Day of Reckoning Read Online Free

A.M.
    Virginia
     
    “They’re reporting a two-vehicle accident on the primary route,” Ramirez remarked. “Apparently somebody was tail-gating and skid on the ice. Idiot commuters.”
    A smile crossed Lay’s face. The snow wasn’t bad, but folks in Virginia weren’t used to it. He had spent his childhood in Vermont, and learned to drive up there. Now that was snow. “We’re taking the alternate, then?”
    The SEAL nodded. “It’s a bit longer, but they’re liable to be backed up with the accident. And we’ve not used it for two days, so we should be good.”
    Always security-conscious, the DCIA mused. That was Ramirez. There had been a time he would have dismissed it. Not now.
     
    Behind them, the Toyota merged with traffic two cars back. “I have them,” the man announced, speaking into the wireless headset of his cellphone. He pulled the Glock out of the pocket of the door, laying the polymer handgun across his lap with sweaty fingers. Cursing his fear. “They are proceeding along Route Three, the same one they used two days ago. What do you want me to do?”
    “Just maintain a following position,” came the calm voice. “I’ll talk you through this. You’re going to be fine.”
     
    6:43 A.M.
    An apartment
    Manassas, Virginia
     
    A blurred image of himself in the mirror was the first thing Thomas Parker saw of the morning. He felt suddenly dizzy and threw out a hand, steadying himself against the edge of the sink.
    A wave of nausea nearly overcame him and he coughed, feeling sick. Very sick. He reached for the faucet, turning on the cold water, splashing it over his hands and face. His aching head.
    It might have been easier if he’d actually been sick. Knowing the headache and nausea were a direct result of too much alcohol the previous evening didn’t help his mood any.
    One way or the other, he was going to have to sober up or he was going to be late. The CIA didn’t know about the drinking problem he’d developed, and he planned to keep it that way. He was on a strike team, after all. Mistakes weren’t tolerated. Mistakes killed.
    His gaze drifted toward the sticky note on the mirror, the phone number written there. The number of Harry’s pastor. Nichols, his team lead, knew about the problem, and that was his solution.
    Thomas snorted. Yeah, some solution. An avowed agnostic for all of his adult life, he saw no reason to change his mind now. Certainly the betrayal of Hamid Zakiri had done nothing but deepen his cynicism. And his drinking.
    They’d shared this apartment, he and Hamid, a way to keep down the cost of living in suburban Virginia. It had been for Hamid’s benefit, not his own. He’d been the manager of a Fortune 500 tech company in the years before 9/11, and his money was invested wisely.
    About the only thing he’d done wisely.
    “Thomas?” Her voice sounded shriller this morning. He looked into the mirror to see a brunette standing in the bathroom door, her hair a mess and wearing one of his shirts.
    She’d looked better when he was drunk too, he realized sourly. He couldn’t remember her name, nor much of anything else from the previous evening, in fact. The Agency would have a cow if they knew.
    With their jealous watch over security clearances, the CIA took a dimmer view of one-night stands than most parents. Make that parents with a multi-million-dollar surveillance budget and you have the picture.
    He turned back to the sink, trying to block her voice from his head. He was going to be late for work…
     
    6:51 A.M.
    Virginia
     
    “Target is closing, approximately five hundred meters now. Are you ready?”
    They spy on us, we spy on them , the man had said. They target us … we target them. It was true, what Jones had always warned about the shadow government. The tyrants in Washington had been killing people for years…now was their time. The driver of the Toyota nodded nervously, covering his fear with a laugh. “Yeah. Yeah—I can do this.”
    “Then be