertake, his eyes focused on the horizon. The grief in him was as deep as the restless ocean, but beneath his anguish was a simmering cauldron of rage that he had kept in check during the past few days.

His wife dead, his colleagues buried, his hopes for a family erased in a single afternoon.

There’s nothing left for me here anymore. And I sure as hell don’t care about returning to some war-torn shithole, working for the agency.

His eyes drifted to the nearest wave, about to crash into the rocky shoreline, and he balled his fist.

There’s one mission left now.

The only one that matters.

21

Cal was too wired and restless to sleep. Instead, he spent the night driving along the coast, alternating between sitting at outdoor cafes or bars until they closed and stopping at seaside parks to lie down on the dunes.

Finally, with dusk a few hours away, he made the long drive back home, taking secondary roads again to avoid the Sunday morning tourists and partygoers who had just spent the night bar-hopping their way around Virginia Beach.

He parked his motorcycle in the corner of the garage, placing his helmet on the workbench near the side door. He heard a noise coming from the loft above the garage, then realized he had left a window open to vent some of the hot air. Cal trotted up the steps, walking down the narrow passage between boxes. He and Cassie had planned to make the space into a guest room, but his plans for home improvements often got sidelined with his continuous deployments abroad.

He closed the window, peering at the rising sun beyond the limbs of the large oak tree in the backyard, then headed back to the garage. The familiar chirp of his agency iPhone caused him to pause outside the entrance to the kitchen.

Cal scrutinized the text, which came from an unknown number, consisting of a symbol that looked vaguely familiar followed by a cryptic message.

)ooo(

Two Red, Two Black

H9R3X5N7

Cal re-read the puzzling text then tried to locate the source of the caller, but it only indicated a long string of alpha-numeric figures.

What the hell? Only a handful of people even have this phone number. Who sent this?

Cal deactivated the security system on his house then opened the door leading into the kitchen, walking robotically as he tried to sleuth through the nature of the symbol.

He hung up his leather jacket on a coat peg by the door then grabbed his ruggedized work laptop off the kitchen counter and sat down on the couch in the living room, waiting for the device to activate.

He glanced down at his phone again, muttering. Where do I know that symbol from?

Cal licked his lip, growing irritated. “I’m not in the mood for riddles. Who the hell sent me this?”

He got up, pacing around the living room, then realized his rumbling stomach was telling him he was overdue on breakfast. He went into the kitchen, pulling out a package of bagels then removing some sliced cheddar cheese and deli ham from the fridge. He hastily assembled the sandwich, stuffing it into the toaster oven as he glanced back at the laptop screen in the other room.

I better run this past Patterson and Vogel, see what they think. I’ve had enough headaches from all the mysteries this week.

He heard his personal cellphone in his leather jacket chirp, and he wondered who was calling at this early hour of the morning.

The noise was followed by another text, then another. He heard someone calling but let it ring until it went to voicemail.

I can’t take any more condolence calls right now.

After the fourth text, he walked to the door, retrieving the phone from his jacket on the wall.

The creases in his forehead deepened as he scrolled through the messages from his sister-in-law, Sara, and several friends and neighbors.

“Is it true, what they’re saying? Do you really work for the CIA? Call me, Cal. Please.”

All of the texts had the same disturbing phrases involving exclamations about him being a spy, secret agent or working undercover.

What the fuck?

He heard his encrypted phone in the other room ring, the screen illuminating in a hauntingly familiar red that meant it was high priority from Patterson.

He felt his heart punching through his ribs and rushed into the living room, answering.

Patterson’s frantic speech left little time to respond.

“Cal, just listen—someone leaked your identity with us to the media, and Vogel intercepted a federal dispatch that an FBI tac-team is heading there to take you in for the carnage at Burke’s place, dead or alive. Whoever is behind all of this wants you out of the picture, and if you end up in a federal prison, your days are numbered. Get out of there! Don’t go to any of our safehouses, and stay off the radar until I figure out what the hell is going on. My surveillance on that federal agent indicates they’re enroute to your place as we speak.”

Leaked identity…tac team. The words echoed in his weary brain.

“Run, goddammit!”

He felt the familiar sensation of adrenaline coursing through his veins, but this time it was coupled with a nearly nauseating sensation in his stomach. He’d never suspected that he’d be fleeing from federal agents zeroing in on his house. “Copy that.”

The world around him narrowed to the entrance to the garage. He shoved the phone in his back pocket then sprinted to the door, grabbing his leather jacket. He burst into the garage just as the unnerving sound of screeching tires on the street outside pierced the air.

He looked longingly at his Harley, knowing his evasion efforts would be limited to foot power now. Cal glanced at the corner of the ground behind his bike. There’d be no time to remove the cylinder hidden in the cement