Rogue Commander, Leo Maloney [classic books for 11 year olds TXT] 📗

nodded slightly as he watched the frenetic activities. “Well, give it a shot. The short version.”

“I used you,” she said. “I knew you’d disobey orders and follow your own instincts, based on that stubborn sense of honor you’ve got. I couldn’t task you formally because as you saw from my message, there’s a leak in the plumbing.”

“I got that much,” said Morgan. “But you didn’t really trust me either.”

“Like you trusted Collins? Trust is a liability in this business,” Diana said. “But I also owe you for using Jenny to clear you.”

“That’s three.” He glanced sideways at her and grinned. “Must be a record for you.”

“And you. Don’t push it.”

“It’s all good,” Morgan said. “Can’t wait to hear Jenny’s side.”

“She did well.”

“Yup. I didn’t marry her for her looks.” He grinned harder. “Well, maybe a little.”

The door of the Team Room banged open, and Alex walked out to grab a range finder from a runner. Morgan saw her, stuck two fingers in his mouth, and whistled. She turned and jogged over. She was already geared up, all in black tactical, with fingerless gloves and a headset rig. Morgan took her face in both of his hands and looked in her eyes.

“It’s times like these when a father should say something meaningful,” Morgan said. “Something poetic, maybe about faith and family and love.” Alex said nothing. Her eyes gleamed. Morgan smiled. “Go zero your rifle in the sim. And get yourself a balaclava but no scarf. You’re gonna be on the skids, and it’ll be cold up there tonight. Five minutes. Hustle up.”

Alex grinned, pulled away, and ran.

“That was very touching,” Diana said. “For you.”

Morgan dropped his voice to a murmur. “You think it’s Kirby, right?”

“No, you hope it’s Kirby. But if you find yourself flying into an ambush, we’ll know.”

The Team Room door burst open again. Spartan and Diesel, both fully geared up and bristling with weapons, marched straight up to Diana and Morgan. Their expressions were tight, dark and brooding.

“What’s up?” Morgan said. “We’re heading for the strip in five.”

“It’s Bishop,” Spartan said. “He’s MIA.”

“What do you mean, missing?” Diana said.

“I mean missing. As in AWOL. As in...gone.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Jenny Morgan was trying to stifle her sobs.

She lay in utter darkness, all curled up in a ball, her hand clamping her mouth as the tears streamed from her eyes and waves of nausea stung her gullet. She was on her right side, knees pinned to her chest, her hip grinding and bumping on the carpeted floor. It was freezing cold, the noises deafening. She’d never in her life felt so helpless, or scared, or alone.

She was locked in the trunk of her own car.

“Help me, Dan,” she moaned into her drool-soaked palm. “God in heaven, please help me.”

But Dan wasn’t there, or anyone else who could help her. The closest human being was the madman driving her car.

How could I have been so stupid? She admonished herself as the car hit a rut on the highway. Her head bounced up and smacked the metal trunk. She gasped and gripped her stinging skull with both hands. I’m no spy! That’s him, not me. What the hell was I thinking?

She rubbed the aching spot on the left side of her head until the throbbing calmed down. Then she took a deep breath and smeared the tears from her face.

Think, she demanded of herself. Think! What would Dan say?

That’s all it took. She asked something of her brain, and it delivered. Dan had said, “If you’re ever in trouble, just talk to yourself.”

She had asked him where he had gotten such a silly idea, and he had answered, “Because whenever I’m in trouble, the one person I always want to talk to is the wisest, smartest person I’ve ever met. You.”

Then they’d made love. She prayed that they would again someday. But, for now, she was in the deepest shit she had ever been in, so what did she have to lose?

“You’d better start thinking fast now, or you’re going to die,” she said softly.

How long had that bastard been driving? She tried to look at her watch, but it didn’t have a luminous dial. Maybe an hour, she guessed. Maybe more.

She’d been cruising over to Home Depot, just to drop off an old cell phone for recycling, and pick up some paint for the mud room when it happened. Her cell phone had buzzed, with no caller ID, but ever since meeting Diana Bloch she’d been answering everything, just in case.

“Hello?”

“Mrs. Morgan?”

“Yes?”

“I’m calling on behalf of Mr. Lincoln.” It was a different voice, dark and authoritative, and right away her heart had started thumping. “Ms. Bloch would like to meet with you.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. What is your current location?” the man asked.

“Well, I’m in Andover, heading over to Home Depot.”

“Wait one, please,” he said and then, after half a minute of silence, “Please drive to the West Parish Garden Cemetery. Do you know where that is?”

“It’s in West Andover.”

“Very good. Half an hour, the main entrance.”

“Okay,” Jenny said as the line went silent. And she’d actually grinned with the thrill.

Idiot. She belittled herself now.

So she’d turned around again, picked up Broadway, crossed over the Merrimack River, and headed south for the cemetery. It was, of course, all dark and spooky, and no other cars were in the parking lot. She got out of the Camry, walked to the high stone archway, and was happy that at least there was moonlight.

I’m not really dressed for this. She was wearing jeans, sneakers, a college sweatshirt, and her black leather car coat. She laughed at herself as she leaned back on the thick stone buttress—wishing she had a cigarette so she’d at least look the part. But then her mirth ended.

A black, two-door Audi rolled into the lot and parked next to her Camry. A man got out. He was huge, black, and bald, with gleaming eyes and wide nostrils. He wore black cargo trousers and a thick motorcycle jacket with a turned-up