Chapter SevenFrank: 1988The car door caught Frank sharply on the knees and he tumbled back. It was a ratty 1967 Ford Fairlane, peeling white paint, Alabama plate number four-three-seven-five-something, hard to see in the moonlit semi-darkness.
It hadn’t looked like any trouble. Just a driver. Another Secret Service trainee, Jake Hellman, had him covered.
Frank had gone to the back door of the beater car and someone lying on the floor had kicked the door open, hard, just as he’d looked in. He’d fallen on his a*s just like Hale at the carjacking. He fell on the red Georgia dirt of the Federal Law Enforcement Training Center.
Then his shins stung like hell as the lower edge of the door scraped across them.
He shot out a palm strike and rammed it full force against the car door before its
