Rogue Warrior: A Thrilling Richard Yokely Novella by Stephen Leather

Author:Stephen Leather [Leather, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-11-11T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

It was cold but clear and autumn sunlight was streaming through the windows of the conference room high above the city streets. Senator Adams filled a cup from the water cooler and drank staring down on the traffic crawling past, then, flanked by his aides, he sat with his back to the light, at the centre of one side of the huge oval table. A dozen other people took their seats on either side of him, some wearing suits, others in police or military uniforms.

The Senator ran his fingers through his unnaturally black hair, then glanced at his watch. ‘Where the hell are they?’

The Chief of Police, Tom Bradshaw, looked up. His pouched face had the permanently suspicious expression of a bloodhound scratching for a flea. ‘It’s the traffic. It’s been locked solid all morning. Anyways, I don’t know why we bother waiting for them, those damn college boys haven’t come up with anything so far and there’s no reason to think that’s going to change anytime soon.’

Senator Adams raised an eyebrow. ‘Your own department isn’t doing any better, Tom, and anyway, you know as well as I do that you don’t have a choice about it. Terrorism and organised crime are both within the Bureau’s jurisdiction and-’

‘Don’t we know it,’ Bradshaw interrupted. ‘They’ve been looking over our shoulders ever since 9/11.’

‘-and we need their input, because if we don’t take this terrorist off the streets fast, the press’ll crucify me … and the FBI will help them do it.’

‘We won’t let you down, Senator.’

‘I’m sure you won’t, Tom, but even if you do, it won’t be you being nailed to the woodwork, now will it?’ As he saw a scowl forming on the police chief’s face, he adopted a friendlier tone. ‘Anyway, remember what LBJ said? I’d rather have them inside the tent pissing out …’

He broke off and rose to his feet with a politician’s professional smile as the door opened and another group of people was ushered in. He hid another smile as they took their seats on the other side of the table. As usual, they looked about as comfortable in these surroundings as a Baptist convention in a lap-dancing club.

Cameron Murray, the Director of the FBI’s Washington office, took the seat facing the Senator. He was sleek, tanned, expensively dressed and slightly overweight, and could easily have been a corporate lawyer. He smiled frequently, but his eyes remained cold and calculating. The Senator had formed an instinctive dislike for him the first time he had laid eyes on him and nothing he had seen in the intervening months had persuaded him to change his opinion.

The Senator’s gaze travelled along the row of other FBI faces, familiar from previous meetings. A couple were scowling, crew-cutted throwbacks to the Hoover era, the rest clean-cut college types. All were dressed in sharp, tailored suits with Brooks Brothers shirts and coordinated ties. Even their hair was a cut above that of the men facing them.

The cops were older, more blue collar and more cynical, hard-boiled and hard-bitten.

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