Free Retribution by Anderson Harp Page A

acknowledging that they had no simple solution.
    â€œThere is one way to pull the fox out.” Parker looked across the distant trees as he spoke his thoughts.
    â€œShort of assassinating the president of the United States, we have license to do whatever it takes.”
    â€œYou know my ANGLICO team.”
    â€œYes.”
    There was no point in being coy. Parker would assume that Scott would remember the team from Korea and, if not, would have at least researched Parker’s contacts.
    â€œOne of them was Hernandez.”
    â€œStaff Sergeant Enrico Hernandez.”
    â€œYes. He’s with the Centers for Disease Control now. Works on their security team.”
    â€œHe mentioned to me a doctor there named Stewart. I think his name is Paul Stewart. I would need to start by talking to Dr. Stewart.”
    â€œWhen?” Fire had appeared in Scott’s eyes. If he wasn’t already seeing the direction of Parker’s idea, he was at least energized by the fact that Parker was hatching a plan.
    â€œNow.”
    Scott nodded. “One more reminder, Colonel Parker, of the stakes involved. If Yousef wants to make a name for himself, it will take something very violent.”
    â€œYes,” said Parker. “I can only imagine.”

CHAPTER 8
    Lake Sidney Lanier, Georgia
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    W illiam Parker tried to hold the steering wheel steady on the road while he glanced at the iPhone in his hand. He would look down at the electronic map loaded on the iPhone, then glance up at the roadway and then again down to the map. Each time he glanced down, the rental car tended to pull to the left and the center line. The occasional pickup truck coming in the opposite direction laid on the horn as he wandered closer to the paint.
    This is stupid. He knew better as a pilot. Lesser distractions had caused many an airman to plow into the ground.
    Waldrip Road. He knew the turn was somewhere to the left. He had seen it from the air as he flew over the western portion of the lake. There it was. Parker took the turn.
    Can’t be more than a few miles to this house.
    He’d reached the western side of Lake Sidney Lanier. Lake Lanier sat an hour’s drive northeast of Atlanta, just west of Gainesville, and squarely in the path of the tidal wave of people moving from Detroit to Atlanta. Property on the lake, if you could find it, went for millions.
    In a few miles the turn would be to the right. He glanced down at the iPhone again. Up ahead, a street sign stuck out from the bushes with a visible lean to the right.
    Martin Terrace. His next turn. Parker saw a driveway to his right and the lake beyond as he crept down the single lane that twisted through pine trees. Another house lay ahead.
    MONCRIEF PAINT COMPANY .
    Finally. The sign hung on a tree below another that advertised Lake Lanier Construction. Parker turned onto the gravel driveway and saw an old beaten truck with a tailgate that looked broken and a slew of empty five-gallon buckets tied together in the bed. The side of the truck also showed MONCRIEF PAINT COMPANY and, below it, PAINT CONTRACTOR . And below that, in smaller but perfectly neat type: GUNNERY SERGEANT—USMCR (RETIRED) .
    The Cape Cod house was in its final stages of construction. The copper gutters and shake shingles gave it that distinctive look of an expensive cottage, as if pulled up and dropped down from a lake in the White Mountains, but the front yard was still a wide mess of red clay dirt. Deep tire tracks puddled full with water showed the recent rains. Black plastic tubes from the sprinkler system stuck out of the dirt in a regular pattern across the yard. It was only a few weeks away from the final touches, landscaping, and plantings that would take the house from this rough stage to something ready for Architectural Digest .
    As he neared the front door, Parker heard a fast, loud voice engaged in a conversation with another, similarly energetic voice. Parker smiled and swung the