CHAPTER ONE
September 4-5


Maggie's going to want to kill me, he thought as he pushed through Muscat's narrow, crowded, dusty Ruwi High Street, brushing white-robed Arabs and South Asian laborers from Pakistan and Bangladesh, dodging white and orange taxis that crept through the pedestrian melee. And I don't blame her. It was 7:45 pm exactly, a little more than four hours till the fifth.

Air conditioners straining to cool the jewelry and electronic shops along the souk exhaled stale hot air, adding more bite to the rabid ninety-five-degree heat. September in the Sultanate of Oman was a bitch.

Matt Freed took a quick glance over his shoulder to check that dark-haired Cody still followed on the other side of the street. They'd been on foot for more than an hour. Neither had detected hostile surveillance.

At thirty-eight, Matt was a solid six foot one with sandy hair and light brown eyes. An intense high-kilowatt current seemed to run through his body and beam from his eyes. Otherwise he was unremarkable--nice looking, but not handsome; alert, but not studied; conventionally dressed in a short-sleeved cotton shirt and khakis.

He could easily pass for an Irish oil field worker, Swedish SAS pilot, American engineer, German businessman--and had used all four identities.

At a kebab stand, Matt made a sharp turn into an alley, jostling the loaded Glock he carried in his canvas briefcase. Almost immediately a young Arab man in a white IZOD shirt standing outside of Big Apple Electronics looked up from his cell phone. The two men made eye contact as the big American closed the space between them.

This better be my man, Matt thought.

It was. He and the Arab exchanged no words, just an electronic key inside a paper cover. The cover read Al Bustan Palace Hotel; room number 723 was written in pencil. Smoothly, without stopping, Matt continued through the alley, exiting back onto Ruwi High Street. His partner stood waiting on the other side of the street. Matt flagged down a cab, and tall, pencil-thin Cody slid in.

"Take us up the corniche, then down into Old Muscat. My friend wants to see the Sultan Qaboos's palace," Cody said in Egyptian-accented Arabic.

"Naam," responded the driver.

"We're clean," Cody said out of the side of this mouth.

Matt pointed to the tattoo of a blonde peaking from under the sleeve of Cody's short-sleeved shirt. "Who's Gayle?"

"An ex-girlfriend. A mistake."

"We've all made a few of those."

As sleek new high-rises and apartment buildings greeted them, Matt relaxed into the back of the seat. After two tours with CIA Operations and five years with the National Counterterrorism Service (NCTS), this was old hat.

The U.S. Army major "on loan" to him remained tense while Matt's mind oscillated between his oldest daughter, Maggie, and the economic development of Oman. He admired both--Maggie for her grace and spirit, the Sultan of Oman for all he had achieved under his benevolent dictatorship.

Entering the coast road, the corniche, the taxi swerved right. To their right, a row of three-story buildings decorated with Islamic filigree and arches. To their left, past the lights, modern commercial vessels mingled with Arab-style dhows in the harbor.

They sat in silence admiring the serene beauty of the landscape. Matt rehearsed the mission ahead. He was interrupted by Cody's humming a tune and drumming on the armrest.

"Focus," Matt warned.

"I was thinking about this girl back home who sent me this download of her dancing to the song 'Polaris.' "

"I need your full attention."

"You got it, sir. I just love watching women...

 

"This novel is what thrillers aspire to be. Authors Berntsen and Pezzullo deliver a story that steams and dances like water on a red-hot skillet. The Walk-In is Tom Clancy for our era."

 

"The Walk-In is packed with what so many books lack: authenticity.  This is a thriller full of thrills, and while you're page-turning and nail-biting, be comforted by the fact that what's in it is fiction.  At least, so far..."

 

"Gary Berntsen knows scary stuff the rest of us can only guess at, and he shares some of his dangerous expertise in The Walk-In . . . The Walk-In roars across the hotspots of the globe and right to our front door . . . I couldn't put it down."

 

"Gripping . . . this honest account doesn't do the president any favors."

 

"A true and amazing story of how the war [in Afghanistan] was fought."

 

"A thrilling read . . . Berntsen did his best to try to get bin Laden; many in Washington have yet to do theirs."

 

"A real page turner . . . Berntsen is brave and bold and a true American hero."

 

"A compelling first-person, fly-on-the-wall account [and] a story that Berntsen had to fight to tell."

 

The Walk-In by Gary Berntsen
Continue Browsing		View Wish List