Page 2 of Protecting Olivia

Zane had a safe house located on the South River. It was a rundown barn on a five-acre lot. What made this particular barn unique was the basement. It was more of a fallout shelter than a basement, actually. It was fully kitted out with an armory, bunks, food, and water supply. We could easily hide someone there if necessary. We also had secure comms in and out of the bunker.

I pulled up to the building noting Z and Garrett were already there. Z’s Rover and Garrett’s GSX R750 motorcycle were parked next to a black sedan and a Porsche Panamera both with Washington DC plates. Christ Almighty, it was never a good sign when someone from DC paid us a visit.

I hurried and parked, anxious to find out why the hell it was so important to meet at two in the fucking morning. Yeah, I was tired and cranky. Making my way to the exterior door of the barn, I placed four fingers on the biometric scanner discretely placed under what looked to be a realtor’s lockbox and impatiently waited for it to accept my fingerprints. The lock slid open, allowing me access to the interior of a dusty old barn; it was complete with straw bales, horse stalls, and the earthy musk smell one would expect. I didn’t bother turning on the overhead light since I’d been here a hundred times and knew where the door was to the basement.

I fought back a sneeze and entered my eight-digit code, not that it mattered if I made noise. Whoever was in the basement already knew I was on the premises. There were perimeter alarms that had alerted them to my presence the moment I drove onto the property.

I opened the basement door, and my footsteps echoed as I rushed down the stairs and stopped at the final door. Placing my face inches away from the retinal scanner, I silently cursed Z. He was an over-the-top son-of-a-bitch when it came to the security. No one gained entrance to the inner sanctum of any company building uninvited.

All eyes snapped in my direction when I walked in the room. Any thought I had of sleep in the near future was shot to hell.

“Panther. Good to see you, son.” A brisk voice called out from the crowd of people.

“Mr. President. Nice to see you as well, sir,” I replied.

I quickly scanned the room, noting the President only had a two-man personal security detail, Gerald and Aaron, and no other secret service agents. He had a bad habit of sneaking off White House grounds, only taking his personal guards. I believe the last time the Secret Service agent in charge tried to talk to him about it, the President kindly reminded him of his years as a special operator and his time in the CIA. There might’ve been some expletives used on the President’s end telling the agent where he could shove an inanimate object if he didn’t like it. He was one tough old man.

Peter Newton stood off to the side looking disheveled and out of place in his pressed blue jeans and polo shirt. I had never seen the Attorney General in anything other than high-dollar designer suits.

It was still hard to believe that my boss, Zane, and Tom Anderson, the President of the United States, were close friends. I had known Zane a long time, and it wasn’t until recently I found out just how deep his ties were to the President.

Our last mission was educational. Closely guarded secrets about a failed Russian op that resulted in the capture and torture of Jasmin Parker and Zane were brought to light. The torture Jasmin endured led to her losing her memory. I didn’t know if I felt relief I could finally stop lying to Jasmin about her past, or if I was pissed as hell that Zane and Lincoln had kept their own secrets. Not a single person on our team knew that Zane had a brother. We certainly didn’t know that Lincoln Parker, better known as Ghost, was that brother. We also didn’t know that the President was Jasmin’s uncle. One could say that the last month had been informative.

“Leo. Glad you’re here,” Zane said from his place across the room.

“Transport en route?” the President asked Gerald.

“Yes, sir. ETA two minutes,” he answered.

“Great, let’s go up,” the President instructed.

Wordlessly the President’s detail went for the door, Garrett followed with two desert tan Blackhawk messenger bags over his shoulder. I knew he had no less than four laptops and a tablet shoved in those bags. He gave the words computer geek a whole new meaning.

Zane trailed the President and the Attorney General, stopping at the door he turned to me. “You good?” he asked.

“Five by five,” I answered. “Where are we going?”

“Tex’s place.”

“In Pennsylvania?” I inquired. I had never known Tex to invite anyone to his home.

“Roger.”

“Who called in Tex?” I asked.

“He called us. He found something that requires a face-to-face. He requested the AG. Tom called and said he would be accompanying us.”

“Well, hell. That cannot be good. Garrett said Tex had intel on the Cox case,” I informed him. “One more thing. How did Tom know the AG was coming in?”

“Now that is the million-dollar question. I hate going in blind. Hopefully, Garrett will have something before we get to Pennsylvania. But if Tex wants a sit-down, shit has gone sideways. Everyone knows he prefers to conduct business via the dark web or phone. Hell, I’ve only met the guy once in person, and that was only because his man Wolf needed some intel from me. What I do know is the AG called us tonight and wanted a meeting, too.”

“Did the AG say what about?” I asked.

I had never met Tex in person either. He had assisted on a few of my ops in the past, but only to provide intel and that was done over a secure server. Zane made a good point; if he wanted to meet in person, something was really wrong.

“Peter received an email tonight. He refused to forward the message and wanted Garrett to view it on his computer only. Garrett ran the email and found the location origin. Brace, brother. It’s gonna be a long night – the POTUS, the AG, and Tex.” Z stopped and shook his head. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

By the time we made our way back outside, the Eurocopter EC155 was touching down. Luckily for us, this was going to be a short flight. The EC only held eight normal-size men. Both Z and I were well over six foot, and Tom’s personal protection wasn't much smaller than us; it was going to be a tight fit.