The Export J.K. Kelly (best way to read e books .TXT) 📖

were. The familiar Sheraton logo shined brightly on the front of the building. He sighed with relief.

The shotgun rider climbed out of the car, opened Matt’s door, pulled him from the car by his right arm, and dropped him abruptly on the curb.

The rain was heavier now. Within seconds, Matt was soaking wet. More importantly, he was in need of a doctor. As the car drove off, two hotel employees ran outside and helped Matt to his feet. An hour later, in the comfort of his king-bed suite, a local doctor sewed Matt’s wound closed with six stitches. The bottle of vodka room service delivered helped mitigate the pain of the wound for the present. But Matt’s head hurt inside and for hours until his wake-up call rang.

When that call finally came, he found himself frustrated and alone. He was surprised, disappointed in himself, that he got that drunk in Moscow. Typically he never let his guard down that far unless he was in a safe environment – like sitting on the back of his boat on the Potomac. But this was Moscow, where things were much different, and this mistake could have cost him his life.

Once his room service order for a pot of coffee and a large orange juice arrived, he showered, mindful of the sutures, and dressed for the day. Meeting the ambassador required a degree of professionalism, but Matt never even considered the tie he had packed. Not for this ambassador, who couldn’t keep his dick in his pants, not for someone who could embarrass his country.

On his way through the lobby, he checked with the hotel manager. They had called the Moscow police to file a report, but when the manager had presented them with Matt’s United States of America diplomatic passport, the investigators shook their heads no, closed their notebooks, and left the building. With the climate between the countries already strained, there was little interest on the police’s part in helping any American with an official status that had elected to come to their city.

Most days, Matt would opt to walk to his destination, purposely staying at a hotel that would afford him a distance to be traveled and help him maintain his cardio routine. Hotel gyms and fitness clubs weren’t much to his liking. Considering he’d been made a target the night before, he thought better of having the hotel call him a taxi rather than just stepping to the curb and trying to wave one down. As he thanked the front desk staff for their assistance, he turned to find yet another set of strangers showing an interest in him. These two had seen action; Matt could tell from the wear and tear on their faces and in their eyes. They were in polo shirts, khakis, Merrell boots, and light sport coats to cover their weapons. They looked like Marines. Fit, flat-top haircuts, one a bit taller than the other. He didn’t perceive they were a threat though, so he relaxed his stance ever so slightly.

“We’re from the Embassy,” the man said as he flashed his ID. “We heard what happened last night, and we’ve been sent to make sure you get to your ten o’clock on time.” Matt took a quick glance at the U.S. State Department credentials, but it was the man’s accent that allowed him to let out a breath and feel safer. Not totally safe, but at least in the company of friendlies.

Brad Hadden was from Boston, Massachusetts. Will Terry was from Austin, Texas, and both served in the U.S. Marines as plainclothes elements of the Embassy’s security team.

“Boston, I knew it!” Matt said with a smile as he shook hands and then nodded at the second escort, who spoke up quickly.

“We need to go.” Terry pointed toward the front doors. “Traffic here sucks.”

“Texas Terry,” Matt said with a smile as they left the hotel. Terry opened the rear door for Matt, and once the escorts took their seats up front, they got down to business during the short drive to the Embassy.

“We heard about what happened to you last night,” Hadden said, shaking his head. “You should have requested a detail, and you should move to the Marriott, it’s closer, and it’s where most of us hang.”

Matt listened to the comments but spent most of his attention on any cars that were behind them.

“They won’t bother with you again,” Hadden suggested. “Unless you give them some reason to.”

“What makes you so sure?” Matt asked, rubbing the back of his head, gently feeling for the stitches the local doctor had sewn in just hours earlier. The hot shower and coffee had helped get him moving, but the jet lag, the vodka, the assault, and more vodka, had him in a slight fog. He was having trouble focusing on the situation. His expression wasn’t lost on the driver.

“You’re trying to figure out who the hell hit you last night, aren’t ya?” Terry asked.

“Sure am,” he responded. “And I’m thinking I should give up drinking too. I haven’t been in Moscow in a few years and didn’t leave anyone knocked up or pissed off at me, as far as I can recall.”

“You should have used an alias at the airport,” Hadden interjected. “Apparently, you’re on someone’s radar. They’re sending a message, letting all of us know they are aware of you. That’s why I don’t think they’ll bother you again, at least until you start making waves, if that’s on your agenda.”

“I was told that my being here was hush-hush and unofficial, so I didn’t think it would be an issue,” Matt said and then realized he was talking more than normal to these strangers. They were indeed U.S. Marines, assigned to protect the ambassador and the Embassy, but that didn’t mean they didn’t have their own agendas. Matt knew the ambassador most certainly did at this point.

“Did anyone get a fix on a license plate from their car? I know we have eyes here.”

Hadden looked at the driver