Page 108 of Jonas

Graham’s tone had gone from wary to alert when he inquired, “How do you know that name?”

“A few minutes ago, I received a call from a woman named Penny Cox asking for my help. She’s NSA and right now is running to her car after stumbling on something she said she shouldn’t’ve seen. Before she hung up, she said if she didn’t make it to me I needed to look into Operation Freebird. I looked and came across coordinates to a farm in Iowa close to the banks of the Mississippi River. The farm is owned by the Vicksburg Group. Now, the Vicksburg battle was in Mississippi, not Iowa, however, the importance of the strategy was the river. I’d say your bugout location has been burned, Mr. President. Though, I will give credit to the architect of the plan. Putting the president in a rural environment to hide until he can get on a boat and take a nice, long float down the Mississippi River to the Gulf where he could be smuggled onto a ship is a damn good plan. But I’d advise you not to use that location.”

“I want names,” Graham growled.

“I’ll give you whatever this Penny woman tells us. But I hope to fuck that inner circle of yours just got smaller, Graham.”

“You’re heard.”

“Am I? Because, again, it’s your ass on the line. And the avenues you have to escape are shrinking. I get you’re the captain, but you going down with the ship means you’re handing us all over to the Chinese. Rutte has a deal in place and it might take time, but make no fucking mistake—that plan will include my grandchild speaking Chinese. Last night you gave me forty-eight hours, now I’m giving you the same. You have two days to convince me not to unleash my men. Two days, Trent, then I will forcibly remove you from the White House and put you in a safehouse under guard.”

“You’re not seriously threatening me,” Graham seethed.

“I am telling you, I will protect you by any means necessary. And if that means saving you from yourself and your conscience, you can thank me later when your country is still in one piece.”

Zane disconnected the call and released a heavy sigh.

“I think I have a lady boner,” Lore announced.

“Good to hear, because if Graham doesn’t come willingly, it’ll be you I send in to take him hostage.”

Lore actually looked like she was strategizing how she was going to infiltrate the White House. Then she confirmed it. “I’ve never thought about how I’d break into the White House. But I’m up for the challenge.”

Good God, the woman was insane.

“Erin would be a good resource. She used to sneak out of the White House,” Kira supplied.

Lore glanced at Kira. “Who’s Erin?”

“She’s married to a Red Team Operator, Colin Doyle. Her father’s Tom Anderson, the former President.”

“Maybe let’s not give Lore more intel on the team,” Zane snarked.

“I think the I-might-shoot-you-because-I-don’t-trust-you ship has sailed,” Lore returned. “And for the record, it might be me who shoots your cantankerous ass if you keep being a dick to me.”

“Cantankerous,” Zane huffed.

“Difficult. Unreasonable. Cranky.”

“Difficult, cranky, unreasonable, and sarcastic is his love language,” Kira explained, ticking off the words on her fingers as she said them.

“Maybe it’s time he tries a new one that’s less irritating.”

“Nope. This one works. Besides, I’m averse to change.”

Derrika leaned close and quietly asked, “What’s your love language?”

That was easy.

I maneuvered my mouth to her ear and whispered, “Having my beard smell like you all day.”

Derrika jolted then she busted out in a fit of laughter, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

“Has she cracked?” Lore’s question killed Derrika’s laughter.

“Doubtful,” Smith mused. “They’re probably talking about what Jonas ate for breakfast.”

In a roundabout way, Smith was correct. Not that I would confirm.