Search and Destroy JT Sawyer (books to read in your 30s txt) 📖

“It’s election month, so things are chaotic, but I will certainly put my feelers out,” said Gardner.

Patterson watched the others leave. He lingered in his seat, slowly turning to face the Interpol image of Montoya.

This happens just as Burke and Shepard are about to wrap up their work together. Was someone watching them from inside the company this whole time? Or was it someone at one of our agencies? He knew of approximately two dozen people between the CIA, Pentagon, and NSA who knew about the true nature of the Perseus program and Cal’s involvement.

How would they have known that Burke would be accessing sat imagery this morning? Only the NSA personnel and their supervisor with access to the satellites would have that information. Or is there a corporate spy at Burke’s company?

Patterson licked his lower lip. But the old man made his early fortune in cyber-security, so he’s not clumsy enough to let that slip by him…or is he?

His slew of questions was only thickening. He knew where to start his search, and it wasn’t back at Langley. He got up, heading to the exit, then took the elevator up to the first floor of the Pentagon, where his cellphone would be able to get reception, then he called the only person he could trust to get a straight answer.

Cal, I hope you can tell me what the fuck is going on.

4

The drive through Arlington’s surging river of rush-hour traffic faded behind him as Cal headed west on Interstate 66 for an hour then onto U.S. Route 17 to Delaplane, Virginia. The rolling hills and wooded countryside reminded him of his youth growing up in Billings, Montana, and he had to remind himself that he was only sixty miles from the congested confines of DC.

He exited the highway, driving past a winery then heading onto a two-lane county road. He had to restrain his usually leaden foot on the gas pedal as he kept one eye on the road and the other on the cluster of pies on the floor beside him.

After this party, he was looking forward to having a weekend alone with Cassie. He planned to take her out to dinner tomorrow evening at Waterman’s Surfside Grille in Virginia Beach for a crab dinner, her favorite meal.

Since passing her first trimester, it seemed like she was craving seafood on a regular basis, and the restaurant was where they had celebrated after buying their home in Arlington three years ago. He could still remember her golden-blond hair aglow in the fading rays of the sunset as they sat on the patio, exhausted from two days of moving but exhilarated about the life they were building together.

Even though he was still running missions for the agency and was gone for large portions of time overseas, it was the first time he felt settled in years. His contract working for Burke had only solidified that feeling, but he knew in a few weeks he’d be in the wind again, back with his old SAD team and hunkered down at a makeshift base in a strife-ridden corner of the globe.

These past eight months being a consultant for Burke had been a reprieve after nearly sixteen years of non-stop combat operations, most of which had become a blur in his memory. But his body hadn’t forgotten the miles—the stiches from bullets, knives and shrapnel; hearing loss from gunfights and explosions; not to mention the bone and joint injuries from too many airborne insertions and gear-laden treks. Aches and pains that he shrugged off in his twenties were reminding his thirty-seven-year-old body that no one remained in field ops forever.

While the public often envisioned agency operators and elite warriors as invincible, many of his colleagues were medically discharged from fieldwork by the time they were in their early thirties if not sooner, most of them learning to cope with their own private battles with PTSD and the horrors of what they had witnessed overseas.

Beyond the tidy fiscal budgets behind the walls of Langley and the Pentagon, the war on terror exacted a great cost, and no one knew that more than the men and women in the clandestine services and special operations community.

What had originally felt like being shackled to a desk for eight months away from his SAD team overseas now felt like it had been a blessing in disguise, giving his body and mind time to mend and strengthening his marriage in ways he never dreamed possible.

And soon, I’ll be a dad to a sweet baby girl.

He exuberantly thrust the jeep into fifth gear, picking up speed on the long stretch of road three miles out from Burke’s estate, feeling the rush of cool air from the open windows.

Cal slowed at the next right turn, which led to a private driveway that wound for a quarter-mile up a slope. Further downshifting, he stopped at the entrance, noting that the double wrought-iron security gates were open. At any other time, that would be cause for alarm, but he knew that most of Burke’s senior staff had probably just arrived for the party and that Reggie had observed the comings and goings at the entrance from the security cameras posted around the estate.

Cal drove under the procession of ancient red oak trees that lined the driveway on either side, reminding him of the historic plantations he’d seen in the Deep South.

Burke’s three-story estate was elegant and fitting for the genius billionaire, with thirty acres of groomed gardens, a horse stable, and a barn surrounding the 11,000 square-foot home that could house a small village. Complete with a solarium, nine guest bedrooms, salt and freshwater pools, and a vaulted conference room with chandeliers, the place made Cal feel like he was in a castle in the Swiss Alps.

But the most stunning room in the entire estate and the one that Cal always gravitated to during their corporate retreats was the library at the south