Free Veil - 02 - The Hammer of God by Reginald Cook

wouldn’t get the answer he was looking for.
    “You know as well as I do that information is handed out on a need to know basis,” said Thompson.
    Need to know. You mean, go fuck yourself. “Donovan says there’s something special about Samuel,” Robert lied. “Do you think that’s why they took him?”
    Robert watched his fabrication worm its way through Thompson’s mind. The Assistant Director, his reputation built on calculating intuition, seemed to suppress a smile. “And exactly what is this special thing Donavon shared with you?”
    “Something valuable enough to put the boy’s life in danger,” answered Robert. “Any idea who’s behind this?” Thompson continued to measure Robert. “None at this time. We were hoping you’d picked up their scent.”
    “No such luck. If I knew where the bastards were, I wouldn’t be here bullshitting with you.”
    Thompson smiled and lit another cigarette off the one he’d just finished. “If you do find them, we’d appreciate a phone call. We’ll provide any assistance you ask for, including intelligence, hardware, money. It’s your call. Name your price.” Robert, off the bench before he knew it, grabbed Thompson by the collar. “Price! There’s no price you could pay for this, asshole! He’s my godson, not a bounty!”
    Thompson continued to smile, the cigarette tucked in the corner of his mouth. Two cold taps on the nap of his neck, and Robert turned his head.
    “Let the director go,” said Agent Maxwell, his .357 automatic pointed at Robert’s right eye socket.
    Robert didn’t let go right away. He wanted to shake Thompson till his brain scrambled. Agent Maxwell cocked the hammer on his weapon.
    Robert let Thompson go and took a step back. When Agent Maxwell checked to see if his boss was okay, Robert grabbed the agent’s wrist, and spun clockwise, twisting the gun out of the agent’s grasp and flipped him over his shoulder. Agent Maxwell let out a grunt as he pounded down, back first, to the ground. Robert fired a shot in the dirt just past the agent’s head.
    “You pull a gun on me, use it,” he snarled.
    “I won’t forget,” said Agent Maxwell. “You can believe it.” Thompson, seated again on the bench, lit another smoke, took a deep drag, leaned back and blew a hazy cloud into the air. He looked down at the two, amused. “Please let him up, Mr. Veil.” Robert stared at the agent, his forearm pressed hard against Maxwell’s throat. But it wasn’t the FBI agent he saw on the ground, it was one of the masked men who kidnapped his godson. Robert hit Agent Maxwell on the temple with the butt of the gun, knocking him out cold.
    Then he tossed the weapon to Thompson, who fumbled it, losing his Camel in the process, sending orange ash sparkling in the air.
    “That was uncalled for,” raged Thompson, standing.
    “So is all this crap you’re trying to hand me,” fired Robert. “And until the CIA learns to share, don’t call on me again.”
    “You’re one of us,” growled Thompson. “You know how this is played. Help us with anything you learn, and I’ll do the same. You have my word. I’ll let you in on everything when you find the boy.” Agent Maxwell, groggy, tried to stand, but collapsed back to the ground, hands on his head. Robert headed back to his vehicle, ignoring Thompson’s calls.
    Back in the Explorer, Robert gripped the steering wheel tight. Why is Samuel drawing attention from the CIA? He racked his brain, but no scenario that fit made any sense. He started the engine and hit the highway. He dialed his office in Washington D.C. on his cell. Evelyn Hollis, their office manager, picked up.
    “Evie, it’s me. I want you to do a full background work-up on Samuel. Go back as far as you can, and list every name you can find.” Evelyn grilled him, and he brought her up to date as much as he could over the phone. She hung up with promises to move as quickly as possible. Robert dialed Thorne, who picked up on the first