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

too, and I always find it interesting when people like you quote that text, because the end of that verse says that ‘God is most forgiving and most merciful.’ But I guess that doesn’t match up with killing thousands of innocent people does it?”

“You know nothing of God’s will!” Khan screamed. “We will show you and all of the non-believers what Allah’s wrath looks like! They will repent and praise Allah when their cities are burning.”

“Where is Hakimi?”

“I will not—”

Connor snapped Khan’s index finger. The sheikh barked out an abrupt scream, then collapsed to the seat, unconscious.

Connor sat back. “Crap.”

“Guess he’s a four-finger guy, huh?” Annie asked over her shoulder.

Connor shook his head. “We don’t have time for him to pass out.”

“I don’t think he’s going to break as easily as Wagner. I’ve met his type before.”

“He’s a true believer.”

“The worst kind.” She dialed another number, and while it was ringing, said over her shoulder, “For the record, I’m beating you, one to nothing.”

“What?”

“With fingers. I got information, you didn’t. I’m winning.”

Connor scoffed, but before he could respond, Thompson answered.

“Thompson.”

“Can you meet us at safe house Gazelle in thirty minutes?” Annie asked.

“You got him?”

“Yeah, we got him, but he’s not saying much. He’s going to need a hand cast for a while though, that’s for sure.”

“Is Connor with you?”

“I’m here,” Connor said.

“The snatch job is all over the news already. The press was at the mosque almost before the cops were.”

“What are they saying?” Connor asked.

“Right now, they’re pegging it as a robbery gone bad, though I doubt that’ll hold up for long. Don’t worry, I’ve got a cleaning crew on the way there now. Brice is already working on wiping the surveillance drives, and all the local traffic cameras have been reset and their data cleared. We should be tight on our end. I’m going to wrap up here and head your way.”

“Hey, Thompson,” Annie said.

“Yeah?”

“Bring the kit.”

Thirty minutes later they were hauling Khan into a bare-bones apartment. Thompson was already there, along with a couple of techs who were busy setting up some equipment in the kitchen. It included a device that looked like a lie detector, with wires and cables laid out across the kitchen table, and a rack holding two cylinders of yellowish liquid. A line from one of the cylinders ran to an IV strung from a metal pole.

Beside all of this was a modified recliner, sporting wide leather restraints on both armrests, and more for the legs. It was into this chair that Annie put Khan, after cutting off his flex cuffs. The techs then attached the restraints and inserted the IV.

“We’re almost ready to go,” Thompson said. “Just a couple more minutes to let the solution fully mix.”

“Interesting setup,” Connor said.

Thompson shrugged. “Not very original. Sodium thiopental mixed with scopolamine and an IV of sodium chloride. It’s what we like to call our special sauce.”

One of the technicians knelt next to Khan and pushed a needle into his arm. The sheikh’s eyes snapped open, and he screamed and tried to get away. The straps held him firm. He glared at the team, fury burning in his eyes.

“I will kill you all!”

Annie rolled her eyes. “We’ve heard that one before. Can you say something original, please? I beg you.”

Another technician flipped a switch, and the yellow-tinged cocktail started flowing through the IV.

Thompson stood in front of the sheikh and crossed his arms. “You might think you’re going to make it through this if you say the right things, but you’re not. And regardless of what you might think, once this stuff starts working, you won’t be able to stop talking.”

“I will say nothing,” Khan said.

“They all say that,” said Annie, leaning back on the table and crossing her ankles.

Thompson grimaced at the sight of Khan’s swollen and misshapen fingers. “Jesus.” He raised an eyebrow at Connor.

“I was encouraging him.”

Thompson nodded. “I like it.”

“None of this matters,” Khan said. “You will not be able to stop what’s coming. The Great Satan will burn.”

Connor snapped his fingers. “That’s exactly what Hakimi said to you after he found the nuke. The Great Satan. You know where he’s planning on attacking.”

Khan laughed. “You think you’re smart. But your American arrogance blinds you.” As he spoke, his eyelids started to droop. “You… you…” He chuckled, smiling from ear to ear, and then began to laugh.

“Finally,” Annie said. “I was beginning to think it wasn’t going to work.”

“It always works,” Thompson said. “Now we just need to hope he actually knows something that can help us.”

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Connor white-knuckled his harness and pressed his back against the seat, eyes locked on the chair in front of him, avoiding the scenic nighttime views below him. He’d seen pictures of the New York skyline; there was no reason to look at it now.

He’d never been a big proponent of flying, especially in helicopters. There was just something about a spinning blade of death a couple of feet above his head that turned him off. It didn’t help matters that most of his experience in helicopters had been during combat missions in Afghanistan, where he knew that he was just as likely to be blown out of the sky as he was to get to his destination.

“You okay?” Annie asked him, her voice coming through his bulky headset. The helicopter’s internal comms gave her voice a digitized sound.

“Fine,” he said, straight-faced.

“Don’t like flying, huh?”

“Oh, no, it’s great. Love it. Couldn’t be better.”

The chopper banked to the right, making the world spin outside the window. Despite staring intently at the metal in front of him, Connor couldn’t help but see the rotating city outside. He groaned and closed his eyes.

“Would never have guessed that the big bad Connor didn’t like flying.”

“Yeah, well.”

The chopper leveled out, and the whine of its engines changed pitch as it descended. Connor’s stomach lurched. He held his breath, fighting back the urge to vomit, positive that the pilot was swooping down at a steep angle on purpose. He