kick the lid up, not wanting to touch anything, and relieved himself. Man, I’ve been needing this! He was just about done when the door to the bathroom opened. He looked over his shoulder, surprised because he was sure he had locked it.
“I’ll be just a minute.”
No response. He zipped up his fly and turned around. There were two slight popping sounds then a searing pain in his chest. He fell to the floor, one hand gripping his chest, the other trying to hold onto the sink. A few seconds later he was prone on the floor, bleeding out. The man calmly walked out of the bathroom, the chime on the door signaling his departure.
The life draining from him, Milton reached for the Blackberry on his hip and pulled it loose. With his last few ounces of strength, he typed a message into it, pressed Send , then collapsed, the device landing in the now large pool of blood. Bright spots of light flashed before his closed eyes as the life sustaining oxygen stopped reaching his brain. Then nothing.
Classified Airstrip
On a military airstrip twenty miles away, in a closed hangar at the end of the runway, members of Bravo Team loaded equipment onto a Gulfstream V, while nearby, Dawson studied the screen of one of Red’s several laptops.
“Confirmed, B.D., he just boarded.”
“Okay, wheels up in five minutes!” Dawson ordered. Outside, the wind whipped around as a Black Hawk helicopter touched down. The massive doors of the hangar opened and it taxied through. The four Bravo Team members who had been tailing Milton jumped out and ran toward the G-V. The computers were packed up, stairs stowed, and the door sealed, leaving empty tables and a lone helicopter.
The G-V’s mighty engines powered up, filling the cabin with engine noise as they taxied out onto the airstrip. Dawson looked out the window to see a flatbed truck pull up to transport their chopper to base. There would be no record of it ever having been there. He laid his head back onto the leather seat and let out a deep breath, preparing himself for a few hours of rack time. Who knows when I’ll get the next chance? Around him, his men did the same.
Looking at the two new members of his team, he nodded in approval. He hadn't worked with them before, but knew from their records they would make fine additions. Mickey would be hard to replace; he was so gung-ho and loyal he would execute orders without question, now that he had learned his lesson with the Smitty incident. He was relieved to have found Mickey alive in the cave when they returned to search. It would take months of recovery, but he’d make it back – he was tough. Spaz was another story. Just thinking the kid’s name made him smile. That guy was the life of the party . He had already told Spaz’s wife about the unfortunate training accident. He hated having to lie to the families, but it was necessary for operational security. What made it worse was they knew they were being lied to.
He was asleep before they reached cruising altitude.
Somewhere over the Atlantic
Acton stared at the seatbelt warning light, waiting for it to go out as the plane climbed toward thirty-five thousand feet. Finally the gentle gong rang through the cabin. Acton immediately whipped off his seatbelt, rose and approached the nearest flight attendant. “Do you have any Internet terminals that I could access?”
“Yes, sir, on the upper deck there are several.” She pointed to a curving staircase a few feet away.
“Thanks,” he said as he rushed toward them. In Mexico he had only had about fifteen minutes to find out whom to send the skull to. Once he had found out Professor Palmer was the foremost expert and was in London, he had headed for the courier’s office. Now he needed to complete his research.
As he neared the top of the stairs he noticed a row of terminals lining one wall. All were taken except one. He quickly sat in front of it. He brought up Google and typed in professor laura palmer british
“I’ll be just a minute.”
No response. He zipped up his fly and turned around. There were two slight popping sounds then a searing pain in his chest. He fell to the floor, one hand gripping his chest, the other trying to hold onto the sink. A few seconds later he was prone on the floor, bleeding out. The man calmly walked out of the bathroom, the chime on the door signaling his departure.
The life draining from him, Milton reached for the Blackberry on his hip and pulled it loose. With his last few ounces of strength, he typed a message into it, pressed Send , then collapsed, the device landing in the now large pool of blood. Bright spots of light flashed before his closed eyes as the life sustaining oxygen stopped reaching his brain. Then nothing.
Classified Airstrip
On a military airstrip twenty miles away, in a closed hangar at the end of the runway, members of Bravo Team loaded equipment onto a Gulfstream V, while nearby, Dawson studied the screen of one of Red’s several laptops.
“Confirmed, B.D., he just boarded.”
“Okay, wheels up in five minutes!” Dawson ordered. Outside, the wind whipped around as a Black Hawk helicopter touched down. The massive doors of the hangar opened and it taxied through. The four Bravo Team members who had been tailing Milton jumped out and ran toward the G-V. The computers were packed up, stairs stowed, and the door sealed, leaving empty tables and a lone helicopter.
The G-V’s mighty engines powered up, filling the cabin with engine noise as they taxied out onto the airstrip. Dawson looked out the window to see a flatbed truck pull up to transport their chopper to base. There would be no record of it ever having been there. He laid his head back onto the leather seat and let out a deep breath, preparing himself for a few hours of rack time. Who knows when I’ll get the next chance? Around him, his men did the same.
Looking at the two new members of his team, he nodded in approval. He hadn't worked with them before, but knew from their records they would make fine additions. Mickey would be hard to replace; he was so gung-ho and loyal he would execute orders without question, now that he had learned his lesson with the Smitty incident. He was relieved to have found Mickey alive in the cave when they returned to search. It would take months of recovery, but he’d make it back – he was tough. Spaz was another story. Just thinking the kid’s name made him smile. That guy was the life of the party . He had already told Spaz’s wife about the unfortunate training accident. He hated having to lie to the families, but it was necessary for operational security. What made it worse was they knew they were being lied to.
He was asleep before they reached cruising altitude.
Somewhere over the Atlantic
Acton stared at the seatbelt warning light, waiting for it to go out as the plane climbed toward thirty-five thousand feet. Finally the gentle gong rang through the cabin. Acton immediately whipped off his seatbelt, rose and approached the nearest flight attendant. “Do you have any Internet terminals that I could access?”
“Yes, sir, on the upper deck there are several.” She pointed to a curving staircase a few feet away.
“Thanks,” he said as he rushed toward them. In Mexico he had only had about fifteen minutes to find out whom to send the skull to. Once he had found out Professor Palmer was the foremost expert and was in London, he had headed for the courier’s office. Now he needed to complete his research.
As he neared the top of the stairs he noticed a row of terminals lining one wall. All were taken except one. He quickly sat in front of it. He brought up Google and typed in professor laura palmer british
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