Free The Hades Factor by Robert Ludlum; Gayle Lynds

just shook his head.

“You read every document?” al-Hassan snapped. “Every file? Looked in every drawer?”

“Like you told us.”

“Under everything? Behind anything that moved?”

“Hey, we ain't stupid.”

Al-Hassan had strong doubts about that. He found most Westerners lazy and incompetent. But from the mess in the office, he decided they had been thorough this time.

“Very well. You will now erase any indications of a search. Everything is to be as it was.”

While they grumbled and returned to work, al-Hassan slipped on a second, thicker pair of white rubber gloves. He took a small refrigerated metal container from a leather case, released a pressure seal, and extracted a glass vial. He carefully removed a hypodermic syringe from the case, filled it from the sealed vial, and injected Sophia in the vein of her left ankle.

At the prick of the needle, she stirred and moaned.

The three men heard. They turned to look, and their faces went ashen.

“Complete your tasks,” al-Hassan said harshly.

The men dropped their gazes. As they finished straightening the office, al-Hassan put the used syringe inside a plastic container, sealed it, and returned it to the leather case. His men indicated they were finished. Al-Hassan inspected the office once more. Satisfied, he ordered them to leave. He gave one final glance at the now-motionless Sophia and saw the sweat that had beaded up on her face. When she groaned, he smiled and followed them out.

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CHAPTER

Covert One 1 - The Hades Factor
SEVEN

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4:14 A.M.

Thurmont, Maryland

A light wind rustled through bushes and trees, carrying the stink of apples rotting on the ground. Jon Smith's three-story, saltbox-style house was set back into the looming shoulder of Catoctin Mountain. The place was dark, not even a porch light to welcome him home, which made him think Sophia must still be at the lab. But he had to be sure.

He was a block away, crouched behind an SUV, as he studied his house, yard, and street. He saw telltale signs: The trunk of the old apple tree was too thick where someone stood behind it, watching. Farther up the block, almost hidden by two tall oak trees, the hood of a black Mercedes protruded from a driveway of neighbors Smith knew owned only a 2000 Buick Le Sabre, which they always parked in the garage.

Considering how quickly he had driven home from Georgetown on the almost-deserted highway and roads, there was no way the pair waiting here could have arrived first. Which meant this was a second surveillance team, and that alarmed him.

The sentry in front could see the driveway and garage doors. There was probably a man in back, too, to cover the rear of the house and garage. But Smith could see no reason to waste a man on the side of the garage away from the house.

He felt the familiar hollow of fear in his stomach every soldier knows, but also the hot rush of adrenaline. He slipped down an alley and sprinted behind the houses until past his street. Then he recrossed out of sight of the hunters. Beginning to sweat again, he worked through a stand of sycamores to the near side of his garage and slithered the last, five yards on his elbows and belly.

He listened. There was no sound behind the house. He raised up to peer inside the garage.

And sighed with relief. It was empty. Sophia's old green Dodge was gone. She must have been at Fort Detrick all this time. If so, she had never received his message, and that explained the lack of a porch light. He breathed deeply, instantly feeling better.

Retracing his path, he hurried back to his Triumph and drove to a phone booth a quarter mile away. He could not wait to hear her voice. He dialed her work number. After four rings, the machine picked up. “I'm out of my office or in the lab. Please leave a message. I'll return your call as soon as possible. Thank you.”

The bright sound of her strong voice gave him a sharp pang and another feeling he could not