The 14th Colony: A Novel Read Online Free Page B

“not old” part . To this day her personnel file contained no reference to age, only the letters N/A in the space designated for a date of birth.
    Litchfield stood. “Okay, Stephanie. We’ll do this your way.”
    He couldn’t fire her and they both knew it. But he could at noon on January 20. That was why she’d authorized Cotton to immediately head for Russia without seeking approval. The new AG was wrong. The Justice Department needed the Magellan Billet. Its whole purpose had been to work outside the scope of other intelligence agencies. That was why its headquarters had sat 550 miles south in Atlanta, far away from DC politics. That one decision, made by her years ago, had bred both an independence and an efficiency, and she was proud of that legacy.
    Litchfield left the room, but he was right about one thing. All of her agents were gone, the offices in Atlanta shut down.
    She had no intention of taking some other post within Justice or allowing herself to be fired. Instead, she was quitting. Time to cash in her pension and find something else to occupy her time. No way she was going to sit around the house all day.
    Her mind raced, thinking with a comforting familiarity. Cotton was in trouble and she wasn’t banking on the Russians to help. She hadn’t particularly liked trusting them in the first place but there’d been no choice. All of the risks had been explained to Cotton, who’d assured her he’d stay alert. Now there seemed only one place left for her to turn.
    She reached for her smartphone.
    And sent a text.

CHAPTER THREE
    V IRGINIA
    2:40 A.M.
    Luke Daniels loved a fight, but what Tennessee country boy didn’t. He’d enjoyed many in high school, especially ones over a girl, then relished them even more during his six years as an Army Ranger. For the past year he’d had his share as a Magellan Billet agent, but sadly those days were over. He’d already received his marching orders, reassigned to the Defense Intelligence Agency, his first day on the job coming Monday, one day after the new president assumed office.
    Until then, he was officially on leave.
    Yet here he was, in the wee hours of the morning, following another car.
    His uncle, the current president of the United States, had personally asked for his assistance. Normally he and his uncle did not see eye-to-eye but, of late, they’d both been trying harder on that relationship. Truth be told, he was glad to help. He loved the Magellan Billet and he liked Stephanie Nelle. She was being dished a raw deal by a bunch of politicians who thought they knew better. Uncle Danny was on his way out to pasture, his political career over. Yet there seemed one more problem, one more something that had captured both the president’s and Stephanie’s attention.
    Characteristically, not much had been explained in the way of why he was following the car. His target was a Russian national named Anya Petrova, a curvy blonde with a fine-featured, almond-shaped face and a pair of high cheekbones. Her legs were long and muscled, like a dancer, her movements poised and calculated. Her favorite ensemble seemed to be tight Levi’s tucked into knee-high boots. No makeup either, lending her a slight air of severity, which might have been intentional. She was quite impressive and he wished they’d met under different circumstances. Watching her the past two days had not been all that unpleasant.
    She seemed to like Cracker Barrel, visiting twice today, once for lunch, and the other for dinner a few hours ago. After eating she’d hung out in a Virginia motel west of DC, just off Interstate 66. Uncle Danny had provided all the pertinent information. She was thirty-four, the lover of Aleksandr Zorin, an aging former KGB officer now living in southern Siberia. Apparently no one had paid Zorin much mind until a week ago. Then something spooked both the Russians and Uncle Danny, enough that Luke had been dispatched as a hound dog and Cotton Malone sent overseas as