Chicago this question. He was asking the Secretary of Defense.
The second the words left Bear’s mouth, Secretary Thompson’s eyes narrowed and he stiffened in his seat. His face went slightly red and Bear thought Thompson was going to show his teeth. “How dare you?”
“Sir, where is your wife?”
“This interview is over.”
“Mr. Thompson, this is a federal investigation into your own daughter’s kidnapping, and you seem more concerned—”
“Mr. Wyden, you won’t be concerned with this investigation or any other for very much longer. Now get out of my office.”
Thompson stood and walked toward his desk. Wyden stood too, ignoring the feeling that he’d just stuck his bare hand into a wasps’ nest. “Mr. Thompson. Your daughter was kidnapped. I need answers to my questions.”
Richard Thompson wasn’t answering any further questions. He lifted a phone to his ear.
“Sir—”
“Colonel Richardson, please have armed guards remove this… person … from my office immediately.”
Bear leaned over the desk, right arm extended, index finger pointing at the photo of Thompson and his family. He knew he wasn’t acting rationally. He knew his behavior was neither professional nor was it really accomplishing anything. But when he thought about that girl, kidnapped and alone, and then when she got out of it neither one of her parents could be bothered to show up at the hospital? He didn’t give a shit if you were the President of the United States or a local janitor… you went to your kid in that kind of situation.
The thought of her all alone filled him with rage. “Is all that a sham, then? You don’t give a shit about her, do you? That’s why you weren’t at the hospital.”
“Mr. Wyden, I’ve asked you twice now to get out of my office.”
“And I’ve asked you, Mr. Secretary. Who is Andrea’s father?”
The office door opened. Two men stepped inside. Bear couldn’t tell if they were soldiers or not. Neither wore a standard uniform—instead, they wore black unlabeled fatigues, combat boots, and wore sidearms. Close cropped hair, tan skin, pistols at the ready. They could be military or police or private contractors. He had no way of knowing.
He did know that there were two of them, and they were armed.
Wyden threw his hands in the air. “Fine, then. I’m gone.”
One of them, a blonde haired, blue-eyed former football player who was probably from Texas, pushed forward while the other stood back to cover him. “Lay down on the floor!”
Two more black-dressed quasi soldiers came into the room as he shouted.
“I’m with Diplomatic Security,” Wyden said. “Can I reach in my left pocket for my credentials?”
“On the floor!” Blondie shouted.
Wyden rolled his eyes. “Look at my credentials, please.” He reached to open his jacket. Unfortunately, that brought attention to the 10mm Sig-Sauer in the shoulder holster on his right side.
The blonde quasi-soldier shouted, “Gun! He’s got a gun!”
That changed everything. In fifteen seconds, the four men had Bear on the floor, arms out to his side. Blondie knelt on his back, knee digging into Bear’s spine. He’d been disarmed.
In a disgusted tone, Thompson said, “When you’ve finished removing him, please have someone inform me. I’ll be in the JCS conference room.”
Once they removed the Sig Sauer from his jacket, Blondie reached around the front and took out the small folder from Bear’s breast pocket that contained his State Department ID and Diplomatic Security badge.
“DSS, huh?” Blondie said. “I dealt with enough of your pals before. Here’s the deal. We’re gonna get up nice and slow, and you’re going to cooperate, and then with any luck you can leave today without handcuffs or any holes drilled through you. Got it?”
“Yeah. Play nice. Gotcha. Let me the fuck up, all right?”
Wary, sidearms still out, the four security guards let Bear to his feet, and then escorted him out of the office.
The second the words left Bear’s mouth, Secretary Thompson’s eyes narrowed and he stiffened in his seat. His face went slightly red and Bear thought Thompson was going to show his teeth. “How dare you?”
“Sir, where is your wife?”
“This interview is over.”
“Mr. Thompson, this is a federal investigation into your own daughter’s kidnapping, and you seem more concerned—”
“Mr. Wyden, you won’t be concerned with this investigation or any other for very much longer. Now get out of my office.”
Thompson stood and walked toward his desk. Wyden stood too, ignoring the feeling that he’d just stuck his bare hand into a wasps’ nest. “Mr. Thompson. Your daughter was kidnapped. I need answers to my questions.”
Richard Thompson wasn’t answering any further questions. He lifted a phone to his ear.
“Sir—”
“Colonel Richardson, please have armed guards remove this… person … from my office immediately.”
Bear leaned over the desk, right arm extended, index finger pointing at the photo of Thompson and his family. He knew he wasn’t acting rationally. He knew his behavior was neither professional nor was it really accomplishing anything. But when he thought about that girl, kidnapped and alone, and then when she got out of it neither one of her parents could be bothered to show up at the hospital? He didn’t give a shit if you were the President of the United States or a local janitor… you went to your kid in that kind of situation.
The thought of her all alone filled him with rage. “Is all that a sham, then? You don’t give a shit about her, do you? That’s why you weren’t at the hospital.”
“Mr. Wyden, I’ve asked you twice now to get out of my office.”
“And I’ve asked you, Mr. Secretary. Who is Andrea’s father?”
The office door opened. Two men stepped inside. Bear couldn’t tell if they were soldiers or not. Neither wore a standard uniform—instead, they wore black unlabeled fatigues, combat boots, and wore sidearms. Close cropped hair, tan skin, pistols at the ready. They could be military or police or private contractors. He had no way of knowing.
He did know that there were two of them, and they were armed.
Wyden threw his hands in the air. “Fine, then. I’m gone.”
One of them, a blonde haired, blue-eyed former football player who was probably from Texas, pushed forward while the other stood back to cover him. “Lay down on the floor!”
Two more black-dressed quasi soldiers came into the room as he shouted.
“I’m with Diplomatic Security,” Wyden said. “Can I reach in my left pocket for my credentials?”
“On the floor!” Blondie shouted.
Wyden rolled his eyes. “Look at my credentials, please.” He reached to open his jacket. Unfortunately, that brought attention to the 10mm Sig-Sauer in the shoulder holster on his right side.
The blonde quasi-soldier shouted, “Gun! He’s got a gun!”
That changed everything. In fifteen seconds, the four men had Bear on the floor, arms out to his side. Blondie knelt on his back, knee digging into Bear’s spine. He’d been disarmed.
In a disgusted tone, Thompson said, “When you’ve finished removing him, please have someone inform me. I’ll be in the JCS conference room.”
Once they removed the Sig Sauer from his jacket, Blondie reached around the front and took out the small folder from Bear’s breast pocket that contained his State Department ID and Diplomatic Security badge.
“DSS, huh?” Blondie said. “I dealt with enough of your pals before. Here’s the deal. We’re gonna get up nice and slow, and you’re going to cooperate, and then with any luck you can leave today without handcuffs or any holes drilled through you. Got it?”
“Yeah. Play nice. Gotcha. Let me the fuck up, all right?”
Wary, sidearms still out, the four security guards let Bear to his feet, and then escorted him out of the office.
Similar Books
