Free Wildfire by Ken Goddard Page A
Authors: Ken Goddard
CONTRACT. HE SEEMED VERY UNHAPPY. WE AGREED TO MEET AGAIN AT BOSTON COMMONS, SOLDIERS AND SAILORS MONUMENT, AT 3:30 p.m. I WAITED UNTIL 4:45 p.m., BUT HE DIDN'T SHOW. STRONGLY, REPEAT STRONGLY, ADVISE THAT YOU
Crowley froze when he heard a noise. It sounded as if it had come from the bathroom. He immediately got up and moved away from the computer and the door.
"Oh, no, that can't be," he whispered faintly to himself as he backed up against the curtained window, staring at the short hallway leading to the locked hallway door.
The bathroom was to the left, the front door straight ahead, and the closet door to the right. From where he was standing, he could see that the chain latch was in place and the deadbolt was turned to a horizontal position.
He knew it was impossible for someone to have come in through the door, but he rechecked the bathroom and the closet anyway, just to be sure. Reassured, he returned to the computer. There were two messages waiting on the screen:
CROWLEY, WHAT'S THE MATTER?
And:
CROWLEY, ARE YOU THERE? IF SO, ANSWER IMMEDIATELY.
Sounds like they're worried, Crowley thought. Good. Serves them goddamned right, what I had to go through.
YES, I'M HERE. SORRY, THOUGHT I HEARD SOMEONE OUTSIDE THE DOOR.
IS RISER THERE WITH YOU?
Good God, no, Crowley thought, stunned and shaken by the idea. Didn't they understand what was happening up here? No, of course not. Why should they?
NO.
WHERE IS HE?
I DON'T KNOW. I TOLD YOU, HE NEVER SHOWED UP AT THE MONUMENT THE SECOND TIME. WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT?
He heard the noise again, only this time it was louder and more distinct. Like a soft thunk.
Feeling his heart start to pound, Crowley slowly got up from the chair and moved toward the locked and bolted front door. Walking as silently as he could on the thick carpet, he inched himself forward until he could peer through the peephole in the door.
Nothing.
Releasing a pent-up breath, William Devonshire Crowley stepped away from the door with a smile, glanced into the empty bathroom once more, and then opened the door to check the closet.
That was when he began to scream.
Leonard Harris and his youthful apprentice were waiting anxiously at their computer terminal when the black screen suddenly came alive.
THIS IS RISER.
Even though they were several hundred miles away from the Westin Hotel, and completely isolated by a carefully crafted electronic message-switching system, both men felt their chest muscles tighten around their hearts.
Finally Harris reached for the keyboard.
YES, RISER. GO AHEAD.
I UNDERSTAND YOU WISH TO RENEGOTIATE. FINE. THE PRICE IS NOW SIX HUNDRED HOUSAND EACH. YES OR NO. DECIDE NOW. THERE WILL BE NO FURTHER NEGOTIATIONS.
The two men—student and teacher—looked at each other for a long moment before Harris cocked his head and then waited. The implication was clear. The time had come for Eric to accept responsibility for his actions and thereby take his place among the adult sharks. Either that or sink back down into safe obscurity while his mentor made the yes-or-no decision.
Finally, albeit hesitantly, the young man nodded in agreement.
Leonard Harris's short, stubby fingers moved quickly across the keyboard.
WE AGREE.
GOOD.
Harris paused thoughtfully, and then began typing again.
WHAT ABOUT CROWLEY?
The was another long pause while the computer screen remained blank, then:
THERE WILL BE NO CHARGE FOR CROWLEY.
Chapter Four
"No, that's not true at all, Jonathan." Samuel Ericson Tisbury spoke calmly into the phone. "I do understand your concerns. It's your risk assessment that I'm questioning."
Tisbury paused to listen.
"No, Jonathan, it's not that. I just find it incredibly difficult to believe that after all this time we could still be the subject of a legal inquiry."
Harold Ericson Tisbury, Sr., walked into the corner penthouse office just in time to hear
Crowley froze when he heard a noise. It sounded as if it had come from the bathroom. He immediately got up and moved away from the computer and the door.
"Oh, no, that can't be," he whispered faintly to himself as he backed up against the curtained window, staring at the short hallway leading to the locked hallway door.
The bathroom was to the left, the front door straight ahead, and the closet door to the right. From where he was standing, he could see that the chain latch was in place and the deadbolt was turned to a horizontal position.
He knew it was impossible for someone to have come in through the door, but he rechecked the bathroom and the closet anyway, just to be sure. Reassured, he returned to the computer. There were two messages waiting on the screen:
CROWLEY, WHAT'S THE MATTER?
And:
CROWLEY, ARE YOU THERE? IF SO, ANSWER IMMEDIATELY.
Sounds like they're worried, Crowley thought. Good. Serves them goddamned right, what I had to go through.
YES, I'M HERE. SORRY, THOUGHT I HEARD SOMEONE OUTSIDE THE DOOR.
IS RISER THERE WITH YOU?
Good God, no, Crowley thought, stunned and shaken by the idea. Didn't they understand what was happening up here? No, of course not. Why should they?
NO.
WHERE IS HE?
I DON'T KNOW. I TOLD YOU, HE NEVER SHOWED UP AT THE MONUMENT THE SECOND TIME. WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT?
He heard the noise again, only this time it was louder and more distinct. Like a soft thunk.
Feeling his heart start to pound, Crowley slowly got up from the chair and moved toward the locked and bolted front door. Walking as silently as he could on the thick carpet, he inched himself forward until he could peer through the peephole in the door.
Nothing.
Releasing a pent-up breath, William Devonshire Crowley stepped away from the door with a smile, glanced into the empty bathroom once more, and then opened the door to check the closet.
That was when he began to scream.
Leonard Harris and his youthful apprentice were waiting anxiously at their computer terminal when the black screen suddenly came alive.
THIS IS RISER.
Even though they were several hundred miles away from the Westin Hotel, and completely isolated by a carefully crafted electronic message-switching system, both men felt their chest muscles tighten around their hearts.
Finally Harris reached for the keyboard.
YES, RISER. GO AHEAD.
I UNDERSTAND YOU WISH TO RENEGOTIATE. FINE. THE PRICE IS NOW SIX HUNDRED HOUSAND EACH. YES OR NO. DECIDE NOW. THERE WILL BE NO FURTHER NEGOTIATIONS.
The two men—student and teacher—looked at each other for a long moment before Harris cocked his head and then waited. The implication was clear. The time had come for Eric to accept responsibility for his actions and thereby take his place among the adult sharks. Either that or sink back down into safe obscurity while his mentor made the yes-or-no decision.
Finally, albeit hesitantly, the young man nodded in agreement.
Leonard Harris's short, stubby fingers moved quickly across the keyboard.
WE AGREE.
GOOD.
Harris paused thoughtfully, and then began typing again.
WHAT ABOUT CROWLEY?
The was another long pause while the computer screen remained blank, then:
THERE WILL BE NO CHARGE FOR CROWLEY.
Chapter Four
"No, that's not true at all, Jonathan." Samuel Ericson Tisbury spoke calmly into the phone. "I do understand your concerns. It's your risk assessment that I'm questioning."
Tisbury paused to listen.
"No, Jonathan, it's not that. I just find it incredibly difficult to believe that after all this time we could still be the subject of a legal inquiry."
Harold Ericson Tisbury, Sr., walked into the corner penthouse office just in time to hear
Similar Books
Trivial Pursuits (Chicago On Ice Book 2)
Aven Ellis
Catch Me a Cowboy
Katie Lane
Itsy Bitsy Spider (Emma Frost #1)
Willow Rose
A Slow Walk to Hell
Patrick A. Davis
A Death of Distinction
Marjorie Eccles
Bones Never Lie
Kathy Reichs
The Hitwoman and the Neurotic Witness
J. B. Lynn
Medalon
Jennifer Fallon
All Gone
Stephen Dixon
Watcher
Valerie Sherrard