No wonder nobody in this town can get along.
He turned on his blinker and wormed his way into the lane on his left, crawling along until he had an opportunity to cut off the same driver. Bozeman smiled as he watched the driver beat wildly on his steering wheel before flashing some more obscene gestures.
Bozeman prepared to flip the driver a pair of birds when his phone rang with a call from an unknown number.
“This is Bozeman,” he said as he answered.
“Do you have any updates yet? You told me yesterday phase one of the operation was about to go down.”
Bozeman was shocked to receive a call from Michaels. “What are you doing calling me like this?”
“Don’t worry. It’s a secure line, untraceable. I’ve got a right to be able to handle my indiscretions without anyone knowing, okay?”
Bozeman sighed. “Fine. I just want you to know that my phone is secure, but probably not as secure as it needs to be, given the details of this discussion.”
“Save the lecture for another time. Just answer my question.”
“What are you so jumpy about? I’m usually the one who’s on edge, not you.”
“I’ve got a meeting I’m late for, so make it quick.”
“I haven’t heard anything other than what I told you yesterday. When I hear something else, I’ll let you know.”
Michaels hung up.
Bozeman started to wonder if he should be more concerned and that perhaps his sense of security had been a false one. His impending meeting with a congresswoman at East Potomac Park seemed of little importance given the obvious state of panic Michaels was in.
Something’s going on.
Bozeman turned onto I-395 and headed west toward the park. He relished the opportunity to step on the gas and accelerate above twenty miles per hour. Though still disturbed about Michaels’s call, Bozeman decided to ignore it, chalking up the president’s behavior to a high level of stress.
With traffic starting to move at a normal pace, Bozeman adjusted his rearview mirror, only to notice the driver behind him acting suspiciously. Moments later, the driver pulled into the lane left of Bozeman and accelerated. The driver appeared to be reaching for something as he stared at Bozeman. Noticing the sudden movement, Bozeman reacted quickly, ducking down as he jammed on the brakes. Two bullets struck his car—the first shattering the driver’s side window, the second striking his door.
Bozeman eased back onto the gas and peeked his head just above the steering wheel only to be greeted by another bullet that shattered his front windshield. He scrambled down below the dash, while trying to keep his car from careening off the road. Using his mirrors, he put on his blinker and whipped the steering wheel to the right in an effort to get off the highway. He took the next exit and pulled into a parking spot on the back side of a gas station.
Bozeman lay down and put his hand on his heart. It was pounding as he tried to catch his breath. After he’d calmed down, he was just about to get up when he heard tires screech to a halt behind him. Bozeman reached into his console and grabbed his gun. He scooted up just enough to see the vehicle that had been pursuing him in his side mirror. The driver got out and walked slowly toward Bozeman’s car.
Bozeman took a deep breath and sat up in his seat, whirling as he did. He put four bullets in the attacker’s center mass before the man could react. With the man on the ground, Bozeman cautiously climbed out of his car, hustled to the man, and kicked the gun away from him.
Digging his phone out of his pocket, Bozeman dialed Michaels back on the burner phone he’d called from earlier.
“What are you doing calling me on this phone?” Michaels asked.
“It’s an emergency. I need your help.”
“What happened?”
Bozeman recounted the events over the previous fifteen minutes, concluding with how he’d just shot and killed the man.
“Who is he?” Michaels asked.
“I have no idea. I’ve never seen him before. But right now, that’s not important. I need you to send some guys over here to clean up this mess before we create a problem.”
“I’ll handle it.”
While waiting for Michaels’s men, Bozeman pulled the man’s car into the adjacent parking slot. Then Bozeman dragged the man’s body into the driver’s side seat. Just as Bozeman was about to shut the door, he noticed something on the man’s neck and bent over to inspect it more closely. It was a tattoo of a diamond-shaped object with three dots inside that formed a triangle.
Eventually, four secret service agents showed up and helped Bozeman shove the body into a bag and threw it into the dead man’s trunk. One of the agents took pictures and fingerprints before closing it.
“We’ll handle it from here,” one of the agents told Bozeman.
“What are you going to do?” Bozeman asked.
“The less you know, the better. Plausible deniability and all that good stuff.”
“But I killed him. I’d like to know what you’re planning to do with the body.”
“Someone will get in touch with you later. In the meantime, I’d suggest you not breathe a word of this to anybody.”
Bozeman nodded and watched as one of the agents climbed behind the wheel of the dead man’s car and headed back toward the main road with the agents’ black SUV trailing right behind him.
Bozeman sat down in his car and rubbed his face with both hands. The agent was right—the less Bozeman knew, the better. Though he really didn’t care about what they were doing with the body. What he really wanted to know was who the man was and whom he worked for.
CHAPTER 18
Jabad Salwa, Saudi Arabia
ALEX WATCHED BREATHLESSLY as the forks started to raise the rickety stack of pallets. She glanced around for an exit strategy, but there wasn’t one that wouldn’t compromise her. Just as she was about to make a run for
