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

“Okay, so who called them off? They were taking me somewhere. I heard the driver arguing with someone when they pulled the car over. They were waved off.”

Neither Marine offered an answer. For another few minutes, the three just watched the cars and trucks flow slowly through the busy morning traffic.

“You okay for this meeting?” Terry asked. “Want to schedule it for later today? He’d understand after the assault.”

Matt considered the suggestion. He wasn’t feeling one hundred percent. Maybe it was a concussion. What had happened last night was uncharacteristic of his normal contracts and of his way of doing business.

“No, let’s keep with the plan,” he said, locking eyes with the driver in the rearview mirror. Matt went quiet for a moment and then summed it up for them. “I’m good,” he said with a smile. The deep breaths he snuck in helped him clear his head.

“I’ve always stayed at the Palace. I used to get a kick out of the red wallpaper and curtains in the rooms, but they’ve remodeled since I was here last. It used to make me feel like I was in the old communist Mother Russia, which I always found intriguing for some reason.” The escorts listened as they continued to watch the traffic around them. “So, what do you know of me, and who do you think those two were last night?”

Hadden turned in his seat to look at Matt.“We figure you’re either a spook or a fixer,” he said, and then turned his attention forward again.

“Or maybe some combination of the two,” Terry added. “Whatever you are, the ambassador is going to need both to get him out of the mess he’s gotten himself into.”

“Bingo,” Matt whispered. He could tell from Terry’s tone of voice that these two, or at least the Texan, knew the ambassador had gotten himself into a pickle and that he cared for him. That information, and this person, might be of help in the coming hours and days.

“So neither of you know who the two thugs were that bashed my skull last night?”

“Not sure,” Hadden responded. “I would have thought they were FSB, just trying to send you, and the rest of us, a message. But you said whatever they had planned must have been called off for some reason, and they turned around abruptly.”

“It’s a just a big chess game,” Terry added, “and we’re the pawns on the board.” Matt sat back in his seat and began to replay the information the two CIA briefers had expressed back at Langley.

Minutes later, the SUV stopped at the rear gate to the Embassy. A uniformed Marine guard acknowledged Hadden and Terry, and reached in the now-open window, gesturing for Matt’s credentials. The guard returned the diplomatic passport and gave a thumbs-up to his counterpart in the bulletproof and bombproof security guardhouse. The massive security bollards were lowered into the ground so the vehicle could pass.

This was Matt’s first-ever visit to this facility. He had walked past the front entrance on one of his walkabouts years ago and had admired the classic Russian architecture. The rear entrance was in stark contrast, though. Aside from the high walls, armed guards, and clusters of CCTV cameras as far as the eye could see, there was nothing special about the place. Once inside and through metal detectors, sniffers, and another round of credential inspection, Hadden led Matt to the ambassador’s private study on the third floor. Terry had simply disappeared, perhaps heading back to the SUV for another assignment. In the elevator, Matt took a shot.

“So what do you know about this whole cluster he’s gotten himself into?” he asked.

“Above my pay grade, sir,” Hadden responded formally.

Matt sensed that now they were inside the walls of the facility, closer to the man who was a personal friend of the president of the United States and the Marine’s commander in chief, the New Englander’s demeanor had snapped to attention. Perhaps they could get together later with Terry at the Marriott to drink and let Matt gather whatever additional intel the two might be willing to surrender under more relaxed circumstances.

Outside the ambassador’s study, Hadden introduced Matt to an Embassy staffer who advised them that Wilkerson was running late but should be with him shortly.

“Coffee?” Matt said with a smile and a begging tone while he shook Hadden’s hand and thanked him. “Was that ride a round trip?”

“We’re with you until you’re back on a plane headed home, sir,” Hadden responded.

Matt was still waiting, now impatiently, when the door suddenly opened, and United States Ambassador Russell Wilkerson, the former governor of Texas, walked out and greeted his American visitor. He was as big and boisterous as the Lone Star state he’d come from. His slumping posture and tired expression telegraphed this man had his hands full. They expressed very cordial greetings while the people he had been meeting with left the room. Matt followed Wilkerson inside as an aide closed the door behind them, leaving the two men to get down to business.

“Tell me what you know, son,” Wilkerson requested as he gestured for Matt to take a seat in front of a massive mahogany desk. Wilkerson looked at some of the papers on his desk, sat down in a red leather chair, and then looked up at Matt, giving him an ‘okay, get on with it’ expression of impatience on his face.

Okay, Matt thought to himself, let’s get it on.

“May I be frank?” Matt asked in a respectful tone.

“You can be anybody you care to be, young man, but get going.”

Okay, here goes, Matt thought to himself.

“In a nutshell, if my briefing was concise, you’re stuck between a rock and a hard place, Mr. Ambassador. I was told that there is a pregnant Russian citizen who was employed here and is claiming you are the father of her child. I was also told your son has come forward saying he is the