Free The Bleiberg Project (Consortium Thriller) by David Khara

shaky.”
    “Not any more, Your Excellency. Not since last month.” No smile had ever been smugger.
    Himmler leaped up. “Are you telling me…”
    “Yes, Your Excellency. I still need to improve my formula, but thanks to controlled exposure to radiation, with a chemical additive, I am able to improve, stably and permanently, the performances of the human body.”

CHAPTER 14
    T hat bitch killed Mom. Bernard showed me the screen captures from the hospital security tapes sent to his cell phone. He expects the autopsy results to confirm his hunch. While I’m on a plane headed to the Old World, a doctor’s chopping up my mother and digging around in her organs. The urge to puke makes my gut spasm.
    Strangely, my heart in my mouth, tears choking in my throat, I feel whole today. Despite the grief, guilt and the killers on my heels, I feel alive. I want to live. I need to unravel my father’s secrets, slaughter the woman who killed my mother and unmask the shadowy figures behind all this. Oh yes, I nearly forgot. And smash my fist into the hairless giant’s face.
    “Very pleasant, business class.” My neighbor stretches like a cat. She is dwarfed by the huge seat. Ouch, she’s expecting a reply. I can see it in her eyes.
    “I think three grand one way per person allows us to expect a little comfort.”
    She pouts. It suits her. “Money. That’s all men ever think of, isn’t it?”
    I glance at her small but firm chest filling her shirt. “Not exactly. You’d be surprised by the number of young women who share that passion.”
    “Count me out.”
    Really? An exception. “OK. What does it for you? Sports cars, a beach home in Florida, ripped six-pack abs?”
    “None of the above. I like guns. The moment the bullet shoots out, the slight recoil tingling in my wrist and up to my shoulder. Mmmm.”
    She’s nuts! “Whatever floats your boat,” I mumble, fiddling with the controls to recline my seat.
    She lets out a melodious giggle. “I’m kidding. Bernard warned me you weren’t a laugh a minute, but I didn’t expect to travel with an undertaker.” She glances up at me.
    Sprawled across the arm of the seat, she looks like she’s about to rip my shirt off. “Hey, you want a quick flashback on my life? Bernard did brief you, didn’t he?”
    “Sure. He is amazingly organized, and his records are second to none. You’re right, your file beats all comers for twisted, unfunny shit. I can’t decide what’s saddest—your dad leaving home or the car accident that killed the little girl.”
    She’s crossed the line. Screw my fantasies. Either I punch her, or I jump out of the plane to get away from her. Before I can react, she rubs salt into the wound. “Can’t escape me, huh? That must be annoying. And it’s tricky to get in a good shot in such a cramped space. I really feel sorry for you.”
    Can she read my mind? I lean closer. There’s no point letting the entire business class hear. “Listen up, Buffy. We have another five hours on this plane. If you back off, you’ll be doing us both a favor. Are you here to keep me safe or bust my balls?”
    She wipes that shit-eating grin off her face. Leans closer, too. Her lips brush against my ear. Now I’m tingling. “There are two instances when a guardian angel is no use. When an assailant is prepared to die in order to take out the target. And when the target is just begging to die. Your file amply demonstrated your vulnerability to suicidal impulses. Bernard gave me a mission, and I intend to see it through. I can’t do it without you on my side.”
    “How does that explain your half-assed wisecracks?”
    “A suicide case doesn’t bust a gasket when you grind his gears.”
    Busted! Pop psychology CIA-style. Signs of intelligent life detected. Looks like we have a match on our hands.
    Aboard the same plane, Eytan was cursing economy and its seats for dwarves and children. Fortunately, the airlines separated the wheat from the chaff and spared business