“You don’t think Müller will send in his own attorneys?” Annie asked. “Hell, I’d just send me.”
“You?” Richards said.
Annie drew her thumb across her throat. “No loose ends.”
“She’s got a point,” Connor said. “I think someone’s going to want to make the case to put them in an air-tight maximum security box, somewhere that Müller can’t get to. Even if we don’t get anything from them now, it doesn’t mean we won’t later. Unless they’re dead, of course.”
“What, like put them in Gitmo?” Richards said.
Connor got up to refill his coffee. “Something like that. Actually, the more I think about it, the more I think Annie has a point.”
“Why thank you,” she said, smiling and flicking her hair.
Connor grinned at the enigmatic and dangerous flirt. “You’re welcome.” He blew softly on his fresh coffee before taking a sip. “With something like this, loose ends are everywhere. These guys the FBI’s got, they aren’t long for this Earth if Müller has anything to do with it. He obviously didn’t know about us, but he’d thought out everything else, almost perfectly. He’s probably got a plan to off all of them.”
“He did get away with a little over two hundred million in gold and platinum,” Brice said.
“Well, at this point I don’t care about the money,” Connor said.
Richards scoffed. “Don’t care about the money?”
Connor shrugged. “Two hundred million is a drop in the bucket in the grand scheme of things.” He turned to Brice. “How many security guards and officers were killed during the attack?”
Brice hesitated. “Eleven guards, four officers.”
“And how many victims in New York?”
“They’re still being counted.”
“That’s what I care about—the lives Müller’s destroyed so he can have a big payday.”
“I say we hunt down the bastard and put one right between his eyes,” Annie said.
“I was thinking about bringing justice and closure to the victims’ families,” Connor said, “but maybe she’s right. Taking him out is the only to ensure they get whatever measure of justice they’re due. Müller’s the type who probably would never serve a day in jail.
“Finding Müller is our number one priority,” Richards agreed. “After the ass-kicking we took, he deserves nothing less.”
Thompson raised a hand. “Let’s not forget about our victory.” He nodded to Annie. “Annie saved I don’t know how many lives yesterday. Brice, you too. Both of you did a fantastic job.”
Annie lifted her bandaged arm. “Didn’t come away completely unscathed.”
“A bandaged arm will heal. That bomb was the equivalent of sixty Hiroshimas. If it had gone nuclear… I don’t know if we’d be able to come back from something like that.”
“That’s what we’re here for, right?” Brice said. “Saving the world on Tuesday, having coffee and pancakes on Wednesday.”
“I don’t see any pancakes,” Richards said, looking under his mug of coffee.
“What about radar information on the plane?” Connor asked, his mind still firmly engaged.
“What?” Brice said. “Oh! Yeah. Knowing when that plane left and from where, I managed to associate it to a bogus flight plan. They dropped off the radar as soon as they hit the Atlantic. Transponder went dark as well.”
“So we don’t have any idea where they went?”
“Well, given that it could have in-air refueling, it could be anywhere.”
“Finding Müller,” Connor said, turning to Thompson and Richards. “What’s our ops plan for that?”
“Facial recognition at every port of entry, airports, harbors, crossings along both Canadian and Mexican borders. We generally have good luck tracking people that way.”
“You didn’t when he came into the country,” Connor said.
“If he came in,” Thompson corrected.
“I don’t know. The guy’s meticulous. I think he was here,” Connor said, knowing it in his bones. “He’s playing it safe, but a guy like that doesn’t sit on the sidelines very long. He wants to be involved. Wants his people to see his face in action. If he can show them that he’s passionate about what they’re doing, his men will reciprocate that passion.”
“You make him sound like a boss I’d like to work for,” Richards said.
“In his line of work, you need your people to like you.”
“That’s right,” Annie said. “Otherwise they’ll just kill you and move on.”
Connor snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Exactly. Especially with the amount of money we’re talking about here. There’s going to be a lot of people searching for that money—and for Müller.”
“We need to catch him before anyone else does,” Thompson said. “Recovering the money is secondary. We need to stop his next action. People like that don’t just quit being bad guys, cold turkey.”
“I agree,” Connor said.
“I’ve got searches running in every major airport in Europe and Africa,” Brice said. “If they land anywhere over there, we’ll know it before the air traffic guys do.”
“We need to get our hands on a couple of his men,” Annie said, fingers prodding at her bandages.
Connor knew what she was thinking, and to his surprise, he found himself agreeing wholeheartedly. “Give us some time in a room with them, we’ll get them to talk.”
Thompson nodded. “I’ll make it happen.”
Connor moved closer to Annie, holding out a fist. “You want to play good cop this time?”
Annie grinned and pounded Connor’s fist with her own. “Screw that. I don’t know how to play good cop.”
Author’s Note
Well, that’s the end of Patriot, and I sincerely hope you enjoyed it.
If this is the first book of mine you’ve read, I owe you a bit of an introduction. For the rest of you who have seen this before, skip to the new stuff.
I’m a lifelong science researcher who has been in the high-tech industry longer than I’d like to admit. There’s nothing particularly unusual about my beginnings, but I suppose it should be noted I grew up with English as my third language, although nowadays, it is by far my strongest. As an Army brat, I traveled a lot and did what many people do: I went to school, got a job, got married, and had kids.
I grew up reading science magazines, which led me into reading science fiction, mostly the classics by Asimov, Niven, Pournelle, etc. And then I found epic fantasy, which introduced me to a whole new world, in fact many new worlds, and it was Eddings, Tolkien, and the like who set me on the path of appreciating that genre. And as I grew older, and stuffier, I grew to appreciate thrillers from Cussler, Crichton, Grisham, and others.
When I had young kids, I began to make up stories for them, which kept them entertained. After all, who wouldn’t be entertained when you’re hearing about dwarves, elves, dragons, and whatnot? These were the bedtime stories of their youth. And to help me keep things straight, I ended up writing these stories down, so I wouldn’t have it all jumbled in my head.
Well, the kids grew up, and after writing all that stuff down to keep them entertained, it turns out I caught the bug—the writing bug. I got an itch to start writing… but not the traditional things I’d written for the kids.
Over the years I’d made friends with some rather well-known authors, and when I talked to them about maybe getting more serious about this writing thing, several of them gave me the same advice: “Write what you know.”
Write what I know? I began to think about Michael Crichton. He was a non-practicing MD, who started off with a medical thriller. John Grisham was an attorney for a decade before writing a series of legal thrillers. Maybe there was something to that advice.
I began to ponder, “What do I know?” And then it hit me.
I know science. It’s what I do for a living and what I enjoy. In fact, one of my hobbies is reading formal papers spanning many scientific disc
iplines. My interests range from particle physics, computers, the military sciences (you know, the science behind what makes stuff go boom), and medicine. I’m admittedly a bit of a nerd in that way. I’ve also traveled extensively during my life, and am an informal student of foreign languages and cultures.
With the advice of some New York Times-bestselling authors, I started my foray into writing novels.
My first book, Primordial Threat, became a USA Today bestseller, and since then I’ve hit that list a handful of times. With 20-20 hindsight, I’m pleased that I took the plunge and started writing.
* * *
That’s enough of an intro, and I’m not a fan of talking about myself, so let me get back to where I was before I rudely interrupted myself.
* * *
Many people can probably relate to the situation where their job requires them to keep certain pieces of data confidential. For a very relatable example, imagine you worked at a car dealership and management was planning on having a special sale next week, but it hadn’t yet been announced because they didn’t want to affect the current week’s sales.
* * *
Not hard to imagine, right?
* * *
Well, if you started to tell customers about the sale ahead of time, you might not be very popular with the dealership’s management. And at worst, the consequences could mean you end up getting fired.
* * *
Well, imagine that you’re working on things for the government that are classified. I have done that for a long time in various capacities, and the consequences of divulging classified data are covered under 18 U.S. Code § 793 as well as 18 U.S. Code § 798, and creative prosecutors can add others, all of which carry penalties that can land you in jail for up to ten years for each violation.
* * *
It’s something we accept as part of the assignment, and there’s usually no conflict with such requirements for confidentiality. But what if you found yourself in a situation that truly seemed like it needed a strong reaction from your management, and none was coming? You’ve exhausted all of your options for reporting the concern, then what?
* * *
You really don’t have much choice. You remain silent or face consequences.
* * *
Luckily, I’ve never found myself to be in such a situation, and I’ll admit that the people I’ve worked for have always been upstanding folks who embody the “do the right thing” attitude toward everything around them… but not everyone is like that.
* * *
What would it be like to have such a situation laid in your lap?
* * *
That’s the situation we face with Connor and his stint at the CIA.
* * *
And let me state that there are many elements in Patriot that are completely based on actual events. There are many folks who work on the public’s behalf, in the shadows, never known to you or I for what they really do. And having worked with many folks in other countries, this same situation plays out in all of them.
* * *
Most of the public doesn’t really want to know how the sausage is made. This book gives you a small peek into it… the daily drama, the choices, and the consequences.
* * *
I hope you enjoy it.
* * *
And as always, if I could ask anything from you, it would be to please share your thoughts/reviews about the story on Amazon and with your friends. It’s only through reviews and word of mouth that this story will find other readers, and I do hope Patriot (and the rest of my books) find as wide an audience as possible.
* * *
Again, thank you for taking the chance on a relatively unknown author. After all, I’m no Stephen King.
I can also tell you that as of this moment, I’m putting the finishing touches on the follow-on book to Patriot, so if you enjoyed this story, it shouldn’t be too long before you get a chance to visit with Connor yet again.
* * *
It’s my intent to release two to four books a year, and I’ll be completely honest, I’m heavily influenced by my readership on what gets attention next. An example of that being my first book, Primordial Threat, a book that was not going to have a follow-on title. But when I released it, it became a hit in the US and abroad, so due to demand, I released a second in what is now known as the Exodus Series.
* * *
If you’re interested in getting updates about my latest work, join my mailing list at:
https://mailinglist.michaelarothman.com/new-reader
* * *
Mike Rothman
April 1, 2021
* * *
My next story in the Connor Sloane series will be titled The Death Speech. If you’ll indulge me, below is a brief description:
* * *
"If it's actionable, we act." That's the motto of the clandestine government organization that Connor Sloane works for, and he's called into action when an assassin attempts to remove several of Europe's political leaders.
Things take an unexpected turn when the president's brother, a nuclear weapons expert, is reported missing somewhere in central Africa.
Connor's attention is split between two continents when intelligence comes in indicating that the attacks in Europe were only a practice run for the real target, the President of the United States.
In the meantime, it’s re-election season in the US and the DC political machine is keeping the president unaware of the danger he’s in. Connor scrambles to identify the assassin, who may be closer to the president than anyone knows.
If he can’t identify and stop the assassin, the president’s next speech may very well be his last.
Preview of The Death Speech
He glanced at his watch, took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. The air stirred as a cool nighttime breeze blew in from the Mediterranean, brushing away the heat of the day. He should have felt nervous, but as he looked across the growing crowd from his shadowy perch, he felt absolutely nothing. Five minutes ‘til go time.
The mayor of Turin was under a canopy at the far end of the Palazzo Reale, prepping for her annual speech, and for the first time in years, he was on sniper duty again. It felt great. Across the historic building’s courtyard were several Italian flags, each of them fluttering in seemingly random directions. Aside from the unpredictable gusts of wind coming across the buildings and into the plaza, it was a perfect setup.
As he sat back in the shadows of a rooftop five-hundred yards from his shot, his gaze panned forward, imagining the trajectory of his shot. The location was a popular tourist destination, but with the heavily advertised speech from the mayor, the locals as well as the tourists packed the area. There had to be over one thousand people gathered for the late-evening event. There was going to be chaos when this went down.
Perfect.
At the gates of the palazzo, the organizers had erected a large portable platform with a podium in the middle, allowing a perfect view for the crowd. The very idea of being shoved up against so many people made him nauseous. It was hard for him to even imagine why people from all walks of life would willingly subject themselves to that… just to listen to one person speak.
Three Minutes.
The platform was bathed in light, but outside the reach of the spotlights, there was some motion. Cloaked in the darkness of the Italian summer night, two statues depicting soldiers riding horseback bookended the platform, and at the base of each statue were armed guards. The mayor was a popular figure in the city, and the growing crowd was excited to have a chance to see her in person. This made him feel like this job was worth it. It was a good beginning to his coming out party.
People began clapping, and it was time to stop admiring the scenery and get to work.
Laying prone on the rooftop, he peered through his scope and spotted movement in the cordoned off area. The mayor’s two bodyguards were escorting her from the canopy-covered pavilion toward the platform. The guards were both carrying what lo
oked like H&K MP5s, basic nine-millimeter submachine guns. The mayor climbed up onto the platform and walking leisurely to the podium, waving at the crowd as she went. It seemed as if she was trying to wave at each individual person who came to see her. Through the scope, he could almost see the smile on her face as the crowd responded to her presence with ever-louder cheering.
With the new MK13 sniper rifle he’d acquired, he’d been so concerned about the noise, he not only was using a suppressor, but had loaded the 190 grain rounds for a subsonic flight downrange. He smiled as the crowd cheered. With the kind of noise they were making, nobody was going to hear anything.
As the mayor climbed up to the podium, stepping into the spotlight, she stopped and blew a few kisses to the crowd.
One Minute.
She motioned for the crowd to settle down, and the crowd went on for a little longer, despite her wishes. The mayor was clearly loved by her constituents. As the cheers slowly faded, the mayor took a deep breath.
He glanced at the flags, and at that moment, they lay limply against the flagpole.
Go time.
Peering through the scope, he placed the buttstock firmly against his shoulder, and rested his finger on the trigger.
She began talking into the microphone on the podium, and her voice carried across the plaza and through the darkness beyond. Her voice reached him as he measured his heartbeats.
The mayor’s voice had a dulcet tone, mature, but with a youthful energy driving her words, which he couldn’t understand.
Patriot Page 27