King and Maxwell (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 6)

“Piece of advice, young man. In business, when you do a deal of this size, and I’ve done bigger and I’ve done smaller, I like to look the man in the eye and shake his hand. Good for me, good for him. And we could be doing business together again.”

“Yes, we could,” re

plied Grant. But he was thinking, No, we never will.

He took the next flight north. He arrived back in D.C., drove straight to his office, and sat at his desk. He opened the small black book Melton had given him and looked at the series of codes and authentication keys that were critical for him to gain access to the A3. It was quite a unique bird, he knew, for a variety of reasons. And while the military and other federal agencies had been kicked off the platform, they weren’t really. Not really. They always left a little fragment of themselves behind.

And a fragment was all Grant needed.

CHAPTER

38

“HEY, WINGO!”

Tyler looked over as he was leaving school. The group of senior boys was watching him. Some had big duffels they carried over their shoulders. One held a football helmet and shoulder pads.

One of them shouted, “Heard your old man’s not dead. Heard he went AWOL. And he’s a crook.”

Tyler’s face flamed red and he shouted, “That’s a load a’ shit.”

The seniors came over to him, each towering over him. Tyler recognized them all as being on the varsity football team.

The largest senior said, “My old man told me. He’s in the Army. He should know.”

One of the other seniors shoved Tyler. “So you calling his dad a liar?”

“If he says my dad is a crook, I am.”

“AWOL, that’s like being a coward, right? Your old man a chickenshit, Wingo?” said a large, big-bellied eighteen-year-old named Jack. He shoved Tyler so hard he fell back on the dirt, which made all of them laugh. The other boys crowded around. One jerked Tyler up and held his arms, while Jack cocked his fist back and was about to punch Tyler in the gut.

“Don’t think so.”

A hand grabbed Jack’s fist and ripped it backward.

The boys all turned to see Michelle standing there. She let go of Jack’s hand and said, “You guys like ganging up on people?”

“What’s it to you?” snarled Jack.

“Tyler’s a friend of mine.”

Jack guffawed as he looked Michelle up and down. “You mean you’re his bodyguard? You need a chick to guard you, Wingo?”

The other boys all laughed.

“I can take care of myself,” snapped Tyler as he quickly got to his feet and glared at Michelle.

“I know you can. But six on one isn’t fair for anyone. So let’s see.” She looked at the other boys one by one, her gaze finally coming to rest on Jack. “You play football, right?”

“Starting left tackle,” bragged Jack.

“Which means you’re big and strong.” Jack’s smile grew larger. “And slow and fat and you have no stamina because you can’t run more than three yards without collapsing.”

Jack’s smile disappeared.

Michelle looked at Tyler. “Now, Tyler isn’t nearly your size, but he’s wiry and quick and he swims, which means he has great endurance. You fight him, and you don’t take him out fast, he’ll dance around, popping away until you get so tired you won’t be able to stand up, much less hit anything with force. And Tyler’s dad, the so-called coward, is Special Forces, and those guys are in another world when it comes to close-quarter combat. You think MMA guys are tough? They wouldn’t last a round with a SEAL or a Ranger. And Special Forces guys don’t just beat you up. They kill you. And I bet Tyler’s dad taught him a few things.”

She glanced at Tyler, who was staring furiously at Jack.