Read Online [Rogue Warrior 18] Curse of the Infidel by Richard Marcinko - Free Book Online

terrace,” I suggested, pointing to the doors on the side of the room. I could always toss him down to the street if I changed my mind.
    Garrett hopped up with more energy than I’d thought he possessed. In the short walk across the room, he became rejuvenated, shedding the ill effects of the prison as if they were dandruff flakes on the shoulders of his jacket. Mongoose furled his brow—a frightening look that reminds me of a war pig—then trailed after him. I grabbed my gin and one of the beers.
    I was barely through the door when Garrett launched into a fresh tirade. I’d heard enough and snapped back.
    “I ruined your life? Is that what you’re saying?” I demanded indignantly. “Your life would have ended at the point of a sharp axe when they chopped off your head after declaring you guilty in a few months.”
    “You don’t know crap.” Garrett’s eyes flashed. I had a sudden flashback to my navy days with his dad, when he and I faced off against a dozen marines.
    I love the marines. Except when I’m fighting them in a bar. And especially when I’m outnumbered six to one.
    But Flushing Taylor’s temper was a legendary force multiplier. He lit into those marines like an A-10A Warthog ripping through a squad of tanks. None of them were standing when he got done.
    Now, the infamous family temper was about to explode on me. Mongoose took a step between us, ready to grab Garrett if he took a swing.
    “Who sent you?” Garrett demanded. “Who pulled the plug?”
    “What plug? No one sent me. I talked to your dad.”
    “My dad?”
    “Look, I don’t know what you’re doing with your life, and I don’t want to know. If you want to associate with the scum of the earth, that’s your business. Your father was a plank owner of mine, and that brings certain obligations. That’s why I’m here. If you have a beef, take it up with your father.”
    “My father.”
    “You’re on your own. If I were you, though, I wouldn’t go back to Saudi Arabia.”
    “You’re an idiot, you know that?” Garrett began to laugh. “You went through all this trouble because my father was worried about me?”
    “What’s so funny about that?”
    “How much did he pay you?”
    “Not a cent.”
    “This—all this—you did out of the kindness of your heart?”
    “I did it because your dad is an old friend,” I told him. I was also hoping to get information about Allah’s Rule on Earth from him, but under the circumstances I decided this wasn’t a good time to talk about it. And frankly, I had the feeling I wasn’t going to be getting much of anything in the way of cooperation.
    “This was none of my father’s business,” said Garrett, shaking his head. “I work for the agency, you idiot. The CIA. You just blew six months’ worth of work.”

(II)
    Oh yeah, I felt foolish.
    Here I was, thinking I was living a Father’s Day greeting card, and it turned out I’d actually stumbled into a Christians in Action Playtime Adventure.
    *   *   *
    Contrary to popular belief and my occasional roguish jibes, the CIA is not entirely clueless when it comes to tracking terrorists and their use of drug smuggling to fund operations. In this case, they were ahead of me, just not far enough to avoid tripping me up.
    Concerned that Allah’s Rule was making inroads into Europe, the Christians in Action had tried for months to get information about its hierarchy and drug smuggling operations. At some point they decided that the best way to flesh out the hierarchy was to insert someone inside it.
    They’d placed an Arab inside the network, but the cell-like nature of the organization prevented them from finding anything out about the European side. So they set Garrett up as a possible mule, getting him arrested in Saudi Arabia, where they hoped he would come in contact with Allah’s Rule operatives.
    “How’d that work?” I asked him.
    “It was working,” he insisted, folding his arms.
    “So it wasn’t working at all.