Read Online Breaking Point by Dana Haynes - Free Book Online Page A

feet tall and her hair was so blond that it appeared white from a distance. Today, she wore black jeans and riding boots and a suede, aviator-style tunic with epaulets and brass buttons. She was standing by the driver’s door of her sedan and smiled at Barry as he crossed to her.
    That woman would stand out in any crowd, Barry thought. That’s a handicap for a spy.
    â€œBarry,” she said, smiling.
    â€œMs. Scott. I want to give you a heads-up.”
    They walked away from her car. Barry had brought a lidded coffee. Jenna didn’t speak.
    â€œWe are using a freelancer to perform a function, on U.S. soil, that will result in the loss of lives.”
    She stared down at the shorter man. Barry pried off the lid and blew on the surface of his coffee.
    â€œYou’re serious.”
    He nodded. “It will involve an airplane. A commercial jet. It flies on Thursday. I need you to use your magic.”
    She stared at him, then shoved her fingers in the back pockets of her jeans and squinted up into the sky.
    â€œDoes this involve the device?”
    â€œYes.”
    She pondered some more. “And our friend, the designer?
    â€œHe has evidence to out Halcyon/Detweiler. And he claims to have evidence regarding the device. Actually, we suspect he’s attempted to gain access to our R-and-D mainframe. I have come to believe that he may have evidence of other … extracurricular research.”
    Jenna Scott pinched the bridge of her nose. “Aaaah, Barry…”
    â€œI know.” He sipped coffee. “It’s a pickle.”
    She turned on her low heels, squinting at the bald, pudgy man who never quite seemed to generate the correct emotional response.
    â€œThere will be a price.”
    He nodded.
    â€œThe Agency gets the device. Not the Pentagon.”
    Barry certainly had seen that one coming. “No problem.”
    â€œAnd you don’t sell to any other country unless I give you a green light. That’s I, as in me, personally .”
    Barry nodded.
    Agent Scott jutted out her lower lip and let out a puff of air. She held out her hand, palm up.
    Barry Tichnor gave her the details of Andrew Malatesta’s flight.
    VIRGINIA
    Calendar sat in a modest hotel room just off the 66 near Falls Church. The room was sterile and devoid of originality, but he’d swept it for bugs.
    He’d bought a mint tea at a Starbucks earlier. Now he stripped to his boxers and ran through five hundred crunches and five hundred push-ups, the last fifty one-handed. Sweating but feeling loose, he sipped his cooled tea, sitting at the cheap-ass writing table and booting up his custom-built laptop. He used a sixteen-bit encryption code to get to his Web site. He’d put together a solid enough team for the device’s beta test in Nova Scotia. He trusted the men. But staging a mission on American soil, in a little under forty-eight hours, would require a whole different level of teamwork. He’d need men he’d worked with before, the best of the best. Calendar contacted five top-of-the-line independent agents and queried them to see if they were free. One was former British SAS and expensive but quite good. One was an ex-Green Beret. One was ex-Mukhabarat—Syrian intelligence—who’d seen the light of capitalism and had put up his own shingle. One was a former SEAL. The fifth was an ex-Israeli spy currently working for the U.S. ATF in Mexico.
    He left them all a coded message: Looking to hire. Two days from now. U.S. soil. Collateral damage unfortunately guaranteed. Top dollar.
    He posted the message, then opened another window. He contacted the Nova Scotia team and told them they had a red light: the mission was off.
    His cell phone vibrated. He unfolded it but didn’t speak. The mechanical tones told him the antimonitoring software was powering up.
    When the noise stopped, Barry Tichnor’s badly distorted, mechanical voice said, “You’ve been sent a