Read Online Betrayal by Will Jordan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Will Jordan
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Contemporary, Thrillers, Crime, Espionage, Mystery, Military, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Crime Fiction, Contemporary Fiction, Thrillers & Suspense, Spies & Politics
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new.’
‘Likewise.’
Ending his call with Franklin, Drake immediately hit the accept button to take one from Frost. He could only hope she had good news.
‘Yeah, Keira?’
‘I think we’ve got them,’ the young woman announced without preamble. ‘Our friends from the freeway dumped the ambulance at an underground parking lot on the east side of DC. Then they switched vehicles. They must have handled the transfer in a blind spot because I couldn’t see it on any of the security cameras, but thirty seconds later they left in a blue Chevrolet Express.’
Drake’s heartbeat had stepped up a gear now. ‘Did you get a look at the plates?’
‘No need,’ she explained. ‘I tracked them to a self-storage facility in Capitol Heights, and I doubt they’re there to offload old furniture.’
Drake was already up and moving, heading for his car, which was parked outside. ‘Good work. Text me the address.’
Capitol Heights was on the east side of the city, no more than a couple of miles away. Assuming he managed to avoid the worst of the traffic, he could be there in five minutes or less.
‘I hope you’re not planning on going in there alone?’
‘You know me,’ he evaded. He needed to know what the hell Anya was involved in, and one way or another he intended to get some answers.
‘That’s what I’m afraid of, Ryan. If …
she’s
there, I’d go in wearing fashionable Kevlar. And a tank.’
‘Duly noted,’ he promised, closing the phone down.
As he approached his car, Drake instinctively reached into his jacket and felt the reassuring shape of the Sig automatic. He might be going in for Anya, but he was under no illusions about what he might find when he got there. If the welcome was less than friendly, he would do what he had to do to defend himself.
Chapter 8
She couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. All around her was darkness, cloying and suffocating. The gag in her mouth pressed tight into her flesh, making it difficult to swallow and impossible to cry out. There was no way to summon help, no chance of escape.
With her hands and feet bound behind her back and a thick burlap sack drawn over her face, she lay helpless on the hard, cold, metal floor of the van. Her body, bruised and battered after the crash that had almost killed her, ached with the pain of countless small injuries, while her head throbbed as blood pulsed through it.
All she could do was lie there with the coarse material of the hood pressed suffocatingly against her face, listening to the sounds of the brutal torture session going on outside.
Even through the thick fabric and the metal walls of the van she was being held inside, she could hear Demochev’s agonised screams as his captors went about their grim work.
Anton Demochev, the man whose safety had been entrusted to her, was being tortured to death mere yards away. And she could do nothing to help him.
All she could do was lie there, fighting back the growing feeling of nausea as she listened to Demochev’s screams echoing around the interior of the van.
Ten minutes after leaving the coffee shop, Drake, along with five members of an Agency tactical team, were crammed into the rear compartment of a Ford Econoline Transit van as it hurtled through the eastern suburbs of DC.
With the Agency on alert after the freeway attack, they had several such units on standby throughout the city. A call to Franklin was all it had taken to place the nearest one at Drake’s disposal for a limited duration.
Drake’s role as a Shepherd team leader afforded him certain powers that most other government officials could only dream of. He could pass through US airports without being searched, enter most government buildings without difficulty, and even commandeer police and military resources in the pursuit of his objective. It wasn’t something he was expected to make use of on a regular basis, and such authority was always strictly monitored, but it did allow him to
‘Likewise.’
Ending his call with Franklin, Drake immediately hit the accept button to take one from Frost. He could only hope she had good news.
‘Yeah, Keira?’
‘I think we’ve got them,’ the young woman announced without preamble. ‘Our friends from the freeway dumped the ambulance at an underground parking lot on the east side of DC. Then they switched vehicles. They must have handled the transfer in a blind spot because I couldn’t see it on any of the security cameras, but thirty seconds later they left in a blue Chevrolet Express.’
Drake’s heartbeat had stepped up a gear now. ‘Did you get a look at the plates?’
‘No need,’ she explained. ‘I tracked them to a self-storage facility in Capitol Heights, and I doubt they’re there to offload old furniture.’
Drake was already up and moving, heading for his car, which was parked outside. ‘Good work. Text me the address.’
Capitol Heights was on the east side of the city, no more than a couple of miles away. Assuming he managed to avoid the worst of the traffic, he could be there in five minutes or less.
‘I hope you’re not planning on going in there alone?’
‘You know me,’ he evaded. He needed to know what the hell Anya was involved in, and one way or another he intended to get some answers.
‘That’s what I’m afraid of, Ryan. If …
she’s
there, I’d go in wearing fashionable Kevlar. And a tank.’
‘Duly noted,’ he promised, closing the phone down.
As he approached his car, Drake instinctively reached into his jacket and felt the reassuring shape of the Sig automatic. He might be going in for Anya, but he was under no illusions about what he might find when he got there. If the welcome was less than friendly, he would do what he had to do to defend himself.
Chapter 8
She couldn’t move, couldn’t see, couldn’t breathe. All around her was darkness, cloying and suffocating. The gag in her mouth pressed tight into her flesh, making it difficult to swallow and impossible to cry out. There was no way to summon help, no chance of escape.
With her hands and feet bound behind her back and a thick burlap sack drawn over her face, she lay helpless on the hard, cold, metal floor of the van. Her body, bruised and battered after the crash that had almost killed her, ached with the pain of countless small injuries, while her head throbbed as blood pulsed through it.
All she could do was lie there with the coarse material of the hood pressed suffocatingly against her face, listening to the sounds of the brutal torture session going on outside.
Even through the thick fabric and the metal walls of the van she was being held inside, she could hear Demochev’s agonised screams as his captors went about their grim work.
Anton Demochev, the man whose safety had been entrusted to her, was being tortured to death mere yards away. And she could do nothing to help him.
All she could do was lie there, fighting back the growing feeling of nausea as she listened to Demochev’s screams echoing around the interior of the van.
Ten minutes after leaving the coffee shop, Drake, along with five members of an Agency tactical team, were crammed into the rear compartment of a Ford Econoline Transit van as it hurtled through the eastern suburbs of DC.
With the Agency on alert after the freeway attack, they had several such units on standby throughout the city. A call to Franklin was all it had taken to place the nearest one at Drake’s disposal for a limited duration.
Drake’s role as a Shepherd team leader afforded him certain powers that most other government officials could only dream of. He could pass through US airports without being searched, enter most government buildings without difficulty, and even commandeer police and military resources in the pursuit of his objective. It wasn’t something he was expected to make use of on a regular basis, and such authority was always strictly monitored, but it did allow him to
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