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

Annie folded the menu and slid it behind the rack of condiments. “I’m telling you, you’re missing out if you don’t have some pie. That’s part of the reason I picked this place.”

“Having a gun pointed at me tends to negatively affect my appetite.”

“It’s not pointing at you anymore.”

He hadn’t seen her move, but Connor took her at her word. Not that it mattered. She’d still have the advantage over him, since his weapon was still secured in the holster at the small of his back. “Do you meet many strangers here for pie?” he asked.

“More than you’d think.” She eyed him, pursing her lips as if in thought. He noticed that her helmet had left impressions in her close-cropped black hair, and lines from the face pads had left tiny indentions across her cheeks.

“Long ride?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Not too bad.”

The waitress returned with their drinks and Annie’s pie. “Here you are.” She turned to Connor. “You sure I can’t get you something, dear?”

Connor waved a hand. “No thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Enjoy.”

Annie unwrapped her silverware and dug into the pie. She spoke through a mouth of fluffy white cream. “Oh my god, you have no idea what you’re missing.”

“Not really a pie guy,” Connor said. “I’ll take your word for it, though.”

She swallowed, then hesitated before taking the next bite. “It’s been a while since they’ve brought on a new guy. Much less put him in the field right out of the gate.”

“I guess you’ve been given a briefing on me. You been with the Outfit long?”

Annie shrugged. “About six years. Most of the time without a partner.”

Connor didn’t fail to note her tone of disdain. “Is that what this meeting is about?” he asked. “Are we partnering up? You don’t sound keen on the idea. You can talk to Thompson and—”

“Oh, I know who I need to talk to.”

Connor motioned between them with a finger. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“Not for me it isn’t. I like eye candy.” She took another bite of pie. “Just don’t think of me as some sort of damsel in distress and we won’t have any issues.”

“Hey, that’s fine by me. I’m just trying to take everything in stride. I did ten years in—”

“Thompson gave me the broad strokes,” Annie said, waving dismissively. “Special Forces, recon, yadda yadda yadda.”

“You have me at a disadvantage. They didn’t even tell me your real name.”

“There aren’t a lot of people who know that. I like it that way.” Her gaze flicked to the window, and she lifted her chin. “See that?”

Connor followed her gaze to a semi turning off a side street onto the main drag to the interstate. The stencil on the side of the cab read “Decklin Bros.” The trailer featured a picture of cooking supplies.

“You looking to get into cooking?” he asked.

Annie snorted and brought her hand up to cover her mouth as she swallowed. She wiped her mouth with her napkin. “It’s a local company. They’re one of the biggest wholesale olive oil suppliers in New England. They ship all the way to Maine and down to Virginia. They’re owned by a German parent company out of Berlin—they purchased it three years ago as part of a corporate buyout of several smaller companies, including several automotive companies.”

“Okay. And how is this relevant to us?”

“Declan Brothers is also where my friend Frederick Wagner has been hanging out for the last forty-eight hours.”

This illuminated nothing. “And Frederick is…?”

“He’s connected to the EDF, the European Defense Front, a group that’s been exceptionally open about their hatred for America. They blame us for the European Union’s financial troubles. Frederick arrived in country a few days ago. He was a member of German Intelligence, an operator with a specialty in bomb-making. He’s since left government work behind and has been freelancing his services. I’ve been on him since he got here, and what he’s been doing is… strange. The first phone call he made was to a number in New York City, to an Italian restaurant, to set up distribution of olive oil.”

“Maybe he’s just a misunderstood ex-operator who wants to sell some olive oil,” Connor said.

Annie lowered her chin. “This isn’t my first rodeo, Connor. If this guy is a sales rep for olive oil, I’m Mickey Mouse.”

“Don’t you mean Minnie?”

“What the hell are you trying to say?” Annie cocked her head to the side. “Are you assuming my gender?”

Connor hesitated, unsure whether he’d actually struck a nerve with the young woman, or if she was just yanking his chain. He wondered what kind of harassment policy the Outfit had. It seemed like the kind of place where that kind of policy wouldn’t exist.

She smiled, revealing brilliant white teeth, a stark contrast to her ebony skin. “I’m just messing with you.” She laughed. “Anyway, Marty snagged a message from a woman named Ericka—”

“Ericka?”

“From what we can figure, she’s Frederick’s handler. It’s a long story, but she seems to be calling the shots for some of this stuff. Here, read it for yourself.” Annie pulled a cell phone from inside her jacket pocket, swiped and presented it to him. “That’s the transcript of the conversation Marty picked up yesterday.”

Connor craned his neck to look at the screen when Annie grabbed his hand and placed the phone in his palm. “It doesn’t have cooties, for Christ’s sake.”

Mr. Hakimi,

Mr. Müller asked me to reach out and tell you that the shipments are proceeding as planned. Decoys are in place, and your way should be clear. This will be our last conversation. May Allah guide you to your destiny.

Connor frowned at the message and handed the phone back. “I still don’t get it. Who is this Müller guy, and are you saying the shipments involved are olive oil? And what decoys?”

Annie nodded. “This lady Ericka, we’ve got voice prints of her directing Frederick around. Best we can figure is that she’s Müller’s right-hand girl. Anyway, Frederick