Free The Observer (Derek Cole Suspense Thriller Book 3) by T Patrick Phelps Page A

can come down and see them and see for yourself that they are safe? Will that satisfy your sense of obligation?”
    “Probably not,” Derek said. “But it will have to do for now.”
    “Listen Cole,” Connor said, his eyes fixed on Derek’s, “we don’t know what we’re dealing with here so, while I can’t tell you to stop your investigation, I can ask you to keep me informed with any progress you make. I’ll share what I can with you but need to stick to our protocols. Deal?”
    “Deal. I’m not a fan of protocols but I trust that you and I are on the same team.”
    “What’s your problem with protocols?” Connor asked as he and Derek walked out of the interrogation room and towards the bank of elevators.
    “When I was a cop in Columbus, protocols got my wife killed.”
    “Didn’t know you were a cop and, sorry about your wife.”
    “Eight years as an MP in the Army and a little over five as a cop.”
    “That’s good to know. Will make it easier for me to convince my captain to share case information with you. Still not sure how protocols were responsible for your wife’s death?”
    Derek gave Connor a 30-second overview of the day Lucy, his wife, was killed in the bank robbery. He told Connor how he could have ended the standoff but was forced to follow protocols.
    “I know that protocols didn’t send the bullet into Lucy’s head,” Derek said as the elevator doors opened, “but they sure prevented me from eliminating the possibility of it happening.”
    “Can I assume that you won’t be following any protocols in this investigation?” Connor said as the elevator doors began to close, separating him from Derek.
    “When it comes to stopping terrorism, there aren’t any protocols to follow.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

    Derek was no further than 100 feet from the midtown police department before his iPhone began to vibrate in his pocket.
    “Cole, it’s Special Agent Mark Henderson. We need to talk.”
    “Yes we do,” Derek replied. “Where and when?”
    “Which hotel are you staying in?” Mark asked.
    “I’m sure you know that already.”
    “Dispense of the conspiracy bullshit Cole. Can you meet me near the Freedom Tower? Small deli on Barclay Street. 45 minutes?”
    “I’ll be there.” Derek paused. “Will Cortez be joining us?” he asked.
    “He won’t be joining us. I’ll fill you in. 45 minutes.”
    “See you then.”

    ***I***

    The deli on Barclay Street was no wider than 20 feet but extended much further than Derek expected. At least 30 feet past the deli counter, several tables were positioned against the left-hand wall. Special Agent Mark Henderson sat alone at the last table, his back against the rear wall and his arms crossed over his chest.
    “You’re early,” Mark said.
    “For you to say that means that you were even earlier.”
    “I see that you’ve met Detective Connor,” Mark Henderson said as Derek sat down across from him.
    “Yes, we had a rather explosive introduction.”
    “Abdul Huda took himself out of any equation that we had placed him in.”
    “One of the last things he said was that my visit caused his death. That sounds to me like his death wasn’t his idea,” Derek said.
    “What else did he say to you?”
    “Just to make sure his kids are safe. NYPD is looking for them and told me that they would bring them into a station and determine what measures are needed, if any, to keep them safe.”
    “Good,” Mark said. “Probably have nothing to worry about, but trying to convince kids that they’re safe after finding out that their dad just splattered himself all over Times Square may be a tad difficult.”
    “I take it that Abdul’s death changes your instructions for me?” Derek asked.
    “First,” Mark said, after checking to make sure that no other patrons were close enough to overhear Derek and his conversation, “tell me what was said between you and Detective Connor.”
    “He just wanted to know about my involvement and why Abdul