The Jefferson Key by Steve Berry Page A

decided to accept Malone’s assessment that the men had been used as targets, not as protection. Incredible. He knew of half a dozen agents who’d sacrificed themselves for less reason. No wonder intelligence gathering was rife with problems. Everyone seemed more concerned about being right than being successful.
    With little choice, he’d accepted his termination and moved on.
    But that did not mean he’d forgotten about his accuser. Yes, these men were right. He owed Malone.
    And he’d tried to repay that debt today.
    “Do you realize that Carbonell is all but gone?” NSA said. “ NIA is useless. Nobody needs it or her anymore.”
    “The Commonwealth is going away, too,” CIA made clear. “Our modern-day pirates will live out their lives in a federal prison, where they belong. And you never answered our question. Were the pirates responsible for what happened today?”
    The dossier Carbonell had provided about the Commonwealth had contained a brief overview of its four captains, noting that they were the last remnants of 18th-century adventurers, direct descendants of pirates and privateers. An excerpt from a psychological evaluation had explained how a navy man went to sea knowing that if he fought the good fight and won, rewards would come his way in the form of praise and advancement. Even if he failed, history would record his exploits. But it required a person of unusual bravery to face danger when he knew that no one would learn of his deeds. Especially when, if he failed, most would cackle at his misfortune.
    Privateers had labored under both conditions.
    If successful, their reward was a division of the spoils. Vary from their letter of marque in any way and they became pirates and were hung. A privateer could capture one of the king of England’s most formidable cruisers and the act would scarcely have been known. If along the way life or limb were sacrificed, too bad.
    They were on their own.
    Easy to see, the report had concluded, why they might play loose with the rules.
    NSA stepped close. “You set Malone up, then led him straight into a trap. You knew what was going to happen there today. You wanted someone to shoot him, didn’t you? What’s the matter, Wyatt, lost your taste for killing?”
    He stayed calm and asked, “Are we through?”
    “Yep. You’re through,” CIA said. “Here. But since you’re not going to tell us anything, we have people who can be more successful in acquiring answers.”
    He watched as they shifted on their feet, waiting for him to acknowledge their superiority. Perhaps that threat of a more intense questioning was designed to scare him. He wondered what possessed them to think that such a tactic would work. Luckily, he’d socked away enough tax-free money in foreign banks to live comfortably forever. He really needed nothing from any of these people. That was one advantage of being paid from a black-ops budget—no W-2s or 1099s.
    So he debated his options.
    He assumed the two men who’d brought him were just outside the door. Beyond the window, on the opposite side of the room, past the blinds, was surely a fire escape. All these older buildings possessed one.
    Should he be quiet and take two down or make some noise and drop all four?
    “You’re coming with us,” NSA said. “Carbonell has a lot of explaining to do and you’re going to be witness number one for the prosecution. The man who can contradict her lies.”
    “And you think I would actually do that?”
    “You’ll do whatever you have to do to save your hide.”
    Interesting how little they knew about him.
    A mechanism from deep within seized control, and he allowed it.
    One swing of his body and his right fist found CIA’s throat. Then he doubled NSA over with a kick to the chest, careful for the legs not to lose their balance. While the one man fought to breathe, he pounded NSA’s neck with a short chop, breaking the man’s collapse with his arms, then gently laying the stunned man on the