Rogue Threat Read Online Free

him.
    They exchanged long, hard stares. The obnoxious ringing of Peyton’s cell phone interrupted the painful silence. She answered it, “Peyton,” and listened a moment before handing it to Matt.
    “Matt, this is the vice president. I need you to meet me at Dulles Airport in an hour. VIP gate. Bring a suitcase. Tell Peyton to come along too. I’ll be waiting.” Then the line went dead.
    “What’s this all about?” he asked, handing the phone back to her.
    “Beats me, but we should probably get moving.”
    The cool spring breeze snapped past them both. Truthfully, today he could not care less what the man wanted.
    “Whatever. I’ll see you there,” he said as Peyton bounced down the steps. He casually followed her, a guard ushering an unwanted visitor to the exit. He stopped at the corner of his brick rambler and watched as she mounted a Ducati Street Fighter.
    “Don’t be late, Matt Garrett.”
    She shook her hair, donned the helmet, and turned the ignition. The bike roared to life. She punched the gear box and rolled away.
    “Bizarre,” Matt muttered and then strolled inside his house.

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    CHAPTER 2
     
     
    Dulles Airport, Northern Virginia
     
    Matt yanked his “go-bag” from beneath his bed, which he always kept ready and within arm’s reach as he slept. He checked the Baby Glock and ensured he had four magazines of 9mm ammunition, two with full-metal-jacket rounds and two with hollow point. He opened his Duane Dieter Spec Ops knife with a quick flip of his wrist, then pressed the detent button to collapse the blade. Handling his weapons made him wonder just where the hell Lantini might be . . .
    He then quickly stuffed a variety of clothing and toiletries in the small duffel. A few minutes later, he jumped in the fifteen-year-old Porsche 944 he had purchased from the same junk yard in which he had found the pitching machine. He ran the “black bullet” wide open, quickly covering the short distance to the airport.
    Pressing speed dial on his cell phone, he listened as Blake Sessoms, his childhood best friend, answered.
    “This is Blake.”
    “Blake, Matt here.”
    “Hey, wildman. Long time.”
    “Got a few things to talk about, but don’t have much time right now.” He paused, then continued. “It has been tough without Zach around.”
    “I miss him, too,” Blake said. “It’s been a year . . . a tough year, brother.”
    The two friends let a moment pass over the crackling cell phone air-waves.
    “Roger that,” Matt whispered.
    “Going anywhere you can tell me?” Blake asked.
    “I’m not sure what’s happening, but wanted to let you know I am heading out of town. We’ll catch up later.”
    “Sure thing, bro.”
    “Are you going to be around in the next few days?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I’ll call you.”
    The two friends hung up. Matt reflected briefly that it had been months since he had spoken to Blake, with whom he used to chat a few times a week. They had grown up together in the Blue Ridge, playing baseball and fishing, and they had both started college at the University of Virginia. Matt opted for a career in the Agency; Blake chose a path that eventually led him to Virginia Beach and a small fortune.
    Downshifting into the arrivals/departures fork in the road leading to the airport terminals, Matt saw the sign for the VIP gate and followed the arrows until he was stopped at a closed chain-link gate in a remote area about a half mile from the main terminal. The gate opened as he slowed.
    Pulling through the opening, he saw the shiny, black scalp of Alvin Jessup, the vice president’s lead Secret Service agent.
    “Hey, Alvin,” he said, rolling down his window. Jessup, a hulking man dressed in a black overcoat, looked every bit the former collegiate fullback. He walked up to Matt’s window with a dour face.
    “Finally coming out of your hole, Garrett?” Jessup asked.
    “Just following orders, Alvin.”
    “Well, you just keep on