Predator One by Jonathan Maberry Read Free Book Online Page A

staff?”asked Bunny once I was off the call. He looked at the two men who had been interrogating bin Laden. They cowered against the wall in horrified silence.
    “P-please!” said one of them, holding up his hands. Throughout our conversation, he’d been pretending to be a hole in the air. Like maybe he thought we’d forget about him. “Please … we were following orders to—”
    “Really?” I said. “You’re goingwith the ‘only following orders’ thing?”
    They began protesting. Then begging.
    Top drew his Snellig and darted them both.
    “Thank you,” said Bunny.
    Top shook his head slowly as he shoved his pistol into its holster. “I could have worked on my uncle’s farm. Getting fat and rich growing peaches.”
    “Right now,” said Bunny, “that sounds like heaven.”
    I nodded to the unconscious men. “Secure them.They’ve got cells waiting for them back home.”
    “Be mighty uncomfortable,” said Top. “Them tied up and all. No food or water. No bathroom runs.”
    “You have a problem with that?” I asked.
    He said, “Nope. Just noting it.”
    We nodded to each other. Each of us aware of the conundrum’s souring our collective moods.
    “Feeling the need to vent a little here, Boss,” said Bunny. “Might slash some tiresand break some windows.”
    “Hooah,” Top said again.
    “None of that goes outside of the mission protocols as far as I’m concerned,” I said. “Indulge yourself.”
    We tapped back into the mission channel. “Tell the helo pilot to brew a fresh pot of high-test, and I don’t want to hear the word ‘decaf,’” I said. “Going to be a long night.”

 
    Chapter Nine
    The Capitol Building
    Washington, D.C.
    October 13, 1:15 A.M.
    “Home, James.”
    It was a running joke every time the president climbed into the back of the Beast, the presidential state car.
    The driver, a sergeant in the White House Military Office, was actually named James. The driver grinned, as he always did, even though the joke was as stale as Christmas fruitcake. But thebasic rule was that the president’s jokes were always funny, even when they weren’t. The rule applied to any joke told by any president. As a result, a lot of former commanders in chief left office convinced that they were hilarious.
    Being seen to visibly appreciate the joke was even more important tonight, because the man sharing the backseat with the president was Linden Brierly, director ofthe Secret Service. Brierly, though not James’s boss, had unquestioned influence over all matters of security personnel.
    So, the driver, Leonard Allyn James, chuckled at the joke and waited until the senior motorcade NCO gave the go signal. The long line of vehicles switched on their red and blue flashers and the procession pulled away from the Capitol for the six-minute drive to the White House.

    The Beast was a heavily armored Chevrolet Kodiak–based, Cadillac-badged limousine. It was referred to in most official documents as Cadillac One or Limousine One but called the Beast by everyone in the presidential motorcade.
    Another running joke was that the motorcade was longer than the route between the two buildings. Most often there were forty-five cars in the procession, with one or twodummy versions of the presidential state car. All for a drive of one-point-seven miles. For what would otherwise be a nice stretch of the legs.
    In the back, the president rubbed his eyes and sank wearily into the cushions.
    “Long night,” said Brierly.
    “Long damn night,” agreed the president.
    The third person in their conversational cluster nodded, but added, “Good night’s work, though.”
    AliceHouston, the White House chief of staff, somehow managed to look fresh and alert despite this being the middle of the night. Everyone else who had spent the last fourteen hours hammering away at the budget bill looked wasted. The elderly congressman from West Virginia had drifted off to sleep five times and had to be shaken vigorously