Page 22 of Ready For His Rule

That making responsible field calls was no longer his calling.

That he had to figure out a way to be useful to the world without a mission plan on his smart pad, a SIG in his hand, and a comm line in his ear.

But for now, none of that had changed—especially the comm link. He could make the firearm happen too, but Wrightman’s snarl served as perfect proxy for at least twenty bullets.

“Sit-rep, goddammit. Now.”

No. Not bullets. The guy’s voice was like another round of C-4. John frowned. Wrightman had struck him as a spaz, but not a panic pusher. The shit fraying the edges of his voice now?

Thatwas panic.

“Franzen! Did you get that?”

“I’m here.” His own response was as silken as foam on a wave. Hardening his nerves into lead in the middle of crisis had been his stock-in-trade for a decade. This time, gods willing, it wouldn’t let him down. “I’m here,” he echoed, stronger and clearer. “Go ahead.”

A rush of relieved breath roughened the line though Wrightman rushed on, “Tell me you have Tigress. Tell me you are actually looking at her, and confirm she’s alive. For the love of fuck, tell me she’s alive.”

“Confirmed.” He gave into a puzzled frown. While he understood a lot of Sol’s conniption, the melodrama pushed the envelope. “We followed protocol.” At least he knew that as the truth. “To the letter—despite the tiger cub and his Nala having other ideas.”

He waited for Wrightman’s empathy, at least on that angle of things. Instead the guy volleyed, “Those kids and their antics probably saved your hide—and Tigress’s too.”

“No. Your team member Donald did.”

A leaden pause answered him. Wrightman finally broke it with a rasping sound, as if scrubbing a heavy hand down his face. Finally he muttered, “Dammit. Reese was a good man.”

“Yeah. That was my impression too.” Divine spirits of the afterlife, please watch over the soul of Agent Donald Reese, now in your safekeeping. Guide him to the afterworld with care and patience. With the weight eased on his chest, he was able to add, “He took one for the whole t—”

“No.” Another hard grunt from Sol. “He didn’t.”

So much for tossing aside the bricks on his sternum. “You want to fucking clarify? Because there was a laser trip wire—”

“Likely put in place as a backup, just in case the first charge didn’t go off.”

John stiffened. Once more fixed his gaze past the front windshield, ramming a mask of neutrality over all his features and words. No way in hell was he alarming Tracy Rhodes before he had to. Not yet. “The first charge?”

“Affirmative. A timed bundle.”

“Timed?” There was neutrality and then there was sounding like a moron—but Wrightman’s allegation was getting harder and harder for viable logic. “Are you positive?”

He needed to be positive. A timed charge leapfrogged this shit to a different level of dangerous. It was one thing for some half-cocked section-eight to sneak, climb, bribe, zip line, or wing it on a bell cart to get in here—all possibilities in the fun-filled Oz of Vegas, explaining why Wrightman brought in extra help from the locals to begin with—but it was another to purposely figure where to park a block of explosives, then pre-program the blast for when Tracy was sure to be in the villa. If it hadn’t been for the sound check delay and their detour, thanks to the mysterious tipster, that would’ve absolutely been the case.

A scheduling detail only known to the vice president’s inner circle.

The focus on this camera shot—and Sol’s paranoia about it—suddenly made a lot more sense.

In the most disgusting ways.

“Yeah.” The guy’s response to his query held the timber of commiseration. “Yeah, we’re sure.” He let John hear his long huff, a vocalized version of that deeper message. I know exactly what you’re going through, man. Passed it by about three minutes ago.

But if that were the case…

“You’re sure…because you know something else already.”

More silence. This time, a pause so dense and deep, Franz swore he heard scuba pings even through the comm link. He swallowed hard. It really hurt. His throat was so dry and constricted, even breathing was agony.

“Because you know what, Wrightman?”

Sol took even longer to come back.

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