Sleeper Cell Super Boxset by Roger Hayden, James Hunt Read Free Book Online Page B

“What can you tell us about the men that attacked you?”
    “Foreigners. Arab, from what I could tell. Not sure what language they were speaking though.” He looked over to Diaz, who copied everything down. “What’d they smuggle on my ship?”
    Cooper ignored the question and took a seat at the small square table opposite Dylan and crossed her arms. “You lost a member of your crew out there. Tank?”
    Dylan nodded. “He, uh—” The image of Tank’s death flashed in his mind. The bullet through Tank’s skull, the bargaining with the pirates, the mixture of the scent of blood, water, and lead. The bullets, mortars, and knives that played a hand in trying to kill him.
    “Mr. Turk?”
    Dylan shook his head, trying to remember the question that was asked. “I’m sorry. I just… it’s been a long day.”
    “Just tell us what you can. What you remember.”
    Dylan nodded and reached for the coffee. It had cooled enough to where he could sip on it. He let the caffeine help re-control his nerves, and he cleared his throat. “We were about one hundred twenty miles from shore when I saw a flare off the starboard side of a vessel two hundred yards northeast from our position. We approached, and neither of the two men on board spoke any English. We tied off to the vessel once I determined there wasn’t any structural damage, and when we boarded, they took two of my men hostage.” Dylan took another sip of coffee and shut his eyes. “Their leader showed himself. He spoke English, and he wanted my ship. I never learned what was wrong with theirs, but I managed to get the leader in a choke hold. I tried to get him to let us go, but he was going to kill Tank, so I let go.” Dylan’s grip around the Styrofoam loosened, and he watched the light ripple of coffee inside the cup. “Once he was free, he shot Tank in the back of the head and tossed him overboard.”
    “And what happened after that?” Cooper asked.
    “Christ, you people don’t waste any time do you?” Dylan looked up, his eyes red with frustration. “What’d you find on my boat?”
    “Enough bombs to blow up all of downtown Boston,” Cooper answered.
    “Boston?” The words left his lips in a whisper. He immediately reached for his phone, apparently a little too quickly for the two agents’ tastes, as they reached for their weapons but immediately holstered them when they saw he was dialing. He got up from his seat and paced around the room. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon.”
    “Mr. Turk, you need to sit down. There are a lot of details we still need to go over.”
    The phone reached its eighth ring and went to voicemail again. Dylan slammed the old flip phone shut and clenched it in his shaking fist. He walked to the door, where Agent Diaz was blocking him. “I need to get my family.”
    “Sir, you need to calm down.” Agent Diaz placed his right palm on the pistol and his left on Dylan’s chest, pushing him backward.
    “My family, they’re in Boston.” Dylan turned to Cooper. “Please, if there are bombs, then they’re not safe.” Sweat poured from Dylan’s face and neck. He could feel the clingy fabric of his shirt. His now dried clothes were once again becoming wet. “I have to get them.”
    “Hey,” Cooper said, trying to calm him. “We will.” But before either of them got another word in, a man, escorted by at least a dozen men behind him, pounded on the door and slapped his badge onto the small window into the room. The man pulled it down faster than Dylan could read, but once Diaz opened the door and he marched in, the announcement made it clear.
    “Deputy Director Perry, Homeland Security.” Unlike the DEA agents, Perry was dressed in a suit, with a folder tucked under his arm. The men flanking him, however, looked like members of a SWAT team. “Mr. Turk, you’re free to go.”
    Before Dylan could move, Cooper stepped between him and the exit. “Agent Perry, I don’t think that it’s a good idea to let this man go.