Read Online Blaze of Glory by Jeff Struecker, Alton Gansky - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jeff Struecker, Alton Gansky
Tags: Fiction, Suspense, Suspense fiction, War & Military, Political Science, Men's Adventure, Terrorism, Political Freedom & Security, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder
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had traveled the world with her parents, and this had been one of her favorite spots to visit. Her mother loved Paris; her father London; both loved Mexico.
Water brimmed her eyes and she forced her mind away from those thoughts.
“He wishes to see you.”
Delaram didn’t bother looking up. She knew the voice. Knew it too well.
She rose and walked from the coffee shop, the dark-skinned man by her side.
DELARAM SAT IN THE backseat of an American-made SUV and watched the country scenery scroll by lit by a bone-colored moon. The skyline of Rome and its thick traffic receded in the distance. Delaram had been down this road countless times over the last two weeks. Each time she said it would be her last. She followed these men because she had to, and so tight was their grip on her mind and soul she had been unable to resist. Their cocky attitude allowed her to live on her own as long as they never had to go looking for her.
She should have run.
She should have sought help.
She should have done so many things, but she did nothing. How could she?
Her stomach began to roil as the first images invaded her mind again, just as they had a thousand times before. Just as they did every hour, sometimes every minute.
The pictures were horrible. The threats horrifying. The . . . She clamped her eyes shut willing the tears back. She refused to cry in front of these people.
Thirty minutes later the driver pulled from the road and motored down a graded dirt path. It would take five minutes before they reached their destination. She looked at the distant hills and wished she could be on the other side of them, far from this vehicle, far from the two men in the car.
The man next to her shifted in his seat. He had said nothing beyond the few words spoken at the coffee shop. He never did. Nor did he exchange words with the driver. Silence was the norm. Once, however, the driver had called the other man Abasi. All she knew about Abasi was that he was tall, thin, dark-skinned, spoke with an Egyptian accent, and smelled of strong cigarettes.
The road slowly rose to a crest. Once the vehicle crested the rise Delaram could see the ranging villa illuminated by the moon and decorative exterior lights that cast drapes of golden light on white stucco walls. Italian tile blanketed the roof. Delaram came from a very rich family. Her life was spent traveling or living in private schools around the world. She had lived in massive, rented mansions, each of equal or higher quality as the villa she was approaching.
From the outside the compound looked palatial. Inside was a different matter. While expensive art hung on walls, budget-breaking rugs covered teak floors, and the latest high-tech entertainment could be found in every room, there were things that made the building seem like the lobby to hell.
The car pulled to a massive iron gate and stopped. The driver turned on the overhead lights and flashed the vehicle’s headlights three times.
An armed man stepped through an iron gate the size of a doorway and approached. The driver lowered the windows and sprung the latch to the back door that opened. The guard shone a light in the front seat, backseat, and searched the cargo area. Delaram thought it a waste of time. These men knew each other, worked together. Yet the procedure never changed.
A few moments later the large gate swung open and the driver pulled the car onto the long concrete drive that led to a tall, wide porte-cochere.
Delaram waited for the driver to open her door. Once she had let herself out, but a swift backhand had put an end to any future foolishness. Only after the driver arrived at the door did Abasi exit. Then they took positions to either side of Delaram like bookends and escorted her to the front door.
If she ran, she would die.
Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
CHAPTER 10
A HAND ON MOYER’S shoulder woke him. “Sorry to wake you, Sergeant Major, but we’re on final approach to Darby Air Force Base. I need you
Water brimmed her eyes and she forced her mind away from those thoughts.
“He wishes to see you.”
Delaram didn’t bother looking up. She knew the voice. Knew it too well.
She rose and walked from the coffee shop, the dark-skinned man by her side.
DELARAM SAT IN THE backseat of an American-made SUV and watched the country scenery scroll by lit by a bone-colored moon. The skyline of Rome and its thick traffic receded in the distance. Delaram had been down this road countless times over the last two weeks. Each time she said it would be her last. She followed these men because she had to, and so tight was their grip on her mind and soul she had been unable to resist. Their cocky attitude allowed her to live on her own as long as they never had to go looking for her.
She should have run.
She should have sought help.
She should have done so many things, but she did nothing. How could she?
Her stomach began to roil as the first images invaded her mind again, just as they had a thousand times before. Just as they did every hour, sometimes every minute.
The pictures were horrible. The threats horrifying. The . . . She clamped her eyes shut willing the tears back. She refused to cry in front of these people.
Thirty minutes later the driver pulled from the road and motored down a graded dirt path. It would take five minutes before they reached their destination. She looked at the distant hills and wished she could be on the other side of them, far from this vehicle, far from the two men in the car.
The man next to her shifted in his seat. He had said nothing beyond the few words spoken at the coffee shop. He never did. Nor did he exchange words with the driver. Silence was the norm. Once, however, the driver had called the other man Abasi. All she knew about Abasi was that he was tall, thin, dark-skinned, spoke with an Egyptian accent, and smelled of strong cigarettes.
The road slowly rose to a crest. Once the vehicle crested the rise Delaram could see the ranging villa illuminated by the moon and decorative exterior lights that cast drapes of golden light on white stucco walls. Italian tile blanketed the roof. Delaram came from a very rich family. Her life was spent traveling or living in private schools around the world. She had lived in massive, rented mansions, each of equal or higher quality as the villa she was approaching.
From the outside the compound looked palatial. Inside was a different matter. While expensive art hung on walls, budget-breaking rugs covered teak floors, and the latest high-tech entertainment could be found in every room, there were things that made the building seem like the lobby to hell.
The car pulled to a massive iron gate and stopped. The driver turned on the overhead lights and flashed the vehicle’s headlights three times.
An armed man stepped through an iron gate the size of a doorway and approached. The driver lowered the windows and sprung the latch to the back door that opened. The guard shone a light in the front seat, backseat, and searched the cargo area. Delaram thought it a waste of time. These men knew each other, worked together. Yet the procedure never changed.
A few moments later the large gate swung open and the driver pulled the car onto the long concrete drive that led to a tall, wide porte-cochere.
Delaram waited for the driver to open her door. Once she had let herself out, but a swift backhand had put an end to any future foolishness. Only after the driver arrived at the door did Abasi exit. Then they took positions to either side of Delaram like bookends and escorted her to the front door.
If she ran, she would die.
Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad.
CHAPTER 10
A HAND ON MOYER’S shoulder woke him. “Sorry to wake you, Sergeant Major, but we’re on final approach to Darby Air Force Base. I need you
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