Читать книгу Sigma Rising - John Randolph Price - Страница 8

FBI Special Agent Norman Rigler parked on the narrow gravel road in the Virginia countryside, lights out. Night hung like a heavy black curtain blowing in the wind, an occasional flash of lightning momentarily framing the old tin-roofed farm house in the valley below. Rigler knew the house was deserted, property foreclosed. The perfect site for a bogus hit-and-run operation by agents of the task force. That's what Rigler's superior had asked for, a lure, a United States senator the supposed target. Only one other agent was called in for the assault.

Rigler lit a cigarette, took a drag and looked at his watch. Almost midnight. A moment later, car lights appeared in his rear view mirror. Agent James Craddock was on time. Rigler liked Craddock, his passion for intelligence work, how he often charted his own aggressive course in an investigation. Both in their early forties and single, they regularly jogged together, played macho studs in D.C.'s watering holes, and for a time dated twin sisters.

But in recent weeks Craddock had turned sour, wasn't the same man. Obviously angry, he expressed misgivings about the unit's mission, distanced himself from other agents. He was now considered a liability by the head of the task force.

The gray Ford pulled up behind. Rigler got out of his car, waved, and eased into the passenger seat beside his friend. "Hell of a night, and the temperature’s dropping.

Craddock asked, "Where are the others?"

"I thought we could handle this ourselves."

"Are you sure Senator Obrey and his wife are in the house?"

Rigler removed his gloves. "My question earlier. I slipped down there and checked. Not a sign of life." He sighed. "The intel was faulty."

Craddock gripped the steering wheel, spoke softly. "As usual." He turned to look at Rigler. "Norman, why'd you pick me for tonight? You know how I feel about this stupid crusade. It's--"

"Jimmy, relax. I called because I wanted you personally involved, to get you back in sync with the mission. The twelve we're after are evil--against everything we believe in--and if our country is to survive, they've got to be terminated."

"Jesus! These are top government officials, elected and appointed, and there's not an ounce of proof they're not who they say they are. I can't believe you bought into this ridiculous fantasy." He shook his head. "I want out."

Rigler put his hand on Craddock's shoulder. "Jimmy, we took an oath, signed on to be a part of Task Force Zero until the entire group was eliminated." He paused. "We knew the consequences if we backed out."

Craddock forced a laugh. "Come on, Norman, this is America. We work for the Federal Bureau of Investigation, not a terrorist militia in some downtrodden country. Consequences? I can't see agents popping agents because of the insanity of one man."

Rigler pulled away, lit a cigarette. "Why did you agree to be a part of the team?"

Craddock lowered the window, fanned the smoke away. "I got caught up in the excitement of a possible real conspiracy like the one in Seven Days in May, but this time it wasn't the military supposedly attempting a coup. We were dealing, so I thought, with traitors in the inner circle, and like you, I was gung ho to protect my country. Later I realized this was a crazy out-of-the-loop operation orchestrated by a mother-dominated fanatic. That's when I confided in you, thinking we could get out together and squash this thing." He shifted in his seat. "Have you told anyone about our conversation?"

Rigler lied. "No, no one. How about you? Any talk outside our group?"

Craddock hesitated. "Not yet."

"Okay, it's just between us. And to be honest, the reason I asked you to meet me tonight was to talk some sense into you." He glanced out the window. "But I guess you're not going to change your mind."

Craddock rubbed a hand over his face. "This was all a set-up, wasn't it? Make me see things differently or take me out. Thank God we're friends."

Rigler removed the weapon from his shoulder holster. "You're right on all counts. I'm sorry, but orders are orders."

Craddock watched the squeeze of the trigger. The bullet pierced his head above the right eye, tore through bone and brain and out the open window.

The agent returned to his car, flashed the headlights three times. A black SUV with the clean-up crew moved up the hill from the farm house below.