Lethal Force Read Free Page B

step he took. His judgment was clouded. His adrenalin was quickly turning to shock, as the cold dampness plastered his clothes to his skin. The scientist in him knew that shock would quickly turn to hypothermia if he didn’t get somewhere warm and out of these clothes in a hurry.
    But where?
    Was his colleague dead? If so, why? And why were they trying to kill him as well? All of these questions rattled through his brain as his teeth started to chatter from the cold, wet air.

3
    Washington, D.C.
    When Jake Adams was finally called before the House subcommittee on intelligence, he was nearly dead on his feet. Although he was used to traveling long distances on flights, trains and cars, it had gotten a lot harder as his age passed through the mid-forties. First class had helped, a new deal for Jake, and he had even gotten a decent five hours in the D.C. hotel the night before. Yet he still yawned as he took a seat in the hard oak chair in front of the microphones, multiple cameras pointing at him, and the half-moon table with members from both parties looming over him like dozens of St. Peters ready to judge him. From the cryptic letter summoning Jake to this fiasco, and from what he had heard so far from a waiting room before being called in, he had a small understanding of what they wanted from him.
    His state department escort Devan Stormont had been a bit spastic during the long trip, had stayed in the room next to his in D.C., and even accompanied Jake to the waiting room. But that was where they had parted ways.
    Jake was sworn in and the questions started. Well, he thought they were going to ask questions. But most of the members on the left simply used their time to talk to the cameras and excoriate Jake on his actions during that whole Berlin affair. Members on the right used their time to put words in his mouth and explain to anyone who cared to listen that Jake’s actions had been honorable and just.
    For his part, Jake tried to keep his head from exploding, giving simple yes and no answers.
    Finally, a congressman from the great state of California was up for questions and shuffled through his prepared speech asking pointed questions, one after the next, without allowing Jake a chance to respond to each. Ten in all. What the congressman didn’t know was that Jake had a near perfect memory and would have no problem answering each and every one of his attacks on Jake’s character.
    â€œSir, is it my turn?” Jake finally said into the microphone.
    â€œYes, but please call me congressman,” the rotund man said behind his high perch. “I worked hard for that title.”
    â€œSir,” Jake repeated with defiance, “you were a car salesman where you got your law degree online with money your father, the owner of the dealership, gave you, while you sold less cars than a dyslexic stutterer with tourettes syndrome. Then your father set you up with a law practice, where you lost every case, until he also paid to get you into your current position. So don’t talk to me about hard work. While you were building your excellent political career, I was getting my ass shot at in countries you’ve probably never heard of.” He paused for a second, took a drink of water and watched to see if the congressman’s face would turn a darker shade of red.
    Then Jake went on to explain every question in detail, his attitude swiftly moving from defiantly indignant to royally pissed off.
    The last person to question Jake was the junior member of the committee, a woman from his home state of Montana. He had heard of her, but she had never really represented him, since he had not actually lived in Montana for years and she had only recently been reelected into her second term. Congresswoman Lori Freeman had one other feature that had caught Jake’s eye as the members entered the room—she was not only a natural beauty with her long blonde hair pulled back into a braid, she proudly