High Treason Read Online Free PDF Page B

reinforced bumpers, there was no fear of getting caught in a kill zone.
    As additional insurance, Jonathan lifted a patch of carpet at his feet and revealed a push-button keypad. He entered the code, lifted a hatch, and revealed a cache of weapons. He lifted two collapsed M4 assault rifles and four loaded thirty-round magazines of 5.56 millimeter ammunition. He loaded and chambered both, and then wended his way past the middle row of seats to place a rifle and mag on the passenger seat next to Boxers. He then settled into the seat previously occupied by Agent Shrom and laid the second rifle across his lap.
    They waited until Shrom and Kane finished palavering with the guards and the barn doors were wide open before Boxers started moving. “What do you think?” the Big Guy asked. “Slow or fast?”
    “Split the difference, but with attitude.”
    Boxers brought the Batmobile up to about twenty-five miles an hour approaching the opening—fast enough to make the guards think twice about getting in the way, but not so fast as to overcommit to the unknown. It helped that they both knew what the barn looked like inside.
    As soon as they crossed the threshold, Jonathan relaxed. The first face he saw belonged to Irene Rivers. She stood with two men who looked vaguely familiar, but whose faces he couldn’t quite place. Irene’s posture, with her weight shifted to one foot and her arms crossed, told him that she wasn’t surprised by the drama of his entrance, and her smirk told him that they had nothing to fear from this meeting. “Okay,” Jonathan said. “We’re cool.”
    Boxers hit the brakes and they jerked to a stop. “Who are the suits?” Big Guy asked.
    “Ask me in five minutes.”
    “Isn’t the tall one a White House guy?”
    Of the two men, one stood a head taller than the other. With slicked black hair, white shirt, and thin black tie, he looked like he stepped off the set of a lawyer TV show, and yes, his face did look like one that was frequently featured on the evening news.
    “Holy shit,” Jonathan said. “That’s Doug Winters.”
    “White House chief of staff, right?”
    Jonathan and Boxers exchanged grins. Yeah, this was going to be interesting.
    “Leave the long guns in the truck?” Boxers asked.
    Jonathan laughed. “Yeah, I think that’s probably best.”
    They exited the vehicle together, and as they stepped down to the ground Irene started toward them. They met about halfway in the cavernous space. She extended her hand. “Leave it to Digger Grave to enter big,” she said.
    Jonathan grasped her hand and covered the handshake with his left. He’d always liked Irene, even beyond what was necessary for their business relationship. Tall for a woman—he pegged her at five-ten—she clearly worked hard to stay in shape, and her strawberry hair was somehow always perfectly coiffed. She had a kind of perpetual smirk that told the world that it would be useless to ply her with bullshit. She’d worked her way through the ranks of the FBI the hard way, and still occasionally crashed a door or two just to keep her skills sharp. What was there not to love?
    “It’s always a pleasure, Director Rivers.” Because of the other personalities in the room, he kept it formal.
    She smiled and offered her hand to the Big Guy. “How are you, Boxers?”
    He grumbled something that probably meant “Fine.” Ever conscious of his size, Boxers occasionally looked awkward when he shook hands with people—as if he were afraid he might hurt them accidentally. This was one of those times.
    “Is that the White House chief of staff?” Jonathan asked quietly.
    She winked. “Come on over. I’ll introduce you.”
    The inside of Horne’s barn looked more like a movie set for a barn than a working one. An old baling machine sat in the corner along with a John Deere tractor that might have been new in the sixties. Lots of sharp implements hung from the walls, but the rust on the blades made Jonathan wonder if