EXFIL by Anthony Patton (best books to read non fiction TXT) 📗

He shook his head. “I am disappointed that you would besmirch the reputation of your colleague rather than take responsibility for your actions.”

I stood and grabbed the bottle to refill our drinks and returned to the couch. “It’s obvious where you’re taking this, but you know I would face any consequences before betraying my country.”

I gave him a confident stare. “I have a better option. How about you agree to work for us, for real this time, and tell your boss that tonight wasn’t the right time to pop the question? Otherwise, I could arrange to have you sent home.”

He stacked the three DVDs, slid them aside, and removed an envelope from his inside blazer pocket. He removed four black and white photographs of me and Jewel in my Bangkok apartment and lined them up to create the illusion of cinematic motion, a replay of the four photographs I had shown to Captain Chen, which meant they had also installed a camera in my bedroom.

Son of a bitch. I tucked the photos into the envelope with a casual gesture from him for me to keep them. I didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or stupid for thinking that moving our relationship to my apartment was a good move.

“Jewel insisted that the two of you were just friends,” he said, “and I respect the fact that you helped her further her education, but something tells me that your wife and your superiors would be less understanding.”

I never could have imagined a scenario that could tilt me toward betraying my country, no matter how egregious, but the possibility of losing Beth, not getting promoted, and facing multiple criminal charges under the UCMJ—ending my life as I knew it—was setting off alarm bells.

Still, I was smart enough to know that every plan had a weakness, this one included.

They say near-death experiences bring clarity, and they were right.

As I processed all the variables, I knew there was only one way to escape unscathed.

“You might survive a video of a homosexual liaison,” Li said. “You might survive an audio recording of pressuring Captain Howard to sleep with a dancer. But will your marriage to Beth survive, and will you ever get promoted to brigadier general if we expose these photographs?”

I leaned back and folded my arms, inviting him to close the deal.

“All we ask,” he said, “in exchange for one million dollars and continued feed material to keep the operation with me running, is that you give us access to the next set of security patches for the Pentagon. We know you will transport them from Cyber Command to the Pentagon tomorrow.”

Now, it all made sense. They wanted Anna to collect the security patches but her security clearance was on administrative hold, which limited her access, so they had used her to get to me. No matter how brilliant their plan seemed, though, it had a fatal flaw that I planned to exploit.

“One million dollars, you say?” I asked, and he nodded. “And these pictures and recordings go away?”

“Of course,” he said, handed me another envelope, and extended his hand. “I am a man of honor. We’ll meet again tomorrow night. Do we have a deal?”

I shook his hand and walked him to the door. When he was gone, I sat on the couch, poured another drink, and opened the envelope to read the instructions for the next meeting. It was a long shot, but it was my only shot.

TWENTY-TWO

Special Agent Johnson groaned, rubbed his throbbing temples, and opened his eyes with a flinch as beams of sunlight penetrated the room between two curtains flapping gently in the breeze.

The wobbling ceiling fan wafted moist, sultry air. He propped himself up and rested on his elbows to assess the situation—a small bedroom with a concrete floor, white sheets on a full-sized mattress, bright clothes on wire hangers pressed together tight inside a wooden wardrobe without doors, and a desk covered with brushes and makeup before a vanity mirror.

The nightstand held an empty bourbon bottle and a lipstick-stained roach of a joint in an ashtray. Empty beer cans were strewn across the floor.

He swung his legs to the ground and paused to endure the piercing headache. He stood up shakily, naked, then grabbed his boxers from the floor, pulled them on, and groaned when he saw two used condoms beneath the bed, near torn wrappers. Fuck.

He separated the curtains and shielded his eyes to see the busy streets of working-class Bangkok below. Laundry hung from clotheslines on the patios, and mopeds sputtered black smoke as riders wove through the traffic. He grabbed his faded jeans, navy blue Polo shirt, and leather sandals, felt his wallet still in his back pocket, relieved, and got dressed before leaving the bedroom.

The modest apartment had a woman’s touch—flowers on the dining room table, a scented candle burning in the bathroom, and the complementary fragrance of lavender potpourri. He walked to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and grabbed a plastic pitcher of water.

The cupboards were empty, so he took a drinking glass from the sink draining board, wiped it with a damp towel, filled it, and choked the water down, some trickling off his chin.

He thumped the empty glass down on the laminate countertop and gasped a long, shaky breath, then sighed inwardly with relief when he saw his cell phone, showing a missed call from the embassy and a Facebook friend request. He scanned the room to see Jewel sitting on the couch surfing the Internet on her phone.

“Hey,” he said, though his coarse voice and weak tone.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” she said.

“What time is it?” He checked his phone with another moaning sound—almost noon. “I should get going. Do I owe you money or something?”

She patted the cushion next to her, and he joined her. “You paid me last night.”

He opened his wallet with a cringe to see all the cash missing. “So I guess $400