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

Thompson chuckled. “Because she’s known for killing everyone she comes in contact with.”

“Didn’t you guys train her to do precisely that?”

Thompson shook his head. “She earned that nickname long before she joined our team. And Jenkins is right, you don’t want to cross her. She takes things personal… a personality flaw that is just part of her DNA.”

The pilot’s voice came over the comms. “We’re through to the Bunker, boss. Patching the signal to you now.”

A second later Brice’s voice came through. “I hear you guys stopped a highly suspicious truck driver. Did you give him a strip search as well?”

“Not now, Martin,” Thompson said. “What’s going on at West Point?”

“Whoever they are, they’re highly organized. They took out the two main security stations within the first two minutes and were inside the main building within five. Local police are responding, but they don’t have the firepower to take on these guys. These guys just landed a chopper and have one hovering, taking shots at any law enforcement vehicle that shows up.”

“How many other teams are you moving to assist?”

“That’s what I needed to talk to you about. I was about to send all of them, but then we got a report from the Virginia State Police. A semi just busted through one of their toll plazas heading toward DC. One of the security cameras grabbed an image of the driver.”

“And?”

A chill raced up Connor’s spine. He already knew the answer.

“It’s Hakimi,” Brice said, confirming Connor’s worst fears.

“He was never going to nuke New York,” Connor said. “He’s going to flatten Washington, DC.”

“Where’s Annie?” Thompson asked.

“Where do you think?”

Chapter Forty-Two

Annie twisted the throttle back, rocketing the motorcycle forward, splitting traffic. Horns blared at her as she passed, but she ignored them. If Annie had been driving, she might have flipped them off. She didn’t have the time or energy for that kind of nonsense.

“Where is he now?” she asked, zipping around another truck, changing lanes. She’d turned off the navigation feature on her glasses. At these speeds she didn’t need any visual distractions.

“Take a right and go west on Highway 50,” Brice answered. “You’ll hit 66 in another two miles. After that—”

“One at a time,” Annie said. Too many directions at one time quickly became confusing, if not downright distracting. “How far am I?”

“Ten miles back, but you’re gaining ground. You’ll catch him, as long as…” Brice trailed off.

“As long as what?”

Brice hesitated.

“Spill it!”

“Well, as long as… you don’t die from driving too recklessly.”

Out of everyone at the Outfit, Brice had always been the most outspoken about Annie’s safety. None of the others ever seemed to want to approach that particular subject with her. She understood why: they didn’t want to get on her bad side. She’d spent her life proving she could handle any situation, and when she felt someone was treating her like a woman—that is, as somehow fragile or needing protection—she immediately lashed out. Even when that someone was on her side.

Brice was the exception. For some reason, it didn’t piss her off when he showed he cared for her safety. The pudgy middle-aged white guy had gotten through a chink in her armor. She knew he was sweet on her; that didn’t bother her either. And if it ever came to it, she probably wouldn’t even want to kill him after a late-night romp.

Probably.

“Well, if I do die, then you better tell them to hurry the hell up,” she said. “This asshole’s not going to stop for flashing red-and-blue lights.”

“I’d really prefer we just avoid that outcome. You’re riding like a bat out of hell. Anyway, the choppers are inbound, and they’re going to pick you up just past the I-66 changeover.”

Annie grinned as she swerved around another car, veered around a minivan, hugged the shoulder, then merged back. Highway 50 stretched out straight in front of her, three lanes of traffic, not quite bumper-to-bumper, but close. This was the only time in her life she’d ever been thankful for rush hour. On her motorcycle, she could weave through the stalled traffic with relative ease, yet Hakimi wouldn’t be able to do the same, not with his big semi.

“How’s I-66 look?” she asked. “It’s got to be packed.”

“It’s not that bad right now. Hakimi’s just now passing the Dulles Toll Road.”

She opened up the throttle.

Two minutes later she merged onto Interstate 66, crossed over to the inside lane, and accelerated hard. The bike’s front end lifted slightly at the sudden burst of speed. She pressed her knees into the gas tank, hugging the frame, and pushed the bike past a hundred.

The Outfit’s Black Hawk was already flaring for land half a mile ahead, gently encouraging traffic to stop as it lowered to the pavement.

“Someone’s definitely going to hear about this later,” Annie said. She pulled to a stop on the shoulder, kicked the stand down, and rushed to the waiting bird, crouching over against the rotor’s downdraft.

Sam Tripolski opened the door from the inside and hopped out. She pulled off her helmet and glared at him. “You get one scratch on that thing and I’m going to kick your ass.”

Tripolski looked hurt. “Hey, I’m an excellent driver.”

She tossed him the keys. “No fucking scratches, you hear me? I’ll know.”

He laughed. “I’ll try.”

She climbed in, and the pilot increased power and lifted off the street before she’d shut the door all the way. She pulled on one of the headsets. “You there, Brice?”

“He’s just passing Nutley. You should see him in another minute or so.”

The Black Hawk stayed low, not exactly following the road, but close. A hundred feet in the air sounded high when you were standing on the ground, but from the air, she felt like she could reach out and touch all the cars below. She even met the eyes of several passengers, looking up as they passed overhead. Low-flying helicopters weren’t outside the normal for this town, especially with all the VIPs coming