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

She punched him lightly in the arm. “I’m serious.”

“A gift from Stephen.”

She flared an eyebrow. “Some gift. Wonder what his Christmas bonuses look like?”

Cal removed the blue wrapping paper, plucking off the lid. Inside was a single cigar ornately enveloped in green-tinted cellophane. “I remember you always saying how you and your guys would smoke a cigar like this after the completion of a long mission, so I had Neil help me locate one. This is a Fuente Opus cigar that’s only made every couple of years to commemorate special occasions.”

She was referring to Patterson, and Cal knew the man had probably used one of his sources down in the Dominican Republic where this unique brand was made. “Wow, I’m not sure if I should smoke this later or put it in a showcase on our mantle.”

She put her hand on his face, stroking his cheek. “I’m so proud of you. I know working a 9-5 job in an office isn’t you, but I sure have loved having you at home for so long.”

He closed the box, setting it on the desk then pulling her close. “That’s been the highlight of this whole assignment for me…knowing I would be seeing you every night and waking up to those beautiful eyes of yours. I love you, Cass.”

She hugged him, resting her head on his shoulder. Cassie pulled back, seeing the digital clock on the wall. “Yikes, it’s later than I thought, and I told Stephen’s wife that I’d help her get things ready at their house.”

Cassie kissed him then turned and opened the door. “Don’t forget, I need you to pick up those pies from the bakery. You know I would’ve baked if I had the time, but it’s been a crazy week.”

“Don’t worry. I even set an alarm on my phone to remind me. I’ll be about two hours behind you.”

“Remember, three pecan and two chocolate. That should be plenty of sweets.”

“You’re plenty sweet for me.”

“Aw, such a charmer. I can’t wait to have you to myself this weekend.”

“Me too, beautiful. Catch you this evening.”

Cal settled back down into his chair, watching her disappear around the corner but still entranced by the lingering aroma of her peach-scented hair. He still felt like his arms were wrapped around her, and he wanted to crystallize this memory, one of many he’d come to cherish during his time away from the rigors of combat.

3

Pentagon

Burke took the elevator down to the second sub-floor, passing through a security checkpoint then proceeding to the conference room at the end of the hallway. Pausing before the double doors, he took several deep breaths then entered.

Burke saw the familiar face of Deputy Director of the CIA Neil Patterson. Sitting to his right was Director of National Intelligence Jason Begley, who oversaw the sixteen other organizations within the U.S. intelligence community, including the DIA, NSA, CIA, and Office of Naval Intelligence.

Prior to 2004, the CIA director was responsible for all of the U.S. intelligence agencies but had little authority due to lack of budget control for each organization. With Begley now serving as the head of DNI, he was in charge of implementing the yearly budgets and managing the harvesting, examination and dissemination of intelligence.

Burke had met Begley three years earlier during a special operations expo open to civilian contractors at Fort Bragg. He had found the man to be as arrogant as he was intelligent. Burke always found Begley’s statements to the press darkly comical, as he was a master of double-speak on the war on terror. When asked by a throng of reporters last year about a drone strike on a militant leader in Afghanistan whose outcome was uncertain, Begley replied:

“Most likely, he’s not a threat any longer. Either he died or he survived and crawled into some cave. And if he’s not alive then he’s not doing very well, but it’s an unknown amongst unknowns that goes with this line of work.”

Seated beside Begley was a balding forty-something man named Tim Rourke, the assistant director of the NSA’s covert electronic surveillance program. Rourke had previously worked with the Special Collections Service, the joint CIA-NSA office that conducts electronic surveillance in embassies throughout the world. The man was as pale as the sterile white walls behind him, and Burke wondered how often he saw daylight.

“Good to see you again, Stephen,” said Patterson, who stood up, shaking his hand. “Down to the finish line, it seems.”

“Yes, indeed. Two years in the works, but Perseus will be in your hands shortly.” Burke nodded towards the other men then opened his laptop, interfacing it with the PowerPoint projector.

Patterson motioned to a flatscreen monitor on the wall to his left, where a man in a green short-sleeved shirt was visible. “Milo Gardner, the CIA section chief down in Venezuela, will also be joining us. I thought, with what you briefly mentioned to me about Caracas, that his insights might be helpful.”

“Of course,” Burke said.

“So, Perseus is finally ready…outstanding,” said Begley. “If this turns out to be everything you originally discussed with us, then it will be a real game-changer.” He slid his glasses further up his steep nose to study the summary on the PowerPoint presentation at the front of the conference room.

Burke tried to contain his nervous smile. “When I first began working with an early model of the software, I was very impressed with what Perseus could learn and detect based upon the parameters I programmed into the original program. Initially, I thought that it would merely coalesce all the data from the NSA feeds and open-source materials to formulate potential scenarios for proposed assassinations of state-level individuals, but”—he turned to look at Patterson, who sat stone-faced across from him—“your very gracious offer to loan out Agent Shepard was key in programming a human element into the target selection and threat analysis that forms the foundation of Perseus’ intel gathering.”

Patterson swiveled slightly in his chair towards Rourke and