Read Online CROSSFIRE: Ex-CIA JON BRADLEY Thriller Series (TERROR BLOODLINE Book 1) by Paul Rodricks - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Paul Rodricks
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clearly. The 911 dispatcher was sending out a call to police patrol cars, reporting a homicide in downtown Manhattan.
Bradley was momentarily stricken by the sudden awareness of the location. He knew the address only too well.
The house belonged to his friend and mentor, the retired CIA Vietnam operative.
Greatly disturbed in mind, he swung back his 2003 model Ford Crown Victoria, similar to the NYPD Police Interceptor, towards the Manhattan highway, praying and hoping against hope that there was somehow a mistake in reporting the homicide at his trusted counselor’s residence.
CHAPTER EIGHT
2003
Wādī l-Biqā‘, Beirut in Lebanon
There was a strong ringing in both his ears. The faint sound of a voice with a foreign accent… increasing and decreasing in pitch… the words sounding distant and making no sense.
He tried to open his eyes, but just couldn’t… he tried harder… harder… but they simply wouldn’t come unstuck.
His head kept pounding, his whole body ached, his chest felt constricted and his lungs hurt with every small breath he managed to take.
Someone was trying to move him, and coaxing him at the same time. He felt hands around his mid-trunk, and his reflexes prompted him to get to his feet.
But the muscles in his legs from the waist down trembled with the knees failing to respond.
His strenuous effort to stand roughened his senses and he could feel the acute throbbing in his right shoulder and stinging pain on the right side of his neck.
For the first time since regaining half-consciousness, he could actually feel body- contact with another person, who was still continuing to coax him….
After a while, the voice sounded familiar, becoming somewhat clearer.
“… Mr. Peter… Mr. Peter… can you hear me?” It kept going on and on, until the voice registered in Bradley’s mind.
He had shut his eyes tight with the effort to remember. Now he opened them and his blurred vision slowly returned to near-normal, when he saw and recognized who was standing above him.
“Ja….meel?” his voice sounded choked with the hoarseness.
“ Al-Hamdulillāh. Thanks are to God.”
There was a sign of pure relief on Jameel’s face. “Are you feeling better… can you try to walk a little distance from here…?”
“I’ll… try… Where’re we…? What time is it…?”
“Don’t talk. Save your strength. I will help you, Mr. Peter.”
When his vision improved, Jonathan found himself sitting half-propped against the wreckage of a towering truck. He smelt the acrid odor of a burning car, his senses jolting his memory back to what had happened a while ago.
Bradley clenched his teeth and closed his eyes tightly again. Then taking a deep breath, he made as strenuous an effort he could muster to slowly come to his feet, half-leaning for support on the truck’s body and helped by Jameel.
He ignored the agony of pain shooting through his body, but his legs withstood his weight after a brief wobble.
Jameel held him remain steady for a few moments, before he could test himself, leaning against Jameel, to take a small step and then two. Resting and feeling the blood circulate in his limbs. After a while, he felt weak, but knew that he could manage to walk some distance.
“Good… you are doing fine. You are getting stronger, Mr. Peter,” Jameel was cheerful whilst encouraging him.
There were a whole lot of questions Jonathan wanted to ask Jameel.
Jameel more or less sensed what the Ameriki sought to know. “I will explain later what happened. First, we must leave this place. It is dark and is possible to go without being seen. But let’s hope we don’t across path with any of the militants because that will mean trouble for you and for me also.”
Bradley brought up
Bradley was momentarily stricken by the sudden awareness of the location. He knew the address only too well.
The house belonged to his friend and mentor, the retired CIA Vietnam operative.
Greatly disturbed in mind, he swung back his 2003 model Ford Crown Victoria, similar to the NYPD Police Interceptor, towards the Manhattan highway, praying and hoping against hope that there was somehow a mistake in reporting the homicide at his trusted counselor’s residence.
CHAPTER EIGHT
2003
Wādī l-Biqā‘, Beirut in Lebanon
There was a strong ringing in both his ears. The faint sound of a voice with a foreign accent… increasing and decreasing in pitch… the words sounding distant and making no sense.
He tried to open his eyes, but just couldn’t… he tried harder… harder… but they simply wouldn’t come unstuck.
His head kept pounding, his whole body ached, his chest felt constricted and his lungs hurt with every small breath he managed to take.
Someone was trying to move him, and coaxing him at the same time. He felt hands around his mid-trunk, and his reflexes prompted him to get to his feet.
But the muscles in his legs from the waist down trembled with the knees failing to respond.
His strenuous effort to stand roughened his senses and he could feel the acute throbbing in his right shoulder and stinging pain on the right side of his neck.
For the first time since regaining half-consciousness, he could actually feel body- contact with another person, who was still continuing to coax him….
After a while, the voice sounded familiar, becoming somewhat clearer.
“… Mr. Peter… Mr. Peter… can you hear me?” It kept going on and on, until the voice registered in Bradley’s mind.
He had shut his eyes tight with the effort to remember. Now he opened them and his blurred vision slowly returned to near-normal, when he saw and recognized who was standing above him.
“Ja….meel?” his voice sounded choked with the hoarseness.
“ Al-Hamdulillāh. Thanks are to God.”
There was a sign of pure relief on Jameel’s face. “Are you feeling better… can you try to walk a little distance from here…?”
“I’ll… try… Where’re we…? What time is it…?”
“Don’t talk. Save your strength. I will help you, Mr. Peter.”
When his vision improved, Jonathan found himself sitting half-propped against the wreckage of a towering truck. He smelt the acrid odor of a burning car, his senses jolting his memory back to what had happened a while ago.
Bradley clenched his teeth and closed his eyes tightly again. Then taking a deep breath, he made as strenuous an effort he could muster to slowly come to his feet, half-leaning for support on the truck’s body and helped by Jameel.
He ignored the agony of pain shooting through his body, but his legs withstood his weight after a brief wobble.
Jameel held him remain steady for a few moments, before he could test himself, leaning against Jameel, to take a small step and then two. Resting and feeling the blood circulate in his limbs. After a while, he felt weak, but knew that he could manage to walk some distance.
“Good… you are doing fine. You are getting stronger, Mr. Peter,” Jameel was cheerful whilst encouraging him.
There were a whole lot of questions Jonathan wanted to ask Jameel.
Jameel more or less sensed what the Ameriki sought to know. “I will explain later what happened. First, we must leave this place. It is dark and is possible to go without being seen. But let’s hope we don’t across path with any of the militants because that will mean trouble for you and for me also.”
Bradley brought up
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