Patriot

by M. A. Rothman

  “Brice, you better watch yourself or your lily-white skin will have all sorts of new shades of black and blue.” Annie tightened her grip on the handle and grunted as Connor swerved around another car.

  “How we looking?” Connor asked, indicating the nav screen with a head nod, but leaving his attention on the road. He was going twice the speed limit now, and he was white-knuckling the steering wheel and focused on the road ahead.

  “Two miles up, take a right, then—”

  “Don’t give me the entire course, just give me what I need for the next turn.”

  Annie glared at him. “I was going to say that it looks like he’s getting on the interstate. Should be easy enough for us to catch him then.”

  “All right, so what are we going to do once we catch up? Pull up beside him and ask him nicely to pull over?”

  “Do you think that’ll work?” Annie asked. She tapped a button on the dash, and several indicator lights above it began flashing.

  Connor realized the Outfit had installed several features in his ride, including police lights. “Nice.”

  The early-afternoon traffic was light, and most of the cars yielded for the Tahoe’s emergency lights, but Connor had learned something on the ride-alongs he’d done with police before joining the army: reds and blues made people stupid. In fact, he’d experienced the phenomenon himself more than a few times. Seeing the flashing lights in the rearview spiked his adrenaline every time. Some people’s natural reaction was to simply pull to the right side of the road the way they’d been taught. Others seemed to lose all comprehension of what they were supposed to do. Some pulled left, some didn’t stop at all, some stopped right in the middle of the road and threw their hands up and glared at the police when they passed.

  The officers Connor had ridden with told him that there were times when they didn’t run code specifically because of those people who would do stupid things like stop right in front of them. One of the officers even demonstrated that to Connor by swerving through traffic without a care in the world and without traffic ever once blocking him in or pulling off to the wrong side.

  “All right,” Annie said, pointing. “Four cars up in the left lane.”

  The black Mercedes wasn’t moving any faster than the surrounding traffic. Connor pulled into the far-left lane and waited for the cars ahead to move out of the way before accelerating to catch Wagner’s car.

  It took a few moments for Wagner to realize they were behind him. Connor saw the man register the lights in his rearview, and could almost hear the argument in the man’s head, debating whether to pull over or flee. It could’ve gone either way, he realized, and they’d have been shit out of luck if Wagner decided to floor it. A high-speed chase on the interstate was sure to draw the attention of a trooper or six, and then they’d have even more problems to deal with. Besides, the Mercedes was inevitably the better vehicle for a race.

  But Wagner’s right blinker came on, indicating he was changing lanes, heading for the shoulder, and Connor let out a relieved breath.

  Annie pulled her pistol from its holster at the small of her back. “See? Easy-peasy.”

  The Mercedes slowed to a stop on the shoulder, its hazards blinking. The man was at least a considerate driver, mass-murdering terrorist notwithstanding.

  “Okay, guys.” Brice’s voice came over the car’s speakers. “I’ll keep watch from the eye in the sky and keep you posted. You got this.”

  Connor pulled up behind the Mercedes and gave Annie a sidelong look as he put the Tahoe in park. “How do you want to approach him? Ask him for his license and registration?”

  Annie gave him a sardonic look. “Yeah, you do that.”

  Connor approached on the driver’s side, hand on his pistol, as Annie moved up along the passenger side. He stopped just behind the B-pillar, just like he’d seen on police shows his entire life, his heart pounding. He’d been in some pretty hairy combat scenarios overseas, but at least they’d known what they were going into over there. He couldn’t imagine stopping cars like this every day, never knowing what to expect, each encounter having the possibility of turning deadly at the drop of a hat.

  He leaned forward. “Good afternoon, sir. Can you put your vehicle in park please and shut it off?”

  “Of course, officer,” Wagner said without looking around. His thick German accent made him a bit difficult to understand. He shut off the car, then finally looked up. “What seems to be the trouble?” He frowned when he saw that Connor wasn’t wearing a police uniform.

  “We just need to ask you a few questions,” Connor said.

  “Questions?”

  Annie pulled open the passenger door and brought her pistol up, leveling it at Wagner’s temple. “You move, you die.”

  Wagner froze.

  “Hands up.” Annie motioned with the barrel of her pistol.

  The German slowly lifted his hands without taking his gaze from the gun. “What is this?”

  “Now, the gun you have on your right hip, don’t even think about touching it. Do you understand?”

  Wagner nodded. A bead of sweat dripped down his temple.

  Connor opened the door behind Wagner and slid into the back seat. He reached forward, lifted the man’s shirt, and removed the pistol before climbing back out and shoving it in his waistband at the small of his back. He nodded to Annie when it was secure.

  “All right,” she said. “Now, we’re going to get out and come back to our car, got it? You’re going to walk like nothing’s wrong. You’re going to get into the passenger seat and buckle your seatbelt, and you’re going to sit there like a gentleman, right?”

  Wagner nodded again.

  Connor stepped back as the man exited the vehicle, keeping him beyond arm’s reach. “Arms up,” Connor said. “I’m going to check you for additional weapons.”

  Wagner raised his hands as Connor holstered his pistol and Annie trained hers on Wagner’s head.

  After a quick frisking on the side of the highway, Annie followed Connor to the Tahoe’s open front passenger door, waited for him to get in, then shut the door. She climbed into the back seat and pushed the barrel of her pistol through the space between the headrest and the top of the seat, pressing the silencer into the base of Wagner’s skull.

  Connor got behind the wheel.

  “I don’t understand,” Wagner said. “You are cops. What is this about?”

  Brice had already downloaded the location of the safe house to their navigation system. Connor glanced at the console screen and pulled into traffic.

  “Cops?” Annie said. “No, not cops. We’re much worse than that.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Twenty minutes later Connor pulled into an empty warehouse on the outskirts of DC. Afternoon sunlight filtered through frosted windows near the high ceiling. He stopped the car just inside, and the garage door closed behind him.

  “Get out,” Annie said to Wagner, sliding out of the back seat, keeping her pistol trained on him.

  “What is this?” Wagner asked, not moving.

  Connor opened his door and stepped back. “We’re here to ask you some questions. Now get out of the car, asshole.”

  Wagner stepped out, quite calmly. Connor could tell this wasn’t the first time he’d had a gun pointed at his head.

  Annie walked him to an enclosed office in the corner of the warehouse. Its windows had been covered with newspaper, and all the furniture had been removed except for a single chair bolted to the center of the floor.

  “I want my phone call,” Wagner said. “I know my rights. I get a lawyer too.”

  Annie laughed. “You don’t get any of that here, buddy. Now strip.”

  Wagner gave her a bewildered look.

  Annie motioned at his jacket. “You heard me. Strip.”

  “You can’t do this,” Wagner said. “Your country has laws and—”

  Annie lunged forward and rammed her elbow into Wagner’s nose. Connor grimaced at the sound of cartilage crunch
ing. Wagner screamed in pain, covered his nose with both hands, and stumbled backward. Blood spilled through his fingers. Panicked eyes shot to Connor, pleading for him to do something.

  Annie rubbed the back of her elbow and stepped back. “Not off to a good start, Fred. Chris, John, you guys want to give me a hand in here?”

  Two men dressed in blue coveralls entered the room. They looked like ex-military: close-cropped hair, broad shoulders, built like NFL linemen. They stripped Wagner to his boxers, casually batting away his attempts to stop them, and strapped him to the chair with plastic zip ties—his wrists bound to the armrests, feet to the chair legs. When they’d finished, they nodded at Annie and Connor, then left without a word, closing the office door behind them.

  Blood continued to flow from Wagner’s nose. It trickled over his lips and chin, and dripped onto his chest. After a half-hearted attempt at pulling free, he resigned himself to glaring at his two captors. “What is this? I don’t know anything.”

  Annie clapped her hands together and smiled at Connor. “I absolutely love when people start with that, don’t you?”

  “Love it,” Connor said, crossing his arms. He’d been in many “back-and-forth” interrogations; they were designed to throw the interviewee off balance and keep him there, never knowing where the next question was coming from. Many times the interrogation would last days, the person subjected to hours of physical and mental stress, before some small tidbit of actionable intelligence was acquired.

  “You can’t hold me like this! I already told you I wanted a lawyer!”

  Anne shook her head. “You just don’t get it, do you? There aren’t any lawyers here. You don’t get a phone call. No one’s going to help you. So you’re going to have to help yourself.”

  “How do I do that?”

  “First off,” Annie said, “you can tell us who you’re working for. That’d be a start.”

  “I’m not working for anyone. You don’t have anything on me.”

  Annie made a tsk-tsk sound. “You’re not getting off to a good start, Frederick.” She stepped forward and backhanded him across the face.

  Wagner cried out in pain. “You can’t do this! I have rights! This is America!”

  “You don’t have any rights here, asshole,” Connor said. He pointed to the door. “See that? America’s back there. In here… you’re nowhere. In here, you belong to us.”

  “Look,” Annie said, “we can make this as painful or as painless as you want. It all depends on how cooperative you are. The more you cooperate, the less painful it’ll be. Your choice.”

  Wagner blew a wad of partially clotted blood from his nose. “Who are you? CIA? FBI?”

  Connor turned to Annie. “Hey, do you have a change of clothes for me? And a shower? I don’t want to look like I’ve been swimming in someone’s blood when this is over.”

  Annie nodded. “I’ll get you cleaned up, don’t you worry.”

  “What the hell? You guys aren’t allowed to do this! What agency are you working for?”

  Connor turned his full attention to Wagner, smiled, and with a blur of motion landed an open-handed smack across his face. The blow rocked the German’s head, and for a moment Wagner looked like he wasn’t completely aware of his surroundings.

  “Listen, Fred,” Connor said. “You don’t get to ask the questions here.”

  Wagner blinked a few times, and finally got a hold of himself. His eyes flicked back and forth between Connor and Annie. He smiled. “You guys are full of it.”

  “Huh.” Annie squatted down in front of him and considered the fingers on his right hand. “You’re right-handed. Is that right?”

  Wagner hesitated. “What do you—wait!”

  Annie jerked Wagner’s pinky finger sideways. It broke with a sickening crack, and Wagner’s entire body arched in pain as he screamed. He rocked back and forth in the chair, and the zip ties dug into his skin.

  “No! Please!” Wagner’s face flushed red, the veins in his neck bulging.

  Annie grabbed his ring finger, took a long, patient breath, and looked in Wagner’s eyes with what Connor thought was real sympathy for the man. “Do you think we’re all talk now?” she said. “How’s your memory now?”

  Wagner gritted his teeth against the pain. Tears welled up at the corners of his eyes. “Please…”

  “And don’t think for a second this is the worst it can get,” Annie said. “Because I’m just getting warmed up.”

  The door opened behind them, and Thompson walked in. His looked at Wagner and shook his head. “Jesus, Annie.”

  “What? He can still talk.”

  “I told you I don’t—no!”

  Annie snapped the man’s ring finger. Connor winced as Wagner reeled, bouncing in the chair, twisting against the restraints. His voice cracked as he screamed, “Stop! Stop! Okay! Stop!”

  “Oh,” Annie said, moving to the next finger, “did you remember something?”

  “Please, don’t.” Wagner nodded frantically at her fingers wrapped around his. “Please!”

  Annie shook her head. “First, tell me something interesting. Anything at all. Something we’ll find useful.”

  Wagner’s eyes flicked between his three captors, as if Connor or Thompson might save him from the terror that was the Black Widow. “I don’t—wait!”

  Annie froze, her hand poised to snap. “Yes?”

  “What… what do you want to know?” Wagner spoke through deep, controlled breaths, obviously in pain.

  Annie straightened. “I want to know who you’re working for. You give me a straight answer about that, and we’ll see where the conversation goes.”

  “Please, stop it, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I swear.”

  Annie released his middle finger and stood.

  Wagner’s right hand shook, his last two fingers bent at an unnatural angle. He looked down at his destroyed fingers as if trying to make sense of what had happened.

  “You were saying?”

  Wagner swallowed hard. He spoke through a tightened jaw. “He said we’d be rich.”

  “Who said you’d be rich?” Annie withdrew a pocket knife, flicked the blade open, and spun it in her palm. “I want names.”

  The fury and anger seemed to fade from Wagner’s expression. His face contorted as if he’d start crying at any moment. “He’ll kill me.”

  Annie sighed and turned to Connor, eyebrow raised. “Was I not clear enough? I thought I was clear. Maybe I need to rethink my delivery?”

  “I thought your delivery was fine,” Connor said.

  The pleading expression on Wagner’s face told Connor everything he needed to know. The man wanted a friend, an ally, a partner. Someone to step in between him and this crazy woman. Someone to keep her from hurting him again. Even in the desert, Connor had never been part of a “Good Cop, Bad Cop” that had been quite so literal.

  And I’d never have guessed I’d be playing the good cop, Connor thought.

  He did his best to look sympathetic. “I’d answer her questions if I were you. She doesn’t seem like she’s in the mood to mess around.”

  “All you have to do is be straight with us,” Annie said. She sounded like a professor lecturing a wayward student.

  “Just tell the truth,” Connor added. “It’s always easier to tell the truth than it is to lie. If you lie, you’ll wish you hadn’t. If you tell the truth, I’ll put in a good word for you with my boss. Tell him how helpful you’d been.”

  Connor had used that line before. There was something about helping out another person with their boss that made people say what needed to be said. Maybe that spoke to some inherent goodness in everyone; Connor didn’t know. Then again, it didn’t always work.

  “Who said you were going to be rich, Frederick?” Annie asked.

  “His name is Müller,” Wagner said, looking down at the floor. “He said we’d never have to worry about money again.”

  “How much money?”

  “Three mil
lion US dollars. All I had to do was make sure the trucks were loaded correctly and sent to the correct locations.”

  Connor scoffed. “Three million for that? That’s a lot of money for a truck driver.”

  “I’m not a driver. I just make sure the trucks were loaded. That’s it.”

  “How was he going to pay you? Cash?”

  Wagner shook his head. “Deposit. Müller already deposited one hundred thousand dollars as an incentive. He said that he’d deposit the rest after the job was finished.”

  “So what’s the objective? You robbing a bank?”

  “I don’t know. Müller tells the team only what they need to know. He says it’s less chance for a problem to occur.”

  Connor grinned. “Like the kind of problem you have now?”

  “What’s the ‘primary location’ you mentioned during your phone call?” Annie said. “What the hell do you care about golfing?”

  A flash of panic appeared on Wagner’s face.

  She struck a nerve, Connor thought.

  “I told you, Müller and that bitch of his, they never told me. I just know it’s going to be big. Bigger than anything before.”

  “Bullshit. They never told you,” Annie said. She stepped toward him, knife in hand. “Don’t start lying to me now. What the hell does golfing have to do with this?”

  Wagner strained and tried to lift his hands, but they were still bound to the chair. “Müller likes to golf. That’s been his thing for the last year or so.”

  “You’re starting to piss me off, Fred.” Annie cracked her knuckles. “I don’t like where this conversation is going.”

  “I don’t know anything else!”

  “Sounds like this Müller trusts you a lot,” Connor said, switching tacks. Building people up was another trick he’d picked up overseas. Everyone—including psychotics and extremist killers—wanted to feel important. They wanted to feel like they mattered. “I mean, you’re basically in charge of this whole operation, right?”

  “Man, I’m not in charge of anything, I’m telling you, they hired me to watch these trucks. That’s it.”

  Annie crossed her arms. “So what the hell do you guys want with all that olive oil? I know you’re not setting up restaurant chains.”