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

Wagner’s eyes flicked between his three captors, as if Connor or Thompson might save him from the terror that was the Black Widow. “I don’t—wait!”

Annie froze, her hand poised to snap. “Yes?”

“What… what do you want to know?” Wagner spoke through deep, controlled breaths, obviously in pain.

Annie straightened. “I want to know who you’re working for. You give me a straight answer about that, and we’ll see where the conversation goes.”

“Please, stop it, and I’ll tell you whatever you want to know. I swear.”

Annie released his middle finger and stood.

Wagner’s right hand shook, his last two fingers bent at an unnatural angle. He looked down at his destroyed fingers as if trying to make sense of what had happened.

“You were saying?”

Wagner swallowed hard. He spoke through a tightened jaw. “He said we’d be rich.”

“Who said you’d be rich?” Annie withdrew a pocket knife, flicked the blade open, and spun it in her palm. “I want names.”

The fury and anger seemed to fade from Wagner’s expression. His face contorted as if he’d start crying at any moment. “He’ll kill me.”

Annie sighed and turned to Connor, eyebrow raised. “Was I not clear enough? I thought I was clear. Maybe I need to rethink my delivery?”

“I thought your delivery was fine,” Connor said.

The pleading expression on Wagner’s face told Connor everything he needed to know. The man wanted a friend, an ally, a partner. Someone to step in between him and this crazy woman. Someone to keep her from hurting him again. Even in the desert, Connor had never been part of a “Good Cop, Bad Cop” that had been quite so literal.

And I’d never have guessed I’d be playing the good cop, Connor thought.

He did his best to look sympathetic. “I’d answer her questions if I were you. She doesn’t seem like she’s in the mood to mess around.”

“All you have to do is be straight with us,” Annie said. She sounded like a professor lecturing a wayward student.

“Just tell the truth,” Connor added. “It’s always easier to tell the truth than it is to lie. If you lie, you’ll wish you hadn’t. If you tell the truth, I’ll put in a good word for you with my boss. Tell him how helpful you’d been.”

Connor had used that line before. There was something about helping out another person with their boss that made people say what needed to be said. Maybe that spoke to some inherent goodness in everyone; Connor didn’t know. Then again, it didn’t always work.

“Who said you were going to be rich, Frederick?” Annie asked.

“His name is Müller,” Wagner said, looking down at the floor. “He said we’d never have to worry about money again.”

“How much money?”

“Three million US dollars. All I had to do was make sure the trucks were loaded correctly and sent to the correct locations.”

Connor scoffed. “Three million for that? That’s a lot of money for a truck driver.”

“I’m not a driver. I just make sure the trucks were loaded. That’s it.”

“How was he going to pay you? Cash?”

Wagner shook his head. “Deposit. Müller already deposited one hundred thousand dollars as an incentive. He said that he’d deposit the rest after the job was finished.”

“So what’s the objective? You robbing a bank?”

“I don’t know. Müller tells the team only what they need to know. He says it’s less chance for a problem to occur.”

Connor grinned. “Like the kind of problem you have now?”

“What’s the ‘primary location’ you mentioned during your phone call?” Annie said. “What the hell do you care about golfing?”

A flash of panic appeared on Wagner’s face.

She struck a nerve, Connor thought.

“I told you, Müller and that bitch of his, they never told me. I just know it’s going to be big. Bigger than anything before.”

“Bullshit. They never told you,” Annie said. She stepped toward him, knife in hand. “Don’t start lying to me now. What the hell does golfing have to do with this?”

Wagner strained and tried to lift his hands, but they were still bound to the chair. “Müller likes to golf. That’s been his thing for the last year or so.”

“You’re starting to piss me off, Fred.” Annie cracked her knuckles. “I don’t like where this conversation is going.”

“I don’t know anything else!”

“Sounds like this Müller trusts you a lot,” Connor said, switching tacks. Building people up was another trick he’d picked up overseas. Everyone—including psychotics and extremist killers—wanted to feel important. They wanted to feel like they mattered. “I mean, you’re basically in charge of this whole operation, right?”

“Man, I’m not in charge of anything, I’m telling you, they hired me to watch these trucks. That’s it.”

Annie crossed her arms. “So what the hell do you guys want with all that olive oil? I know you’re not setting up restaurant chains.”

Wagner hesitated, then looked down at his bare feet. “You’re just going to kill me anyway.”

“Not if you tell us what we want to know,” Annie said.

Connor wasn’t sure if he believed her. He tried to imagine a scenario where Wagner spilled every bean he had, and then they simply shook hands and he went on his way. It didn’t seem plausible. And Connor didn’t think the Outfit was the kind of organization to maintain a prison.

“You’re not an olive oil guy,” Connor said. “That’s beneath you. I doubt this guy Müller would set you up with a menial job like that. What do you know about olive oil? It has to be something special, and I’m sure Müller trusted you with that information. Tell us what you know about it, and it’ll save your life.”

Wagner’s eyes lit up, and Connor knew he’d hit the right switch.

The man straightened slightly in the chair. “The olive oil.” He roughly blew air through his nose, sending a large clot to land at his feet. A new trickle of blood began to pour from his nose. “The olive oil,” he repeated. He shook his head, hesitating. Then he glanced at Annie, spinning the knife in her hand,