Patriot M.A. Rothman (free ebook reader for iphone .TXT) 📖

Connor nodded. “I’ve heard of the tech before, just never seen it in handheld form.”

“No one has,” Brice said, setting the weapon back on the shelf. “Like I said, it’s not finished. For you though,” he pointed a finger at Connor, “I have something a little more… conspicuous.”

The technician crossed the room to a black metal cabinet, put his palm against its scanner, then pulled the door open. He selected a box from the top shelf and carried it over to the central table. He slid his glasses back on, then pulled the top off the box.

Connor leaned forward, curious.

Brice tilted the box so he could see inside. “The ACR-VA2.”

Richards patted Brice on the back. “He sure does like his acronyms, doesn’t he?”

The technician rolled his eyes. “All right, the Advanced Chronometer Recon Video Audio Model 2. Would you rather me say that every time?”

“How about you just call it a watch?”

“Because it’s not just a watch,” Brice snapped, glaring. “It’s arguably the most important tool our people could have in their kit.” He handed it to Connor.

“Seems a little heavy for a watch,” Connor said, hefting it in one hand.

“It’s not a watch. Look.” Brice pointed to a date indicator under a bubble on the right side of the watch’s face. “See that?”

“The date? Sure.”

“That’s a recording device with a fisheye lens. It has a two-hundred-and-thirty-five-degree recording field. The integrated dynamic microphone can be focused directionally or set to capture everything you hear. It has Bluetooth and Wi-Fi capabilities, and its built-in GPS is accurate to five meters. It’s waterproof, shock-resistant, and has a panic button that will alert the team within seconds and direct assets to your position without you having to do a thing.”

Brice took the watch back from Connor, turned it over, and tapped the back. “The internal memory is a solid-state microdrive. It can hold hundreds of hours’ worth of audio and visual data. Standard protocol is to dump all recordings pertinent to the mission after a mission is done, so we can categorize them and file them properly.”

Connor nodded. “Of course.”

Richards rolled his eyes. “Oh, yeah, don’t screw up the filing system. You’ll have to deal with Martin’s wrath.”

Connor took the watch back and shook it. “Do I have to wind it up every other day?”

Brice canted his head to the side, obviously unsure about how to respond. “I…”

Connor held up a hand. “Kidding. Don’t screw up the filing system, check.”

“You make jokes, but it’s a very serious thing.”

“I thought you guys didn’t keep records,” Connor said, raising an eyebrow at Thompson.

Thompson held up a finger. “I said we don’t report to anyone. There’s a difference.”

Connor chuckled and slipped the watch band over his wrist. “Thanks.”

“There’s also this,” Brice said, pulling a laptop from underneath the table. It was about the size of the thirteen-inch MacBook Pro Connor had at home.

“Can’t do anything without a computer,” Connor said, stepping closer. He shot Thompson a look. “Let me guess, we’re in the process of going paperless?”

Thompson sniffed. “Isn’t everyone?”

“Just like any normal laptop,” Brice said, “this puppy will boot up—just a normal Windows operating system—and you’ll have full access to the programs installed, just like any other computer. You can click through the Start Menu, open Word, whatever.” He powered it on and waited for it to finish booting up. “This will pass any TSA screening and any contraband detection system in the world today.”

“Most computers do,” Connor said. He was surprised how quickly he was falling into the flow here. He wasn’t feeling the normal “first-day-at-the-office nerves” he’d had when he first arrived at the agency, not to mention the army. He felt right at home here, like he’d been here for years.

Brice held up a finger. “Except this isn’t anything like most computers. Like any computers at all, actually. If we turn it over and push these two buttons here and here … See?” Brice pointed to either end of the base of the computer, and Connor nodded. “Just press like so…”

The back of the computer popped up with a click, and Brice lifted it away. Inside were the usual laptop components: battery, hard drive, motherboard. The thin black battery took up almost half of the real estate inside the machine.

“That’s a hell of a battery. Do you get a couple days out of that?”

“Actually,” Brice said, tapping another button and pulling the piece out, “this isn’t the real battery. The real battery is good for only about an hour of operational time, which should be more than enough if you’re just proving that it’s a functional machine. No, this is something way cooler.”

He set the faux-battery down on the table, pushed a small, almost invisible lever on one end, and opened a thin lid. Inside were two pistols set within matching cut-outs.

Brice pulled one out and racked the slide, locking it to the rear. The pistol was about the size of a single-stack Glock nine-millimeter, the company 43 model. But Connor had never seen a double-barreled design like this before.

“Interesting,” he said.

“Custom-made,” Brice explained as held out the gun. “You won’t find these in any market in the world. Each pistol has two shots, firing a custom forty-five-caliber, two-hundred-and-fifty-five-grain bullet.”

Connor whistled, accepting the gun to inspect it. “Packs a hell of a punch.”

“And practically undetectable. You can walk right onto a plane with these bad boys and no one will be the wiser.”

“Four rounds won’t get me very far in a firefight,” Connor said.

“Well, these are more of a last-resort type of thing. But if you need them, they’re better than not having anything.”

“True.”

Brice looked to Richards and motioned to the shelf behind him. “Would you mind?”

With a nod, Richards picked up a plastic gun case and brought it over to the table.

“Standard-issue is a Glock 17, nine-millimeter.” Brice held up one of the magazines. “Seventeen rounds in the magazine, one in the chamber. You’ll get a few extra magazines, I suggest keeping a