Slaves to Evil - 11 by Lee Goldberg

Author:Lee Goldberg [Goldberg, Lee]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
ISBN: 9781611098709
Publisher: AmazonEncore
Published: 2012-05-29T04:00:00+00:00

Maple Grove, North Carolina

After the beating, Matt was embraced by the Patriots as one of their own. One afternoon he sat with Brady and Peter at a backyard cookout, sipping lemonade. It was a scorchingly hot day and nobody strayed too far from the pool. Matt could feel the back of his neck getting crispy, despite three layers of sunscreen. He wondered how soon he could politely excuse himself and leave. At the moment, he could barely get in a word as Brady went on yet another rant about how so-called multiculturalism was undermining American morals.

“We need to strike a blow,” he declared.

“Sure thing,” agreed Matt. He’d been hearing that sentiment for weeks.

“The problem is that fucking mosque. It makes them feel like they’re welcome here,” said Brady.

Peter smiled, excited. “Tell him.”

The older man considered this, then leaned closer to Matt, lowering his voice. “We’re going to bring it down.”

Matt nodded, trying to keep his expression even. “Great. How can I help?”

Brady laughed. “You’re a man of action. I like that.”

“We’re going to slip them an IED, just like they use on us,” said Peter.

Matt kept nodding. “You need any more parts for it?”

“No. We’re all ready to go,” Brady assured him.

“Great,” Matt said again. “When?”

“Wednesday,” said Brady. He raised his empty lemonade glass to his lips, trying to coax out a few more drops. No luck.

Peter added, “It’s some Arab holiday. The place should be full.”

Matt looked thoughtful, as if considering the logistics. “It’ll be tough to get it into the mosque. A white man can’t exactly waltz in there with a big package under his arm.”

Brady gazed contentedly at the kids splashing in the pool. “The gate protecting the front is weak. We ram through it with a truck, drive into the courtyard, and…” He mimed pressing a button with his thumb.

“You’re using a remote trigger?” asked Matt.

“Course,” said Brady. “Nobody’s trying to be a martyr.”

“I don’t know,” joked Peter. “What about those seventy-two virgins?” He and Brady both laughed. Matt forced a chuckle, trying to think of some way to get to that bomb.

“What kind of trigger are you using?” he asked.

Brady shook his head. “No idea. Everett put together the electronics.”

Vamping desperately, Matt said, “You know, some of those remote receivers are kinda twitchy. Like if there’s a cell phone on the same frequency…”

The other man hesitated, and Matt feared that his bullshit had been detected. But Brady only said, “Ask Everett about it.”

“Sure.” Matt shrugged, deliberately casual. “I could also look over the circuitry. Never hurts to have an extra pair of eyes on a job, just to be sure.”

Brady took the bait. “Yeah, have a look. We’re loading the truck in the morning.” He looked supremely satisfied. “It’s time for some fucking payback.”

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