Free The Good Soldier by L. T. Ryan Page B

through traffic and into the fast lane.
    Bear was the first to speak. "What's your read on this?"
    I thought for a moment. "Abbot's not going to BS us."
    "You still trust him?"
    "He got us out of the brig." I glanced over at Bear. He rubbed at his beard. "If he wanted us out of the way, what better place than in there?"
    I kept my eyes on the line of cars, SUVs and minivans in front of me. A mental inventory of license plates piled up and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I held my breath as we passed a parked state trooper and let my foot off the gas. I kept my eyes fixed on him in the rear-view mirror. He didn't move. I felt a release of tension for the first time that morning.
    "What about this Delaney guy?" Bear asked.
    "We'll have to get a read on him quick," I said.
    That much was true. We'd know within a few minutes of Delaney was friend or foe. A public meeting would be necessary.
    "Make sure we meet him somewhere with a lot of witnesses," Bear said.
    "Reading my mind again?"
    He laughed. "Guess I've known you too long." The big man yawned, leaned back. "Think it's time I get a new partner. You're getting too boring."
    I smiled and looked up at the rear-view mirror. "Yeah, well you think this mess we're in is boring?" I nodded toward the back of the car at the set of blue lights that closed the distance in a few seconds. The state trooper pulled his cruiser within a few feet of our rear bumper. The lane to the right was open, but he wasn't passing. He must have clocked me going twenty over the speed limit. Or worse, Abbot could have reported the car stolen. Would he do that so quickly?
    I cursed under my breath and moved into the right lane. The cruiser pulled over the same time I did. I hit the brakes and dropped the speed to fifty-five. Then I pulled onto the shoulder, prepared to stop. My mind raced thinking of the next set of actions I'd need to take.
    Instead of following us onto the shoulder, the cruiser passed by.
    Bear let out a loud sigh. "Thought we were goners."

Chapter 8
    The drive to D.C. took just under six hours. We took I-95 past the outer loop to I-395. Crossed the Potomac and drove into downtown. I found a parking garage near the National Mall on 11th Street. We left the car there and exited the garage onto 11th Street, turning left toward Pennsylvania Avenue.
    I pointed at a store across the road. "We stand out. Let's get some clothes."
    I found a brown leather jacket, t-shirt, and a pair of jeans. Bear donned a sweatshirt and cargo pants. We paid for the clothes and left the store.
    "Grab some lunch?" Bear pointed at a pizza place across the street.
    I pulled out the paper Abbot gave me with Neil Delaney's number written on it.
    "Yeah, let's eat, and then I'll call our contact."
    We sat at a table on the front patio. A black gate stretched out and separated the open air dining area from the sidewalk. Pedestrians walked by with their heads tilted back, noses in the air, taking in the smell of fresh baked pizza. A waitress with straight brown hair and very little makeup came to our table. We ordered a large cheese pizza and two beers. The air was cool and the smell of melted cheese, rising crust, and tomato sauce overwhelmed my senses. It felt like a perfect day. It would be a perfect day if it weren't for the fact we were trying to save our lives.
    Tourists, business people, and even politicians passed by. "Look," Bear said. "Robert Marlowe. Seen him on the news a lot over the last year. Deputy Secretary of Defense."
    I watched the group of men approach. Marlowe walked in between two other men. He wore a blue suit, red striped tie, and a tan London Fog overcoat. His hair was a mix of silver and black, thin on top. He was clean shaven and wore thin glasses. He was tall and looked to be in good shape for a man his age. The men on either side were approximately the same age. I figured them to be politicians as well. Two Department of Defense agents followed close behind. They were younger than the