Connor took a step back, taking in a long breath through his nose. “Well, sir, if you’d give me a moment to expl—”
“Explain?” Pennington spun on his heel, returning to his desk to retrieve a file folder. He held it up. “How in the hell are you going to explain this? Double-tap to the chest, that’s what the report says. Dead on the scene.”
“Did it also mention the five bullet holes in the wall and ceiling, or the damage to the wall that he knocked me into? I didn’t start this fight, sir. I finished it.”
“You can say that again. My phone has been ringing nonstop since this hit the network this morning. Director James wants your head on a platter, and I’m inclined to give it to him.”
“That asshole tried to shoot me in the face! I defended myself, end of story.” Connor moved away from the door, a subconscious part of his brain reminding him to not keep his back to the room’s exit. “Which leads to several more questions—the primary one being who the hell wanted me dead and why.”
“How do you know this was a hit?” Pennington asked. “You’re just making assumptions again. For all you know it could’ve been a simple attempted robbery. The Interpol report I saw this morning said this Yasuki Shimahara was a violent felon and all-around bad guy, on the run for murder out of Tokyo. Chances are he saw you and thought you’d be an easy target.”
“Not a chance,” Connor said. “He moved like a pro. He didn’t ask me for anything at all. Just put a big-ass gun in my face.”
“Moved like a pro?” Pennington repeated, dropping his chin. “How the hell would you even know what that means? You’re an analyst—you sit behind a desk all day. You’re not a field agent.”
Connor almost laughed. Almost. The entire exchange would have been hilarious had it occurred in a movie like Lethal Weapon. Gibson’s character getting ramrodded and demoted to walk the streets with his partner as beat cops.
He took a deep breath to help prevent the storm brewing just beneath the surface. “Sir, you know exactly why I know that. For the same reason I know that any other desk jockey would probably be dead now. It wasn’t a robbery, it was a hit. There’s absolutely no way you can convince me different.”
“All right,” Pennington said, dropping into his chair. His tone suggested he didn’t believe Connor in the slightest. “Let’s set aside that I think this is all nonsense, and for the sake of argument, let’s say it was a hit. Why the hell would anyone put out a hit on you? I mean, let’s face it, you’re not a known CIA asset, and nobody would think I’d authorize you to be anywhere on duty.”
Connor scoffed. “Always good to know you’re appreciated.”
Pennington put his elbows on his desk. “You’re appreciated when you do your job and don’t overstep your role in this organization!” The director barely managed to hide the disdain. “And you didn’t answer my question. Why would anyone put a hit on someone who isn’t even supposed to be on duty?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because I’ve possibly uncovered that an extremist group of Islamic fundamentalists plans to smuggle a nuclear bomb into the country? That seems like a pretty good reason. But that’s just me.”
“I read your report.” Pennington tapped the file with a finger. “And I agree with you, it’s possible—but what exactly would you like me to do about it? You have no concrete proof. You have no idea where Hakimi is. You don’t even know where to start looking.”
“I saw the last three letters on Hakimi’s ship. The ship the nuke was transferred to. IFT,” Connor said. “And if we could get the video records from the salvage company, we could probably get the rest of the name.”
“You really think the Japanese government is going to work with us after you shot one of their citizens?”
“You said it yourself—the guy was a violent offender on the run. Hell, I did them a favor.”
Pennington pointed at Connor, his eyebrows knitting together. “Don’t let anyone hear you say that kind of crap again. I’m serious, Connor. You think you’re in some hot water now…”
“The guy was a killer—he preyed on the weak and played the system like a fiddle. I don’t have any sympathy at all for people like that. He got what he deserved. What I don’t understand, sir, is why we’re sitting here arguing about the death of one murderer, when the lives of thousands, or maybe millions, are at stake. Let’s surveil people in mosques, look at all of our ports on the West Coast, get the Coast Guard planes in the air… something. We need to be preparing for the worst, not arguing semantics over a dead piece of crap.”
“We aren’t doing anything,” Pennington said. “You’re on the bench for five days. End of discussion.”
Connor straightened. “You’re suspending me?”
“It’s standard policy for any agent-involved shooting. And you’re lucky it’s just that.”
“You can’t send me home during this!” Connor said, knowing all too well how he sounded, and not caring. “This is happening, sir, and you’re going to need all your people on board if you’re going to stop it.”
“Oh, and are you the lynchpin holding this all together, Connor? You’re the last line of defense, is that it? There isn’t anyone in the whole damn CIA that can do what you do?” Pennington pointed again. “You’re on the end of a long rope. You’ll take your days off, you’ll consider the implications of your actions, and when you come back, you better have some pretty damn good answers for the review board. Because if you don’t, not working for the agency will be the least of your worries. Do I make myself clear?”
Connor chewed on his bottom lip as he clenched his hands into fists
