Read Online Bloodline: A Sigma Force Novel by James Rollins - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Rollins
Ads: Link
ear. Through it, he heard the soft whisper of Kane’s panting breath.
In his other ear, Gray responded, “Got it. Let’s see what our friend Amur is up to.”
Tucker kept to the shadows of the Dumpster and watched his partner’s progress. Fear prickled over his skin.
Be careful out there, buddy .
Kane races low to the ground, senses stretching outward, hunting for his prey. Around him, night brightens into shades of gray, frosted by muted hues. Piles of stone grow high on either side, offering sheltered pathways forward. The stir of a breeze shifts a crumpled paper cup, the movement twitching for attention but ultimately ignored .
When sight fails him, scent fills in, layer upon layer, marking time backward and forward, building a framework of old trails around him .
Bitter musk of spoor …
Acrid sting of a urine marker …
Burned oil from silent machines …
He moves through the maze, taking in more smells, drawing them upon his moist tongue, deep into the back of his throat and sinuses. His ears swivel at every hushed whisper of sand: from breezes, from the pad of his paws .
On … always onward …
He holds his nose high at a turn, tracking .
Then … familiar sweat, spicy and pungent, drifts to him, basking outward in the wake of the prey .
His legs slow .
He lowers his body, keeping to the shadowed trails .
He forces his panting to grow quiet .
Ahead, the prey approaches others. They are out of sight, but their musk betrays them. They are hidden behind a pile of metal, smelling of rust and burrowed through with the scent of scurrying things. The odor of man wafts past it all, impossible to ignore, stinking and strong .
His prey walks forward, trailed by another with a gun .
Kane knows guns—by scent, sight, and sound, he knows guns .
The hidden others show themselves at last, stepping into the open. The prey falls back, the scent of his fear spiking sharper—then it quickly fades, snuffing out again .
Among the four, lips are pulled back, showing teeth, but not in threat. They speak, making noise .
Kane creeps closer, finding a spot to watch unseen. He lies still, on his belly, but his haunches remain tense, ready to flee or charge .
For now, he stays .
Staring, obedient .
Because he asked .
Kane continues to draw in the night, ever vigilant, painting the world around him in scents and sounds. He smells his own trail, going back, buried among so many others. But through it all, one trail shines like the sun in the night around him, connecting him to another, both bound together forever by blood and trust .
He knows that name, too .
By scent, by sound, by sight .
He knows that name .
9:12 P.M .
Tucker spied on the meeting between Amur and his trio of compatriots, fellow pirates judging by their tribal scars and harsh manners. They gathered near a rusted stack of old iron H-beams and broken cement bricks. In his ear, he heard their harsh laughter and words spoken in a local Somali dialect. A translation program converted the conversation into a tinny computerized version.
“How long can you draw them out?” one asked.
“How much money can you get?” another added.
“Hassan, Habib, trust me.” Amur smiled, lifting his arms. “There is more going on than they tell me. For that, I can make them dance on a string at my whim.”
“So you say,” the third said doubtfully.
As proof of his word, Amur removed a wad of bills and stripped out several for each. “But first,” he said, “I must give these Americans something to chew on, to keep them hanging on my words, yes?”
The others ignored him, counting their bills and stuffing them away.
“What have you heard about this American woman?” Amur asked, drawing back their attention.
“Only rumors, Amur.” These words earned nods among the three.
Another voice spoke in Tucker’s other ear: “At this point, I’ll take rumors.”
That assessment came from Commander Pierce. It seemed the team leader was listening into the
In his other ear, Gray responded, “Got it. Let’s see what our friend Amur is up to.”
Tucker kept to the shadows of the Dumpster and watched his partner’s progress. Fear prickled over his skin.
Be careful out there, buddy .
Kane races low to the ground, senses stretching outward, hunting for his prey. Around him, night brightens into shades of gray, frosted by muted hues. Piles of stone grow high on either side, offering sheltered pathways forward. The stir of a breeze shifts a crumpled paper cup, the movement twitching for attention but ultimately ignored .
When sight fails him, scent fills in, layer upon layer, marking time backward and forward, building a framework of old trails around him .
Bitter musk of spoor …
Acrid sting of a urine marker …
Burned oil from silent machines …
He moves through the maze, taking in more smells, drawing them upon his moist tongue, deep into the back of his throat and sinuses. His ears swivel at every hushed whisper of sand: from breezes, from the pad of his paws .
On … always onward …
He holds his nose high at a turn, tracking .
Then … familiar sweat, spicy and pungent, drifts to him, basking outward in the wake of the prey .
His legs slow .
He lowers his body, keeping to the shadowed trails .
He forces his panting to grow quiet .
Ahead, the prey approaches others. They are out of sight, but their musk betrays them. They are hidden behind a pile of metal, smelling of rust and burrowed through with the scent of scurrying things. The odor of man wafts past it all, impossible to ignore, stinking and strong .
His prey walks forward, trailed by another with a gun .
Kane knows guns—by scent, sight, and sound, he knows guns .
The hidden others show themselves at last, stepping into the open. The prey falls back, the scent of his fear spiking sharper—then it quickly fades, snuffing out again .
Among the four, lips are pulled back, showing teeth, but not in threat. They speak, making noise .
Kane creeps closer, finding a spot to watch unseen. He lies still, on his belly, but his haunches remain tense, ready to flee or charge .
For now, he stays .
Staring, obedient .
Because he asked .
Kane continues to draw in the night, ever vigilant, painting the world around him in scents and sounds. He smells his own trail, going back, buried among so many others. But through it all, one trail shines like the sun in the night around him, connecting him to another, both bound together forever by blood and trust .
He knows that name, too .
By scent, by sound, by sight .
He knows that name .
9:12 P.M .
Tucker spied on the meeting between Amur and his trio of compatriots, fellow pirates judging by their tribal scars and harsh manners. They gathered near a rusted stack of old iron H-beams and broken cement bricks. In his ear, he heard their harsh laughter and words spoken in a local Somali dialect. A translation program converted the conversation into a tinny computerized version.
“How long can you draw them out?” one asked.
“How much money can you get?” another added.
“Hassan, Habib, trust me.” Amur smiled, lifting his arms. “There is more going on than they tell me. For that, I can make them dance on a string at my whim.”
“So you say,” the third said doubtfully.
As proof of his word, Amur removed a wad of bills and stripped out several for each. “But first,” he said, “I must give these Americans something to chew on, to keep them hanging on my words, yes?”
The others ignored him, counting their bills and stuffing them away.
“What have you heard about this American woman?” Amur asked, drawing back their attention.
“Only rumors, Amur.” These words earned nods among the three.
Another voice spoke in Tucker’s other ear: “At this point, I’ll take rumors.”
That assessment came from Commander Pierce. It seemed the team leader was listening into the
Similar Books
