Read Online Ultimate Power by Arno Joubert - Free Book Online

Henrie Dumas rushed in waving a black envelope with gold embossed lettering. “Madam President, we’ve received another threat.”
    “What does it say?”
    Dumas sucked in rasping breaths. “A bomb…is going to…explode.”
    “What is the target?” Bruce asked, grabbing the envelope.
    Dumas stood up straight and took a deep breath. “New York.”

Laiveaux clutched his wrists, massaging the lesions left by the rough sisal rope. He opened and closed his hands, trying to get the blood flow circulating through his arms. He unscrewed the bottle of cheap whisky Moktar had left him, and took a swig. He held up the bottle to the other prisoner. “Want some?”
    Agent Jake Turner smiled, then took the bottle from Laiveaux.
    Laiveaux glanced around. He was in a small prison cell without any windows, a sturdy door the only way to exit the room. The heavy wooden door looked more solid than the mud walls. It was damn hot inside, the air dry and stale and dusty.  
    “You here to rescue me?” Turner asked with a smile, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
    Laiveaux chuckled. “Funny.” Bloody traitor.
    Earlier that morning, a young woman wearing a burka had brought him a meal. She spooned the milky slop into his mouth, the guards refusing to untie him so that he could eat by himself. They muttered some words to each other in the dialect of the nomadic Kandahar people. Outside kids chattered and laughed, chickens clucked and a lone dog barked at the passersby. He was probably tied to a pole. Probably by the same sick people that had tied Laiveaux to his chair.
    After he had told Moktar the rubbish he thought he wanted to hear, they had cut the rope and handed him a bottle of cheap whisky. Moktar had said it was all he could find. They gave him a meal and allowed him to eat by himself.
    Laiveaux guessed they were somewhere in the Rigestan desert region of Afghanistan, probably a small village, recently settled. Due to the droughts in the area, the people moved around more often, not having permanent bases that they returned to as they had done in the past. They were always looking for more fertile regions and places that had some water.
    Laiveaux’s plan had been executed to perfection. Al Qaeda were always on standby, looking for opportunities to kidnap high ranking agents. When he announced over his unsecured cell phone that he was taking Yumi to La Cite des Sciences and that he wanted minimal protection that evening, that he wanted to take a walk with his goddaughter in private, they took the bait. His undercover agent got the exact details of when and where they would execute the kidnapping.
    Jake Turner gave him back the bottle of whisky. “Thanks.”
    “How have you been, Agent Turner?”  
    He shrugged. “Okay, under the circumstances.”
    The man had been kidnapped by Al Qaeda in Kabul a year ago. They hadn’t requested a ransom, only accepted responsibility for the kidnapping.  
    Then Laiveaux’s undercover agent in Kabul had been murdered and hung in the town square.  
    The next target was Kasra Naheed, a politician from the house of elders and destined to become the next Afghani President. He was killed in a car bomb.  
    “Naheed is dead.”
    “I heard,” Turner said. “I wasn’t there to protect him. I feel like it’s all my fault.”
    Laiveaux nodded but said nothing. He had given Bruce until fifteen hundred today. They were probably on their way. He chuckled. If it was up to Alexa, she would have stormed the place already. The clock in his head said he had another four hours.
    “How are you keeping up, old chap?” Turner asked. “You’re looking a bit under the kosh.”
    He turned to face Turner. The man was a senior agent, British, a veteran with more than thirty years in the field. But he also liked the high-life, nice cars and pretty woman. Laiveaux studied him. He looked in good health, fat and happy. The guy called Rehan would come fetch Turner every couple of hours. Laiveaux heard