Tommy chuckled. "The Russians? I thought the Cold War ended a long time ago."
"As I'm sure you're aware, tensions have been growing between them and us lately. Now it seems that your friend is working with them."
"Sean? Russians? No way. Seriously, zero chance that's what's going on."
Kyle reached into his jacket and pulled out a photo. He held it out so Tommy could see it.
"This is Wyatt at a rendezvous point with his Russian contact. They met last week at a coffee shop in Portland, Maine. We also have text records and phone calls to and from a number connected to Moscow. We need to know what he's working on and any relevant information you can give us."
Tommy stared at the photo. It was definitely Sean in the picture, but it was difficult to tell who was sitting across the table from him. Or even if the other person in the picture had actually been there. Photoshop made things far too easy to manipulate.
"Look, Kyle, is it? I appreciate what you're trying to do, but Sean isn't working with the Russians. I can tell you that with 100 percent certainty. Last I heard from him, he was working on a special project for the president. I don't know what it is, exactly. From what he told me, he doesn't know what it is either. Why don't you reach out to him? I can give you his number if you like."
Kyle fired a sidelong glance at his man on the sidewalk. The guy shifted a little, exposing the weapon bulging out of his jacket.
"We've tried. He's not answering."
Tommy sensed the man moving closer behind him. Something about this interrogation was off, and it was getting worse by the moment. Either these guys weren't who they said they were, or they were up to no good.
"Well, maybe he's just busy. Or maybe he doesn't answer calls from numbers he doesn't recognize. I know I don't. If I get a call from a number I don’t know, I let it go to voice mail."
"You know," Kyle said ignoring Tommy's explanation, "your friendship with Sean goes way back. Doesn't it?"
Tommy shrugged. "Sure. I've known him most of my life."
"It would be a shame if we found out you were covering for him."
"Whoa. Covering for him? Covering what, exactly?"
"That's what we intend to find out."
Tommy heard a footstep close behind him. He was still holding his car door open. He had less than two seconds to make a decision. These guys were going to try to take him. He didn't know why, but he knew enough to know that wherever they were going wasn't going to be good, at least not for him.
"Maybe you should come with us. We'll get out of the cold and into someplace warm where we can talk more about it," Kyle said.
Tommy clutched the edge of the door and eased it forward a few inches. "Yeah, sure. Whatever I can do to help."
He felt the man less than a foot away behind him. Suddenly, Tommy jerked the door back. It slammed into the approaching man's knee with a loud thud. The guy instinctively bent down to grab the throbbing joint. As he did, his nose met Tommy's knee on the way up. Tommy drove his leg hard, pounding the man's face with his kneecap. The blow knocked the guy onto his back on the wet street, blood instantly pouring from his face.
Kyle stepped toward Tommy, but Tommy anticipated the move. He stepped to the side, into the open street where he could maneuver better.
"You shouldn't have done that," Kyle said, reaching into his jacket.
Tommy lunged at the man before he could draw his weapon and plowed his shoulder into Kyle's midsection. Caught off guard, Kyle was helpless to keep the stronger man off. Tommy's legs pumped hard as he drove the agent into the side of his car, jarring his hand from the jacket. A gun fell out of the bottom of the coat and clacked on the ground.
The sudden impact with the car threw Kyle off for a second, but he immediately recovered and swung his elbow into Tommy's jaw.
Tommy staggered back a step. Kyle used the moment to go on the attack. He charged, firing punch after punch at Tommy's face.
For most of his life, Tommy had been a brawler, getting through fights with brute strength and size. Now he was leaner, faster, and stronger than before. And he'd been learning a few things on the side.
His hands moved fast, blocking one punch, then another, and another, repeating the moves he'd learned from his trainer.
Kyle tried a close-quarters kick, but Tommy twisted to the side and blocked it easily with his leg.
Frustrated, Kyle lunged a little too far with his right hand. Tommy snatched the man's wrist and yanked him forward. He raised his knee and plunged it into Kyle's abdomen. As the agent doubled over, Tommy chopped down with his elbow, driving it into Kyle's lower back with such force it dropped the man to his knees.
The guy on the other side of the car drew his weapon, but Tommy was a step ahead. He grabbed Kyle by the collar and lifted him up, holding him between the gunman and himself.
"Drop the weapon," Tommy said.
The other agent had an intense look in his eyes. A mixture of fear and anger — a bad combination for someone holding a gun.
"You don't want to kill your boss, do you? So drop the weapon, and nobody gets hurt. You can go back to wherever it is you're from, and no one will be the wiser."
The guy shook his head. "Doesn't work that way."
Not what Tommy wanted to hear. He recognized a sense of finality in the man's voice. Also not what he wanted to hear. He instantly realized that — for these guys — failure was not an option. Their job was to bring in the mark, no matter the cost.
"Then I guess we have ourselves a stalemate, huh?"
The man said nothing as he continued to stare down his opponent, waiting for a slipup — a tiny mistake that would give him the clear shot.
Tommy was careful to keep any part of his head and body out of the gunman's sights. Highly trained operatives could be deadly from short range, even with a narrow target margin.
"Seriously, man. Put the gun down. We're both Americans. We're on the same team here. We keep standing here like this for too long, a cop or someone is going to drive by and see this whole standoff."
On cue, a red luxury sedan approached just down the block. It was followed by a line of other vehicles.
"See?" Tommy said, motioning to the oncoming traffic without revealing too much of his head. "If you think all of them are going to ignore this little scene, you underestimate the meddling public. One of them will call the cops. Then what will you do?"
"Let them. We own the police. Just like we own you."
The gunman suddenly dropped out of sight as if yanked down by a ghost. Tommy craned his neck to get a better look, still wary that the gunman could be trying to sneak around the car to get a better angle.
"Hello?" he said. "Threatening gunman? You still there?"
"Sorry," a familiar voice said from the other side of the car. "He's going to be out of commission for a while."
Tommy subconsciously let go of the man in his arms, letting him drop awkwardly to the ground.
"Sean?"
"Yeah, it's me." Sean popped up from behind the car. He looked down the street in both directions as the cars began passing by in the two lanes. "What do you say we get out of here? Having a couple of bodies lying around is bound to get some attention."
"Good idea." Tommy started to get in his car when he had an epiphany. "Wait. We can't just leave June here at the hotel. If these guys can track me here, they can find her, too."
Sean bit his lower lip and nodded. "You're right. Hurry. I'll take care of these bozos."
Tommy's head twitched to the side, curious as to how his friend was going to handle the matter of three unconscious, full-grown men on the asphalt. He decided not to ask and waited for the last of the cars to drive by before sprinting across the street and into the hotel.