by Jack Mars
The crowd would go berserk. The music would become louder than ever. The drums would shake the very air.
And as the players took the court, a man would appear in the darkness, away from the spotlight. He would have a fog machine strapped to his back. He would run up and down the edge of the court, firing his fog cannon.
It would seem almost normal, of course. Maybe the fog cannon was more appropriate for a rock concert, but hey, basketball was just another form of entertainment, wasn’t it? And the fog was just another part of the show. It was part of the tremendous excitement. The music… the lights… the great athletes… the fog.
He nodded to himself. It would all seem perfectly normal at first, and then it would begin to seem strange.
He would spray the very rich people at courtside, who had paid thousands of dollars each for their tickets. He would spray the less rich people three and five and ten rows deep. He would spray the players and the coaches. He would spray all the VIPS and the visiting dignitaries. He would spray the courtside announcers and the food vendors alike.
And he would get sprayed a little himself too, wouldn’t he?
Yes, he would. That was okay. It was good and it was right. He would die surrounded by his enemies, as he had dreamed of doing since he was a young man. Perhaps a panic would set in, and there would be a terrified stampede to exit the stadium. Or maybe everyone would remain docile, the game would begin, and only after a little while, as people became sick, would anyone realize what was happening.
The man would be interested to see.
As he reached the stairwell that lead upstairs to the arena floor, he felt a nervous tickle in his stomach. The stairwell was darkened. Shadows played on the walls.
He was the last one left. He knew that. The mission depended on him. Everything, the whole world, was counting on one solitary man. He had tried to pray about it earlier today, but he found himself without words. He asked for guidance and for courage. He asked for the strength to shoulder the burden. It was the best he could do.
Above his head, he could hear the opposing team’s introductions beginning.
“… Cleveland Cavaliers!”
A roar greeted this name. The man couldn’t tell if it was a roar of approval or one of derision.
A black man in a wheelchair rolled out of the darkness. He was a very big man, very muscular. He reminded the fog spraying man of people who lose the use of their legs, perhaps in a war, and then build immensely strong upper bodies and become wheelchair racers. The wheelchair man blocked the path between the fog spraying man and the staircase.
“Hey,” the wheelchair-bound man said. “What are you doing here?”
“I work here,” the man said. “I am wanted upstairs in just a few moments.”
The black man gestured with his head. “What do you have in that tank?”
“Fog. For the pregame introductions.”
“You got a virus in there? I mean, mixed in with the fog?”
“A virus?” the fog man said. “Why would I have a virus?”
“Because you’re a terrorist,” the black man said. “And you want to kill a lot of innocent people.”
The fog man had a moment when he could not understand what the other man was saying to him. It was impossible that anyone could know what he was doing. He was simply a long-time employee of the arena. The only person who knew anything else about him was a man named…
“Adam sent me,” the black man said.
The fog man’s hand strayed to the trigger on the fog cannon. He removed the safety locking device. He could fire the cannon here in the stairwell. It would not be as good as firing it upstairs in the arena. It would not be nearly as good.
“Back away or I’ll kill us both,” he said.
“No you won’t,” the black man.
“Yes, I will.” He didn’t want to spray it here. He wanted to make his way past this big strange man and his wheelchair.
The black man shook his head. “No. I know you won’t do it.”
The fog man was curious enough to ask. Perhaps he could play this riddle game for thirty seconds, and somehow bluff his way past. He would still make it to his destination in time.
“How do you know that?”
“Because you’ll already be dead,” another voice said.
The fog man turned to his right. A blond-haired man with red, bloodshot eyes stood there. They were the kind of eyes that hadn’t slept in days. The face itself betrayed no emotion, and certainly no mercy.
The man held a gun with a silencer attachment. He held it pointed directly at the fog man’s face.
The fog man only had time for one thought.
He didn’t think of how his finger caressed the trigger on his fog cannon.
He didn’t think of the family he had left behind more than ten years ago.
He didn’t think of waking up in paradise.
He thought: “No!”
*
“Would you say that was cold-blooded?” Luke said.
He stared at the body on the concrete floor of the stairwell. The smell of gunpowder rose in the confined space. Luke stepped well away from the pool of blood spreading around the ruined head, in case the man had already infected himself with the virus.
Ed sucked his teeth. “I’d say he was going to try and kill thousands of people. I’d say that failing that, he was ready to spray us both down with Ebola as a consolation prize. With those two things in mind… no, not cold-blooded. What else were you supposed to do? Arrest him?”
“I don’t know, man,” Luke said. “It’s been a long couple of days. Sometimes I get tired of killing. Ever feel that way?”
Ed shook his head. “Luke, I get tired of innocent people dying. Like all those people in Charleston.” He gestured at the man on the ground.
“This guy… nah.”
Above their heads, thousands of people pounded their feet again.
BOOM, BOOM, BOOM, BOOM…
And thousands of people started screaming, not in terror—but in delight.
CHAPTER FORTY FIVE
June 14th
9:15 a.m.
Arlington National Cemetery, Arlington, Virginia
Row upon row of white gravestones, thousands of them, climbed the green hills into the distance.
Six young Army Rangers carried the casket, draped in the American flag, to the open gravesite. Luke recognized three of them—they were the remains of his B team that dropped onto Omar bin Khalid’s yacht three days before. They carried their friend Charlie Something to his final resting place.
The boys looked sharp in their dress greens and their tan berets, but they also looked young. Too young. Not for the first time, Luke marveled at their youth. Their faces were hard with the pain of loss.
Just to his right, Gunner, wearing his dark blue suit, saluted the casket as it passed.
A three-man team of riflemen fired a volley into the air. Then another. Then another. Behind them, perhaps thirty yards away, a lone bugler played taps.
Fifty servicemen stood in formation near the grave. Perhaps another hundred people, most of them young, fanned out on the grass. They looked just like high school kids. Sommelier had only graduated last year.
Near the front was a row of white folding chairs. A middle-aged woman dressed in black was comforted by another woman. Near her, an honor guard made up of three Rangers, two Marines, and an Airman carefully took the flag from the casket and folded it. One of the Rangers lowered to one knee in front of the grieving woman, and presented the flag to her.
Luke and Gunner were close enough to hear what the Ranger said. In Luke’s mind, it was important for Gunner to hear what was said.
“On behalf of the President of the United States,” the young Ranger said, his voice breaking, “the United States Army, and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your son’s honorable and faithful service.”
Luke took a deep breath. He had been to too many milita
ry funerals in his time. He had been to too many funerals period. He had seen too many dead people.
When it was over, he and Gunner held hands and walked the hilly grounds. After a short time they found themselves at the John F. Kennedy gravesite. They stood for a moment at the edge of the two-hundred-year-old flagstones and watched the fire of the eternal flame.
“Who is this?” Gunner said.
“Well, this is the memorial for John F. Kennedy. His wife is also buried here, and his brothers Robert and Edward.”
“John F. Kennedy was the President, wasn’t he, Dad?”
“Yes, he was.”
“Did you work for him like you work for the new President?”
Luke shook his head. “President Kennedy died before I was born.”
Gunner seemed to think about that. A time before his dad was born? That must have been a long time ago.
Luke’s eye wandered to the low granite wall at the edge of the memorial. Just above the wall, he could see the Washington Monument across the river. The wall itself had numerous inscriptions taken from Kennedy’s inaugural address. Among several more famous lines from the speech, Luke kept returning to one section in particular:
LET EVERY NATION KNOW
WHETHER IT WISHES US WELL OR ILL
THAT WE SHALL PAY ANY PRICE
BEAR ANY BURDEN
MEET ANY HARDSHIP
SUPPORT ANY FRIEND
OPPOSE ANY FOE
TO ASSURE THE SURVIVAL
AND THE SUCCESS OF LIBERTY
Luke stared at those words until he felt a sharp tug on his hand.
“Dad?” Gunner said.
“Yes?”
“Do you want to go fishing with me today?”
Luke smiled.
“Yeah, monster,” he said. “More than anything.”
CHAPTER FORTY SIX
7:45 p.m.
The Capital Grille, Washington, DC
“How’s your steak?” Ed said.
The restaurant glimmered with wealth. DC power brokers huddled up in booths along the walls. Waiters in black vests hustled to and fro. Luke was surprised to see so many people out. The city was still under heightened security. Men in hazmat suits manned the streets corners, taking the temperatures of passersby with infrared thermometers, and watched over by squads of National Guard from four states.
Life went on, he supposed.
Luke and Ed sat at a round table for four with a white tablecloth and a small lamp in the middle of it. They had a bottle of wine and two fat steaks in front of them. Luke looked up at a large photograph of Jimi Hendrix on the wall. Ed’s crutches leaned against the table.
“It’s good,” Luke said. “Really good.” He didn’t have the heart to tell Ed that he was more of a ninety-nine-percent-fat-free chicken kind of guy.
“I love it here,” Ed said. “It’s great food.”
“You eat a lot of steak?” Luke said.
Ed smiled. “You kidding? I eat steak and eggs for breakfast.”
Luke took a swig of his wine. He chewed on a lump of meat and some garlic mashed potatoes. He had to admit the food was good. It was thick and heavy and good.
Ed was drinking tonight. He was talking more than Luke was accustomed to.
“How’s the wife?” Ed asked.
Luke shrugged. “She let me take my son out today. That’s a start.”
Ed’s eyes had a devilish glint. “And Trudy?”
“I called her yesterday. I told her if they really break up the Special Response Team, she can probably write her own ticket. I’ll give her the highest recommendation, tell anyone and everyone there’s nothing to this whole Don Morris thing.”
Ed shook his head. “Not exactly what I’m talking about.”
Luke didn’t like where this was going.
“That other thing?” Luke said. “She told me it was a mistake. I agreed with her.”
“She said she loved you. That’s what I heard right before you jumped out of the chopper.”
Luke nodded. “She said she meant that part. She loves me like a brother, the brother she never had.”
Ed nodded. “Uh-huh.” He took another sip of his wine. It looked like blood in his glass. “You think they’re going to break up the Special Response Team? For real?”
“I’m not sure if I care,” Luke said. “I’ve been talking about retiring a lot. Maybe it’s time. I’m toying with teaching college.”
Ed smiled. “I think you’ll make a lousy college professor.”
Just then, Luke’s phone started to ring. It was on the table in front of him. He had it on ringer and vibrate at the same time. On each ring, the phone shook and moved a quarter of an inch along the table.
Luke looked at it. He saw the number on the screen and his gut twisted.
It was the President.
“You going to answer that?” Ed said. “Or you want me to?”
He stared across the table at Ed.
“It’s her.”
Ed shrugged. He shoved a thick chunk of steak into his mouth. “Who else?”
A moment passed, and it continued to buzz. What could it be now, Luke wondered? A congratulations? Another crisis?
This time, he didn’t want to know. It was time to live his life again. He’d earned it.
Luke reached out and placed the phone face down on the table. Then, before it could buzz again, he powered it off.
Ed smiled back at him.
“More wine?” he asked, gesturing to the waiter.
This time, Luke smiled back.
“More wine,” he replied.
NOW AVAILABLE FOR PRE-ORDER!
TO BE PUBLISHED JUNE, 2016!
SITUATION ROOM
(A Luke Stone Thriller—Book #3)
SITUATION ROOM is book #3 in the bestselling Luke Stone thriller series, which begins with ANY MEANS NECESSARY (book #1), a free download with over 60 five star reviews!
A cyberattack on an obscure U.S. dam leaves thousands dead and the government wondering who attacked it, and why. When they realize it is just the tip of the iceberg—and that the safety of all of America is at stake—the President has no choice but to call in Luke Stone.
Head of an elite, disbanded FBI team, Luke does not want the job. But with new enemies—foreign and domestic—closing in on her from all sides, the President can only trust him. What follows is an action-packed international roller-coaster, as Luke learns that the terrorists are more sophisticated than anyone realizes, that the target is more extensive than anyone could image—and that there is very little time left to save America.
A political thriller with non-stop action, dramatic international settings, unexpected twists and heart-pounding suspense, SITUATION ROOM is book #3 in the Luke Stone series, an explosive new series that will leave you turning pages late into the night.
Book #4 in the Luke Stone series will be available soon.
SITUATION ROOM
(A Luke Stone Thriller—Book #3)
Jack Mars
Jack Mars is author of the bestselling LUKE STONE thriller series, which include the suspense thrillers ANY MEANS NECESSARY (book #1), OATH OF OFFICE (book #2) and SITUATION ROOM (book #3).
ANY MEANS NECESSARY (book #1), which has over 100 five star reviews, is available as a free download on Amazon!
Jack loves to hear from you, so please feel free to visit www.Jackmarsauthor.com to join the email list, receive a free book, receive free giveaways, connect on Facebook and Twitter, and stay in touch!
BOOKS BY JACK MARS
LUKE STONE THRILLER SERIES
ANY MEANS NECESSARY (Book #1)
OATH OF OFFICE (Book #2)
SITUATION ROOM (Book #3)
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