End Days Super Boxset Read Free Page A

terrorism, it seemed that sleeper cells would become a thing of the past. This assumption, however, had become less accurate over the years.
    Craig had tried to keep up with all the changes through his ten years with the FBI, and for the most part, he took his job seriously. And like most field agents, he loathed the bureaucratic red tape and political posturing that plagued the agency. He just wanted to capture the bad guys. After the Minneapolis sleeper-cell bust, one thing was clear: the concept of the agencies working together in harmony, sharing information, and helping the United States fight domestic threats was more of a myth than a reality.
    The raid had gone reasonably well. No casualties. But also no hard evidence of terrorist activities other than an ISIS flag hanging in the living room. To get to the bottom of the case, Craig needed to go back to the evidence from his original investigation, the information that brought him to the sleeper-cell house in the first place.
    While discussing their next move with Patterson in the front yard of the house, he noticed a white van idling at the end of the street watching them from behind a long line of a dozen other cars parked along the way. He could make out the shape of the driver sitting inside.
    “What is it?” Patterson asked, noticing Craig’s distraction.
    Without response, Craig moved past the front yard to the sidewalk. He walked toward the van, where it sat roughly a block from the house, exhaust fuming into the cool morning air. It could have been nothing, just a man sitting in his van, but Craig didn’t want to take any chances.
    Patterson ducked under the yellow police tape and trailed behind, not sure where Craig was heading or why. But he knew that whatever it was, his partner was on to something. Their team continued the search for evidence inside and outside the house, while Homeland had already departed with their main suspects.
    “Agent Davis!” Patterson said.
    Craig drew his gun and signaled ahead. Patterson pulled his pistol from his holster and looked up the road to see an idling white van. In the driver’s seat, he could see movement. The driver had spotted them. Without warning, the van flew back in reverse, smashing into the front end of a station wagon parked behind it. The loud crash brought several other field agents rushing outside.
    Craig ran toward the van just as it maneuvered out of the tightly packed space, where it was wedged between the station wagon and a Mustang. The van then lurched forward with overcompensation and rear-ended the Mustang with a crash. Bits and pieces of the van’s front grille and headlights fell onto the pavement as it drove out into the road.
    Tires screeched as the van barreled down the road at full speed in their direction. Craig jumped directly into its path with his gun aimed at the windshield. The driver showed no intention of slowing down as clouds of exhaust billowed out into the air.
    Craig stood directly on the divider line of the two-lane road, and held his pistol firmly into the air. Déjà vu consumed him as if he had done the same thing only moments before. Only this time, it wasn’t a man running at him—it was two tons of unstoppable plastic and metal, headed right for him with murderous determination.
    “Craig!” Patterson shouted from the sidewalk. “Get the hell outta the way!”
    Craig aimed right for the driver and fired two successive shots, both at the driver’s head as shell casings flew into the air. The van took an immediate shift to the right and crashed into the long line of vehicles on the street. Patterson rushed onto the street and tackled Craig into some nearby grass just as the van exploded into a fiery ball. Flames spread over the tops of the cars as Craig’s head knocked into a phone pole. Then everything went black.
    The FBI team ran outside and watched in astonishment as the blast erupted onto the street. One agent jumped back as another hit the ground, covering