Read Online Countdown to Mecca by Michael Savage - Free Book Online Page A

complications, contingencies to deal with, something new waiting in ambush. As long as they weren’t stupid, sloppy mistakes like the whores, he didn’t mind a challenge. He was content in the knowledge that he would triumph, that he would carry the flag to Bethlehem, then Mecca.
    It was the only way.

 
    7
    Every cop in the squad room knew the two visitors were Feds the moment they set eyes on them. The man may have been six feet tall and built like a linebacker, while the woman could have been a catalog model, but their suits, expressions, and attitude said FBI.
    â€œField Director Carl Forsyth,” the man told Captain Daniel Jeffreys, the detective in charge, while displaying his credentials. He nodded toward the woman. “Special Agent Dover Griffith.”
    â€œWhere is he?” Dover asked without further delay.
    â€œInterrogation one,” said Jeffreys, already leading the Feds in the right direction.
    â€œWhere did you find him?” Dover asked.
    â€œWe didn’t,” Jeffreys admitted. “He just walked in and said he had a story we should hear.”
    â€œHe turned himself in?” Forsyth said incredulously.
    The detective smirked. “Like a spy running in from the cold,” he said as they reached the room.
    â€œThis is priority one,” Forsyth went on with steel in his low voice. “Top secret.”
    â€œNaturally,” Jeffreys said, opening the door.
    Forsyth entered followed by Dover and Jeffreys. Jack turned his head and smiled at the sight of the two federal agents.
    â€œCarl,” he said pleasantly, but his voice warmed further as he greeted the other agent. “Dover. It’s good to see you.”
    â€œLikewise.”
    The two had been lovers in a working relationship turned steamy under the heat of saving San Francisco from weapons of mass destruction.
    Forsyth ignored the pleasantries as Jeffreys closed the door of the windowless room.
    â€œWhy didn’t you just come directly to my office?” the field director scowled.
    â€œYou don’t get a home court advantage,” Jack said casually.
    Forsyth grunted. The two had been at cross-purposes in the past. It wasn’t worth a debate. The Fed stopped in his tracks as his gaze settled on a modern, compact, cutting-edge microphone and a small powerful digital video camera resting on the room’s one table.
    â€œI thought I said no recordings,” he barked at the detective.
    Jeffreys parked his rump on the edge of the table. “They’re not ours,” he explained, motioning toward Jack.
    Forsyth looked at Jack in surprise. “Explain.”
    â€œI’m doing a news report,” he said.
    â€œAbout?”
    â€œSecret weapons of mass destruction in the Middle East.”
    Forsyth and Dover stared at him. Then at each other. Then back at Jack.
    â€œYou care to elaborate?” Forsyth said.
    â€œSure,” Jack said. “First, tell me what you have about me?”
    â€œYou? What is this, one of your games?” Forsyth asked.
    â€œNo,” Jack replied evenly. “I’m a reporter. I’m asking questions.”
    Dover cut through the testosterone. “We have surveillance video of you, your brother, an unidentified woman, and—” She looked at the detective for assistance.
    â€œA person of interest,” Jeffreys suggested. “We don’t have his face or a license number. We’re still working on that.”
    â€œHe’s a pro,” Jack winked at Forsyth. “Careful, secretive.”
    Unsatisfied but moving on, Dover said, “We have video from all over Telegraph Hill, the Filbert Steps, and Levi Plaza. We have bullets—about two dozen so far, and eyewitnesses who were too busy ducking to see much.”
    â€œI assume, then, you also have video of the professional hit squad we were defending ourselves against.”
    â€œWe haven’t done an analysis yet,” Forsyth said