SAFE HAVENS: Shadow Masters (A Sean Havens Black Ops Novel Book 1) by J.T. Patten Read Free Book Online Page A

holding an 18 round Russian 9mm OTs-27 Berdysh pistol as he approached the knocking, coughed twice out loud and uttered, “Two seconds, please.” It was audible enough to be heard on the other side of the door, but while doing so he was crouched low and to the side of the door in the event he was blasted by a bullet assault from the hallway from an uninvited party anticipating someone approaching the door.
    “I am sorry, sir, but there is no tour today,” the Arabic reply stated in response to the cough.
    Havens called out to the closed door. “Can you accommodate me for next week?”
    “Certainly, sir, but perhaps we can discuss the details for a different tour activity.”
    Havens opened the door to see a thirty-something-year-old light-skinned Ethiopian man standing before him in local apparel. Sean’s gaze met the Ethiopian and gestured to his left and right with his eyeballs. When he received a negative nod, Sean felt things were clear and summoned his guest to come in.
    Havens extended his hand to the Ethiopian, “You are not quite what I expected. I am Mick.”
    The Ethiopian shook it vigorously. “Not expecting? What did’ja expect…uh, Mick, a white dude in a pin stripe suit and bowler hat with a big booty bitch on each arm?”
    “Whoa,” Havens offered a smile, “Where are you from? You’re American.”
    The Ethiopian, who introduced himself as John, laughed. “Yeah, I’m Americano. I get that a lot. From DC originally. Moved to Maryland later, came back to DC area, went to school at Georgetown. That’s the story and that’s all you get. I’m just the bridge between you and my guy.”
    “Understood.”
    John threw a twined cloth package on the small dining table, which Havens knew would be a new set of clothes.
    Still amused, Havens was ready to transition from personal to business. He had things to do. “Well shit, had me fooled.”
    “Yeah, that’s the point, right?” John looked around the room. He started walking towards the bedroom where local news radio was playing from somewhere in the back to drown out and confound potential audio surveillance.
    “Whad’ya have for me?” Havens was anxious to get on his way. He knew John was just doing a cursory check and paid it no mind.
    John called back, “I have a ticket, few credit cards, passport…”
    “Whoa, buddy. Passport? I don’t need one of them.” Havens cut John off and grabbed the small leather fanny pack that John had thrown on the clothes package.
    Havens shook his head in utter disbelief. “No way. No frickin’ way. What are you guys thinking? A black passport? You are handing me an official diplomatic passport? How did you get this so quickly and with the name of someone I have never heard of and one that singles me out as official? I have a blue regular guy passport that I am using. Are you kidding me?”
    Havens started to pace the room. He started flipping through the passport that typically indicates those traveling for strictly diplomatic purposes and who hold diplomatic immunity. A nicety, but not for those who are not looking for scrutiny and identification as U.S. government.
    “This passport you got here is even brand new. It cracks when I open it. Thread is tight. No stamps. Cover isn’t creased from any use. It is dated last year. Where did you get this and who the hell put this shitty ass kit together for me? I trust you have nothing under organizational cover or a cover organization?”
    “Say, Mick, may want to not shout this to the whole country if you are so worried about being clean. I’m just sayin’.”
    Disregarding the warning, Havens continued his rant. “If I am a traveling government official with regional diplomatic activity in this area, do you really think I never traveled anywhere before as it shows on this flippin’ brand spanking new passport? God forbid I encounter biometric scrutiny!” He threw down the passport. “What the fuck?”
    John backed up, raising his hands defensively.