Perfect Stranger Read Free Page B

porch.
    Gunner sighed hard, coming up the steps
behind Jericho. "There's trouble."
    "Well, shit," Butler said under his
breath.
    Jericho threw open the door, and froze.
    Their small house had been, in a word,
ransacked—though by clean-cut bureaucrats, steadily filing nearly
everything except magazines, rounds, and MREs into one box or
another. He gaped at them a moment, on the edge of rage.
    Jericho scowled, stepping
further into the safe house, followed by his team members. His gaze
landed on a familiar profile across the room. "What the hell
are you doing
here?" he asked.
    Agent Conyers didn't belong in this area,
and the handler for the Southwest Asia Theater wasn't at all whom
he had expected. Where was Weston? He'd expected to be brought to
heel by the CIA director for this blotch in their mission. But
Conyers? The only reason he knew the man from Adam was from when
they were briefed for the mission back at Bragg. Conyers had been
brought in to enlighten them on possible Al-Qaida groups
responsible. At the time, the man had been less than helpful.
    So, what was he doing here now?
    Jericho narrowed his gaze on the swarming
room.
    His other men were behind him still, and
they panted shallowly from their exertions in the field, but moved
efficiently to gather more gear and magazines, all the while
muttering curses. Jericho glanced over his shoulder a few minutes
later as he heard a hiss. Gunner poked gauze over Butler's
wound.
    Gunner ticked his head toward Jericho.
"Bullet went in and out clean, just a scratch." Gunner, their
medic, slapped Butler on the shoulder, causing the other man to
grit his teeth.
    Jericho nodded, and as he turned his
attention back to the room, he balled his fists as he studied the
handler's back from under a mask of dark camouflaged face paint.
Slanting his gaze, he swept the room once more. He didn't like
being ignored.
    His jaw ticked. "I said , what are you doing
here, Agent Conyers?" Jericho raised his voice, interrupting
Conyers and the other agent he spoke with quietly.
    Conyers cut his eyes at Jericho over his
shoulder, clearly annoyed, breaking away from his discussion. "I'm
cleaning up your mess, it would seem." Agent John Conyers removed
his hands from his suit pockets to turn on Jericho, stalking across
the room with a swaggering gait belying his apparent thirty-seven
or so years.
    When he stopped a few feet from them, he
crossed his arms and glared hard on Jericho and his team. Conyers's
jaw worked slowly on gum. "Weston sent me. Now, where's the rest of
them?" he asked, perturbed, coolly flicking a finger amongst
Jericho and the others in search of the two missing soldiers.
    Jericho's back stiffened. "What is that
supposed to mean? What the hell is going on?" he all but
shouted.
    "You have a leak, Sergeant." Conyers took
another step closer. A look of animosity flashed in his stare.
"Weston assigned me to take care of the problem. One of your own
has been transmitting vital information on your mission and
locations to the hostiles."
    "Like hell," Jericho said.
    The agent's eyes narrowed. "I can make this
hell if you don’t cooperate."
    Jericho's face contorted
in a snarl, but he held himself in check. He wasn’t sure just what
part of his job this asshole thought wasn’t hell already. "This is
bullshit! We lost men out there while finding that damn compound,
which by the way, we did find. And we come back to this ?" He threw his arms wide. He
was livid at Conyers's suggestion.
    The agent squinted at Jericho. "Bad timing?
Or are you trying to cover for something?" he asked, chewing his
gum a little harder.
    Jericho slowly shook his head. "I have
nothing to cover, nor do any of my men. You should know that."
    Conyers gave a short bark of laughter.
"You're just another government employee, son, even if a soldier.
We all have something to cover at one point or another."
    Anger suffused Jericho. "I demand an
explanation, sir."
    "I don’t have to give you any damn thing. I
have a job