Patriot by M.A. Rothman (macos ebook reader txt) 📕

trash and was halfway back to his apartment when his phone vibrated with a call. According to the caller ID, it was from “Dad.”

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Nice work,” Thompson said.

“You’re already pulling in data?” Connor asked, surprised.

“Yup. The virus turned dialed into one of our portals and is pushing content to us now. Brice is sorting through the data and leaving behind all sorts of keystroke trackers. And I’m looking through Khan’s e-mails as we speak.”

“Anything interesting?”

“Not yet—there’s lots to go through. So far I just have lots of stuff about meetings and recruiting efforts. Not much about bombing famous religious centers.”

“What, did you think you were going to find a roadmap of terror on his drive? A neon sign saying ‘Hi, I’m a crazy terrorist bomber, look at me’?”

“Is that too much to ask for?”

Connor chuckled. “I guess it would be nice.”

There was a pause, then Thompson said, “Hang on. Looks like there’s been wire transfers between the mosque and some Islamic centers in Pakistan. They’re probably fronts. We’ll have to investigate them further. This is definitely a good start.”

“Any luck on our friend?” Connor asked.

“Hakimi?”

“Yeah.”

“No. We lost him outside Seattle and he hasn’t resurfaced yet.”

“We’re running out of time. If he’s planning an East Coast attack, which seems likely because he’s had plenty of time to do something out west and he hasn’t, then we only have a couple more days.”

“We know, and we’re working on it. You just do your best to get close to Khan.”

Connor laughed. “I’m not going to be able to work my way into his inner circle in the next two days.”

“You’re already making nice with his daughter,” Thompson said.

“I don’t think she has anything to do with his terror operation.”

Richards came on the line. “Oh come on, you’re not really buying her whole innocent routine, are you?”

“I don’t think it’s a routine,” Connor said. “She comes off as extremely genuine.”

“Well, I’m not convinced. On paper, she’s almost too clean,” Richards said.

“Hey, if we find evidence to the contrary, then I’ll believe it,” Connor said. “But for now, I don’t think she has any part of whatever her father’s doing. And I can’t even say for sure if Khan’s the contact that Hakimi has here. So far, he just seems to be a corrupted drug dealer playing pious. A scumbag, but not necessarily a terrorist. I’m hoping you guys get something off his computer, because unless you do, I don’t think I’ll be much good here for anything else. These guys aren’t the trusting type, and they certainly aren’t going to warm up to me anytime soon.”

“Hey, if you’ve got another Abdullah in mind, how about you do us a favor and let us know,” Thompson said. “But I’ll trust you on your on the ground assessment. We’ll sort through whatever intel we can and if we’re lucky, we’ll get something actionable, but in we’ve got an asset we want you to meet. She’s been shadowing an Eastern European by the name of Frederick Wagner since he entered the country a few days ago, and we think your two cases may be connected. She’s coming to the city tomorrow morning. I’ll send you the address and time.”

“How will I know who she is?”

“Don’t worry,” Richards said. “She’ll find you. They call her the Black Widow.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The diner outside Fort Meade was a dive. Its décor was a throwback to the fifties, and the waitresses wore frilly skirts and aprons. Connor spotted a dark-skinned woman sitting alone in the back of the restaurant, her back to the wall. Her motorcycle helmet sat on the table, and she was busy reading the menu. She didn’t make any sign that she’d seen him, or that she was looking for him, but he had a feeling she was the one he was looking for.

Connor slipped past a customer waiting to pay and walked straight to the back of the restaurant.

Without looking up from the menu, the woman said, “They’ve got fantastic pie.”

“That’s a baseline for any good diner,” Connor said. He studied the enigmatic figure in the booth. She had just about the darkest skin he’d ever seen, a pretty face, and high cheekbones. She seemed very relaxed, yet it was also clear that she was paying careful attention to her surroundings. “You’re the one I’m supposed to meet, I take it?”

Without looking up from the menu, she held out a silver coin and Connor recognized the pyramid with the eye on it. The Outfit’s ID.

He grasped the edge of her coin and almost immediately the eye began glowing.

With a slight nod, she put her coin away, finally looked up at him, one eyebrow raised. “Oh my, you’re delicious-looking, aren’t you?” She gave him a grin that was almost predatory. “I’ve never had milk chocolate in my coffee.”

Connor slipped into the booth. The woman’s eyes followed his every motion. “Are you flirting with me?” he asked.

She shrugged. “Maybe. I have a nasty habit of saying what I’m thinking. You’re cuter than I’d expected. You can call me Annie.”

Connor noticed that one of Annie’s hands remained under the table—and he had a pretty good idea why. It made him uneasy. He didn’t know this woman and didn’t have any reason to trust her, and Thompson and Richards hadn’t told him much. He was suddenly very conscious that his back was to the diner’s entrance, so he slid to the wall and twisted slightly in the seat, giving him at least a peripheral view of the rest of the diner.

“Annie,” he said, “are you going to keep that pistol pointed at me the whole time?”

A smile grew on Annie’s dark features, and she nodded with approval. “Maybe.”

A waitress appeared. “Can I get either of you something to drink? Water or coffee?”

“Whole milk, please,” Annie said.

“I’ll have water,” Connor added.

“And are we going to be eating tonight?”

“I’m thinking the coconut cream pie will do me fine,” said Annie.

“Good, and for you?” The waitress looked to Connor.

“Nothing for me, thanks.”

“All