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

He walked around the truck, making sure all the lights were operational and no tires were low. He didn’t want to give anyone any reason to pull him over. Finally he climbed into the cab and winced as he settled into the seat.

“You were wrong, my friend,” he said aloud, thinking of the old man in the store. “We’re not starting a war. We’re ending it.”

Chapter Thirty-Four

Connor blew out a long breath and flexed his fingers over the steering wheel as he pulled to a stop at the final light before the mosque. It was almost midnight. He shifted in the seat, giving his new tactical vest a once-over and memorizing where the extra rifle magazines were, the flashbangs and pistol magazines. It felt weird wearing the gear over a simple T-shirt and jeans, having worn similar gear for years in BDUs. He hadn’t had the time to set up the vest exactly like he’d had it during his tenure in the special forces, but it was close.

If there was one thing a life of weapons training and operations had taught him, it was that stress crippled the unprepared. You always defaulted to your training. Muscle memory took over under fire, allowing your mind to focus on the active threats. Connor had experienced this phenomenon multiple times, where after an operation or battle he couldn’t remember reloading or throwing a grenade or switching between his rifle or pistol. It all just happened without even thinking.

In the passenger seat next to him, Annie slapped the heel of her hand into the bolt release, and the bolt slammed forward. She looped the sling over one arm and let the rifle hang, barrel down, between her legs.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Connor said, “but are you ready for this?”

“Ain’t my first rodeo, stud.”

“Didn’t mean anything by it. I’m just used to running with—”

“What?” Annie scowled. “With other guys? Not a woman?”

“Doesn’t have anything to do with being a woman. It has to do with you and I never actually trained together before. I don’t know you, you don’t know me. Which means we don’t know each other’s capabilities. In my experience that can lead to liabilities during the operation. Liabilities we can’t afford.”

“Don’t worry about me. I can handle myself.”

“Of that I have no doubt,” Connor said. He meant it, but it didn’t alleviate his apprehension. During special forces operations he knew what his teammates were capable of, knew what kinds of shots they were able to make, knew what they were feeling by the tone of their voice. He knew one hundred percent that he could trust the operator next to him with his life. He didn’t have any of that when it came to this Black Widow.

“Look, all battle plans go to hell anyway, right?” Annie said. “So why even bother? You can shoot, I can shoot. We’re good. We just shoot the bad guys and call it a day. We get our guy and get out. Simple. It’s not complicated, Connor. You ex-military types are all the same. Took a while for me to break Richards down, but I did, and I’ll do the same to you. You’ll get there.”

“What about Thompson?”

“Still working on him.”

The light turned green, and they started down the street.

“There may or may not be a guy at the back door,” Connor said. “If there is, we’ll need to take him out fairly quickly. But don’t stop. Whatever you do, don’t stop.”

Annie shifted in her gear, grinning. “Ooh, sounds kind of kinky. Do you always talk to girls this way on a first date?”

“I’m serious,” Connor said, not taking the bait. “They have video surveillance all over that place. They’ll see us coming as soon as we make our move. If we stop or slow down, the guys upstairs will have a chance to fortify their position.”

“Three on the door, right?”

“At least,” Connor confirmed. “Maybe more. With the escalation of attacks, it wouldn’t surprise me at all. Here we go.”

Connor steered the Tahoe into the alley, pulled through to the back lot, and stopped parallel to the building.

“One on the door,” Annie said, nodding.

“That’s one of the sheikh’s guys,” Connor said. “He’s definitely armed. Definitely a threat.”

She drew her silenced Glock pistol from the holster on her right thigh and held it in her lap as she tapped the button to roll down her window. “You’re pulling right up to the door, yeah?”

Connor nodded, immediately understanding what she planned. “Don’t forget.”

“I know,” Annie said, leaning forward. “Don’t stop.”

The rear entrance was on a landing, five steps up from the pavement, dimly lit by one bulb above the door. The guard, who’d been leaning against the railing, straightened and stepped away as the Tahoe approached. Connor stopped a car’s length away.

“We’re closed,” the guard said, squinting, trying to see into the cab.

Annie’s gun flashed, spitting out a single shot. The silencer reduced the report to a mere pop, and the man’s head snapped back. His hands came up reflexively, grasping at the air as he stumbled backward. He bounced off the wall behind him and fell forward, his chest smacking against the metal railing.

Connor threw the Tahoe into park and was sliding out before the man’s body hit the ground. To his right, Annie dropped to the ground, keeping her pistol pointed at the dead man’s head.

Connor hit the steps first, taking them two at a time. He tapped the code into the keypad, and the lock clicked open.

The entryway was empty. Connor moved down the first-floor corridor, turning left and heading for the stairwell at the far end. He could hear Annie’s soft footfalls behind him. They moved fast, but he forced himself not to run. Bad things happened when you ran. You lost footing, missed obstacles, ignored possible threats. Keeping his M4 leveled and ready, he pushed through to the stairwell, starting up the stairs without pausing to check them.

He blew out a long breath as he reached