The Island of Dragons (Rockpools Book 4), Gregg Dunnett [books to improve english .txt] 📗

“Miguel. There’s a package here of some sort, by the generator room. I can’t see what it is.” The security guard struggled to open the top of the backpack, and then abruptly stepped back, his last action before his final words.

“Oh Christ. I think it’s a bomb.”

In the next second the detonation ripped through him. A huge flash of orange yellow lit up the whole compound, turning the snow to gold, but it was a sight that Keith would never see. His heavy outer jacket, offering such good protection against the cold, was useless against the vicious flying metal. It tore into his torso, removed his arms, flayed his legs, and clove his head into two separate parts.

And as the light flared away, there was just enough time – had anyone been looking – to see the blood lying crimson and dirty across the pure white snow.

Chapter Two

The cellphone, vibrating on her bedside table, woke Jessica West from her dream, but though it was still sloughing off her as she reached for the device, she’d already forgotten what it had been about. Neither did she care. The light from the little screen was so bright it hurt her eyes, but she made out the name of the caller: Black.

“What?” she managed, still sleepy.

“There’s been another one.”

She sat up a little in the bed, but not much, it was cold out there.

“Another what?”

“Another attack.”

The remnants of the dream hit her now, something about throwing a stick for a dog, though weirdly, inside an empty shopping mall. Even weirder, she didn’t own a dog.

“Can’t it wait till the morning?” The two of them had been assigned to work the string of attacks on local chemical and power plants. Domestic terrorism in theory, but in practice such low level stuff that it didn’t warrant a call in the middle of the night.

“Not this one. They’ve gone and killed someone.”

West’s eyes jerked a bit more open. She sat up more, suddenly alert.

“Who?”

“Security guard. Guess he was there at the wrong time.”

“Shit. He’s dead?”

“All seven hundred pieces of him.”

She swore again, then: “Where?”

“You might just like that bit, but I’ll tell you about it on the way to the airfield.”

“The airfield? Where are you?”

“I’m right outside your apartment. But wrap up warm, it’s cold as hell.”

The call went dead and West blinked into the darkness for a moment. Then she rolled out of bed, and fumbled about, finding some clothes. As she did so, she remembered what her partner had said, and added more.

Outside the street was silent, and appeared deserted, until Black flashed the lights in the black SUV. It was cold, she thought, as she crossed the road, but the forecast snow hadn’t materialized.

“Why are they giving us a plane? They cost thousands of dollars an hour.” West asked as she got in. She noticed the readout of the digital clock on the dash. Three twenty-seven. The temperature, thirty-two degrees. Freezing. She adjusted the heater, turning it higher, while Black started the engine.

“Because they don’t have a boat I suppose. Though don’t get excited. It’s not going to be a Learjet.”

West ignored the comment. “How do we know it’s the same guy?”

“Same MO. Small chemical plant, same curved pieces of stainless steel. Bomb packed in a backpack. It all matches.”

“Except this time he killed someone.”

Black made his hand into the shape of a gun and pretended to fire it at her. “All except that.”

West ignored that as well. “So where is it we’re flying to?”

“Ah-ha, it’s someplace you’re going to find familiar I think.” Black grinned at having information she did not, but he didn’t hold on to it for long. That wasn’t wise.

“Remember Lornea Island? You told me how you worked a murder case there, before you switched to the Agency?”

“Lornea Island?” West was silent for a moment, as the details came back to her. “Yeah.”

“Well that’s where it happened. Ain’t it just your lucky night?”

The car pulled away from the curb.

Black was right about the plane. When they arrived at the airfield used by the Agency, they were let straight in and directed onto the apron where a propeller plane was waiting for them, its lights on and door open. Two pilots were aboard, making their pre-flight checks. They waited ten minutes aboard until two other agents joined them – also bound for Lornea Island but a different case, the Agency had to stretch its resources after all – then the door was closed and the aircraft taxied to the end of the runway.

The flight wasn’t long, but dawn was already coming as they descended towards a wintry looking Lornea Island. West, who didn’t fly too happily, was concerned about the possibility of ice or snow on the runway, but said nothing, not wanting to embarrass herself in front of her colleagues. She was still in her first year after graduating from the academy at Quantico, although with her time as a detective she had considerably more actual investigative experience than her fellow newly minted special agents. So instead she simply watched out the window as the aircraft side-slipped down, lower and lower towards the hopefully-cleared runway.

“I hope they fitted this with sleds” Black said as they got down to less than twenty feet up and the little Lornea airfield still hadn’t appeared out of the side windows. But then the runway lights flashed beneath them, and a narrow strip of concrete appeared on both sides, snow heaped up on either side – the plows that had shoved it there must have started early. They bounced twice before the props changed angles and bit backwards into the air, roaring in protest as they slowed the plane down.

Out of the plane they found a car waiting, and West was first to grab the keys.

Chapter Three

By the time they arrived at the site, a thirty minute drive to the northern end of the island, the site was busy with local law enforcement. West wondered if she would