Foreign Agent by Brad Thor Read Free Book Online Page A

the Turkish military was following its president’s orders. That could change. More than that, Bachar wouldn’t say.
    He agreed with Devon that ISIS was a growing cancer. It was a cancer, though, eating a neighbor that Turkey despised. Right now, he was content to let it continue.
    The prospect of war with the Russians or the Iranians, though, wasn’t something he relished. He shared that with Devon and suggested that instead of pressuring Turkey, the United States should focus on those nations. Anything Turkey had done had been in retaliation for something Russia or Iran had done. None of it had been unprovoked. If Russia and Iran wanted to continue their escapades in Syria and if those escapades drifted over the border or threatened Turkish sovereignty in any way, they could expect more of the same. Turkey had a right to defend herself.
    Devon understood that it was a matter of national pride. He also understood that by flexing its muscles, the Turkish military was bolstering its image among the Turkish people. That would come in handy if they decided to move against the President and other powerful Islamists.
    A complicated chessboard was taking shape in Turkey. If the United States couldn’t control the movements, it at least needed to know where the pieces were.
    Before leaving, Devon reassured his friend that whatever he chose to do, he would have the support of the United States. That level of support, though, could be dialed up or down, based upon how Turkey handled ISIS and any further Russian or Iranian provocations.
    There was no need to read between the lines with Devon. He was always very clear when laying out what he wanted. He didn’t want his words interpreted. He wanted them understood. There was a difference.
    Bachar smiled. He didn’t care for politicians. He liked simple, straight talk. Devon had always been honest with him. He appreciated that. And while there was only so much he could do under the current President, Bachar assured his colleague that he would keep the lines of communication open.
    They enjoyed a final cup of strong Turkish coffee accompanied by a plate of ripe figs. Then Bachar walked his guest out to his car.
    In the driveway were three black Range Rovers and a police escort. These days, only the President of the United States broadcast his presence abroad in a fleet of American-made vehicles.
    The luxury, armored SUVs had tinted, bulletproof glass, run-flat tires, and a host of nasty surprises for anyone foolish enough to attempt an assault on the Secretary’s motorcade. In addition, Devon was accompanied by a team of switched-on, highly intense Special Operations personnel.
    After thanking Bachar for their meeting, the Secretary of Defense climbed into the middle Range Rover, and the column rolled out of the gated driveway and headed toward the airport in Antalya.
    The main road wound its way downhill and then hugged the ocean. With its beaches, glitzy boutiques, and gourmet restaurants, the area reminded Devon of the French Riviera. It was easy to see why it was one of Turkey’s biggest tourist draws.
    When they arrived downtown, the police escort raced ahead, halting traffic at intersections so the Secretary could move through without stopping.
    Antalya was the eighth-largest city in Turkey. It was a combination of Roman ruins and modern architecture, broad boulevards and narrow medieval streets, the perfect mix of the exotic and the traditional: the kind of place his wife would enjoy visiting. Depending on how Turkey handled matters going forward, he could see himself bringing her back.
    The motorcade had just passed a quaint outdoor café, its name painted in gold leaf, when two men leapt out of a parked car. They were masked and carrying AK-47s. Immediately, they began firing.
    “Contact left! Contact left!” one of the security team members yelled.
    Tires squealed and gas flooded into the Range Rovers’ huge engines as the SUVs took evasive action.
    Secretary Devon was