Search and Destroy by JT Sawyer (top non fiction books of all time .TXT) 📗

Quinn’s role in your division, but after that concludes, you will be returning to your regular duties as targeting officer for the SD unit. That needs to be the main focus again now that the team has arrived at their new location.”

Vogel clasped her hands in front of her. “Sir, about Quinn, I was…”

He waved his hand. “She played her role well, didn’t she? The fact that her mother changed their last name after arriving in this country wasn’t something that was red-flagged by our recruiting agents during the initial assessment; nor should it have been, since that wasn’t out of the ordinary, but it left no way for you to connect the dots between what Burke uncovered in Caracas and her background.”

“Yes, sir, but I just can’t help but think that none of this would have happened if Quinn hadn’t…that Cal and the others…” She wiped her cheek, pulling her shoulders back.

Patterson stood up, resting his hand on her shoulder. “What we do here is about managing chaos to hold back the conflict trying to breach our shores, and you have done that admirably and with distinction on a daily basis with the lives of the men and women who are out there on the other end, depending on your abilities. You are at the top of the pyramid, Lynn, and as such, you will find that hindsight is always cleverer than foresight.”

She nodded, staring ahead. “And Cal…what happens to him now?”

He lowered his eyes, leaning on the edge of his desk. “He’s in the wind…for good.”

“If you don’t mind me asking, what will Cal’s team be told about what happened?”

“I’ll be speaking with them this evening in the briefing room about their upcoming mission in Nigeria. They’ll hear it all from me firsthand, and trust me, I’ll spare no details.” He sighed, running his fingers along the neatly creased paper that was folded precisely in half. “They know him. Know who the hell he is deep down.”

“He was a good man. It should’ve been different,” she whispered.

Vogel stepped forward, handing him a folded piece of paper. “I thought you might want this.”

She turned, heading to the door, then paused. “You will be missed, sir.”

“Thanks, Lynn. The feeling’s mutual.”

“The thanks are all mine, sir, believe me.”

Patterson watched her leave then unfolded the paper, staring at a name and an address in Mississippi.

61

FBI Headquarters, Washington D.C.

Carter had just gotten into her green SUV, ready to head home and enjoy a rare weekend off when her phone rang, the number of the forensics team leader showing up.

“This had better be good. I’ve got a date with a new book at home.”

“And who said you don’t take risks in your personal life,” said James Corelli on the other end.

“Shut up. What d’ya have?”

“We’re just finishing up things at the Shepard place and came across something that you’re gonna want see. How close by are you?”

She sighed, starting the engine and backing out. “Be there in thirty.”

Carter ducked under the crime-scene tape, passing by two of the forensics techs who were packing up their vehicle with their photography equipment. She walked to the side door of the garage, stepping inside and moving up alongside Corelli, who had waved her over and was pointing to a six-inch-diameter hole in the corner of the concrete floor.

“So, when we arrived back here this morning, we came across this. Whoever did it knew how to access the garage and unearth this cache.” He bent down, lowering his hand into the hole and removing a footlong steel cylinder by its handle.

He pried open the lid, revealing an empty Ziploc and several depleted boxes of 9mm ammo.

“Had to be Shepard, right? But why the hell would this guy risk coming all the way back here?”

“Thanks, Corelli.”

He nodded, heading inside the house.

Carter looked around the rest of the garage then knelt down, peering into the hole. She pulled out her flashlight, shining it into the opening. She bent forward, wriggling her hand down along the earth below the lip of the concrete and removing something from the loose soil.

She smirked, pulling out Tremblay’s FBI badge, recalling the shootout on the bridge like it was years ago.

“Son of a bitch,” she whispered, pocketing the badge and standing up.

She walked back out to her vehicle, pausing to look around the neighborhood, wondering where the man had gone after he left here.

Probably already in Tokyo or Chile.

At least that’s what she tried to tell herself as she got into her SUV and drove home.

62

Five Days Later

Biloxi, Mississippi

Jessica Quinn juggled the two paper bags of groceries as she exited the stairwell onto the third floor then headed down the hallway to her suite.

Now that Hunley and Roth were gone and a burn notice had been put on her by the CIA, she would have to return to freelancing on the dark web. But first she had to finish forging a passport and getting her new identity lined up. Fortunately, she had accrued a small fortune working for the two men that would tide her over for the next six months. Her only pressing decisions now were whether to relocate to Barbados or French Polynesia to avoid any entanglements with the agency, which didn’t have a footprint in those locations.

She set the bags down, opening the door then sliding everything into the foyer of her spacious two-bedroom suite.

Flicking on the living room lights, she felt her heart punch through her ribs at the sight of a man sitting in an armchair near the gas fireplace. He was wearing a tan trench coat, and his gloved hand held a suppressed .45 pistol.

The man removed his hat, revealing the chiseled face of Neil Patterson, causing her to backpedal into the wall.

“Nice place you have, Ms. Quinn…or is it Henderson? I’m curious to know what you put down on your application here for job history—anarchist or treasonous cyber-intrusion expert.”

“You’ve got it all wrong. I was set up by the same people who tried