Shadow Soldier. Dana MartonЧитать онлайн книгу.
men would locate the girl again, and this time they would know what they were up against. An armed bodyguard. Maybe more. It didn’t matter. They would be ready. He had plans that would change his country, as well as the United States of America. Indeed, they might change the world.
But first he needed Nicola Barrington.
“THIS IS IT?” Nicola stared at the dubious-looking farmhouse as Alex pulled behind the building. The paint on the wood siding had peeled away years ago, only a few brownish-green patches hung on for dear life here and there. At least a third of the roof shingles had permanently departed, window blinds hung broken, and the porch railing appeared to have lain down to rest. The weeds they passed in front were respectable enough for a small jungle. The backyard was no better, dominated by an ancient oak and a dilapidated barn.
The uneasy feeling that had begun somewhere around her midsection when Alex had slowed the car in front of the place grew until tension stiffened her muscles and balled in her stomach. “Do we have to go in?”
“Yes.” His foot barely touching the gas, he let the car roll forward on the narrow path of gravel. “It’s safer inside. Get down. I’ll be right back.” He stopped the car and got out, leaving the motor running.
After a split second of hesitation, she did as she’d been told, knowing his orders were for her protection. She didn’t have to wait long before he came back and pulled the car into the barn.
He shut off the motor and got out to open the door for her. “We’re going in. Stay behind me.” He brought two Kevlar vests from the back of the car and handed her one. “Put this on.”
She tested the weight—surprisingly light. She had expected it to feel like old-fashioned armor, with steel plates inside, or something similar, but the vest didn’t feel like it held metal panels. The material was flexible. She fumbled with the Velcro.
“Hang on.” He stepped closer, his voice, despite having kept it low, echoed in the empty barn. “Lift your arm.”
She looked away while he secured the bulletproof vest on both sides. The large open space of the barn with all its shadows and smell of moldy hay made her nervous, though she knew he had checked it out before they pulled in. And having him in her personal zone made her jumpy, too. Massive in the shoulders, he towered at least a full foot over her.
She tended to be self-conscious about her height and weight. Richard, her ex-fiancé, had teased her plenty about both. She was “easier to jump over than run around,” he used to tell her. She’d stayed with him too long, wanting to please her father. God, she’d been stupid. Nothing she’d ever done pleased the man.
“There.” Alex stepped back then put on his own Kevlar before moving outside. He closed the barn door behind them but didn’t start out at once. He stayed motionless for several seconds while he surveyed their surroundings. Gun in hand, he led her across the small backyard, always one step ahead of her, shielding her from the road.
When they reached the house, he pushed her to the side, the gun in his right hand, his left on the door. It opened silently and did not, as Nicola had expected, fall off the hinges. The small entryway was dark. She could just make out the second door, solid steel by the looks of it.
Alex pushed a couple of buttons on the numeric keypad under the doorknob. “This way we don’t have to worry about a key.”
She followed him into the main part of the house and watched as he disabled the security system. He took off his vest and tossed it in the corner, shaking his head when she wanted to do the same. Weren’t they safe?
She looked around in the room that showed none of the neglect that plagued the exterior of the building. Tall ceilings, gleaming wood floors, spotless modern furniture and an entertainment system that would have made her own cry in envy. She had expected a card table with folding chairs and maybe a mattress on the floor. But despite the niceness of the place, she couldn’t relax. Maybe the house had bad feng shui. She stole a glance at Alex. “Do you come here often?”
“First time.”
“Oh.” She sat on the edge of the sprawling tan couch and gathered herself. “I’m ready to hear whatever it is you have to say.”
“As I told you before, I’m here for your protection.”
“I’d like to know your full name.”
“Why?”
Good question. To make her feel better? As a reassurance that he and all this was real and she hadn’t somehow crossed over into the twilight zone? “Please.”
He watched her for a moment. “I can’t.”
At least he hadn’t said, If I told you, I’d have to kill you. “Have you been following me long?”
“Two months or so.”
Of course. That was about how long he’d been coming to the gym. “Must have been convenient to get a nice workout and keep an eye on me at the same time.” She took a deep breath. “I want to know why.”
He leaned against the waist-high counter that separated the living room from a modern and well-equipped kitchen. “We came across intelligence that a U.S. senator and his family might be the target of a terrorist attack. Further investigation picked up your father’s name.”
Concern leaped in her chest. “Is he okay? Was he attacked?”
He shook his head. “He’s being watched 24/7. Any ideas why you’d be a target?”
The word target had that cold-knife-in-the-chest feel to it. She rubbed her solar plexus. “Not really. I’d assume it has to do with his position on some hot-button issue. There are always fanatics out there. Did he vote on anything controversial lately? I don’t follow his career.” She wasn’t about to apologize for it or explain further.
“We believe the threat is international.”
“China?”
He nodded. “Did he make any enemies while he was there? Anything you remember could be useful.”
“He wasn’t a popular ambassador.” Or rather, the U.S. had been unpopular at the time due to its protective edicts on Taiwan. Her father had been merely the messenger. She swallowed. Wasn’t there a saying about shooting the messenger? “He could probably give you more information. I was too young at the time to pay much attention.”
“I’m sure he already filled in the case investigators.”
She blinked as her brain raced to catch up. Investigators. Right. There’d be those. And God knows what else. Probably press. If there was one thing she hated, it was the media, but under the circumstances that would hardly be avoidable. The events of the morning played in her head in a never-ending loop. “How long do you think I’d have to stay here?”
“Until the shooter is dead or in custody and we figure out whether there are others involved. But even if there are, I don’t think another attack is likely. They rarely try to hit the same target twice.”
“I vote for that.”
He fiddled with the window locks. “In general, terrorists make their point by sowing terror, disrupting people’s lives. Sometimes they use the media attention to promote their cause. Whether or not the target dies is almost irrelevant.”
“How nice.” Good to know there were distinct guidelines to the business.
“Except, of course, for large-scale hits where the magnitude of damage is what they’re after and body count is more important. Individual cases like yours tend to be either warnings or revenge related.” His expression was sober, his eyes assessing every inch of the room while they talked.
“So which one do you think this is?”
He considered for a second. “Warning. I’m guessing you haven’t done much in China that would call for revenge. Your father maybe, but then they’d be going after him. By targeting