Read Online CROSSFIRE: Ex-CIA JON BRADLEY Thriller Series (TERROR BLOODLINE Book 1) by Paul Rodricks - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul Rodricks
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his left hand. His reflexes responded normally though a bit sluggishly, but not cramped. The watch on
his wrist was still working and its hands showed 10 minutes past 10.00 PM. He had lost all sense of time for over an hour.
Moreover, he had lost his cellphone. That did not worry him. Actually, his mobile unit would have automatically locked and self-destructed itself if not timely reset.
However, the cell’s GPS would have alerted his Control about his last position.
More than three hours had passed since his last contact with him. This was enough time for his Control to have activated whatever the support system in place through the CIA’s local intelligence sources. That is, if the intentions were in the right place, he thought as his previous suspicions returned.
“Jameel, do you have your cellphone intact? I seem to have lost mine?”
“Sorry, Mr. Peter…”
“Jameel, you can call me Peter, for God’s sake…”
“OK. I like that name Boutros better , in Lebanese. I thought my cellphone would be safer inside the car’s glove compartment. Now I’m without my phone and the guns as well,” Jameel said dejectedly. “Pray that we don’t have a situation where we cannot defend ourselves.”
Meantime, Bradley was shifting his weight from one leg to another, keeping the circulation going and maintaining his equilibrium.
While doing so, he looked down at himself. His half-sleeve blue shirt was blood-stained and dirty, and his dark blue trousers were torn in a few places.
Then, for the first time, he realized Jameel was in his undershirt, and that he wore the Keffiyeh wrapped across his forehead. It was wet and blood-stained; some of the blood had flowed down and dried on his face. His black jeans were soiled and spotted with burn holes.
He remembered pulling Jameel away from inside the car after Jameel was hit and they abandoned the vehicle.
The Lebanese man, apparently lucky, must have suffered some temporary concussion at least, when the slug nicked across his right brow.
Yet he tried to appear cheerful and act normal. Jonathan Bradley would salute this man for his courage.
“ Boutros, now listen. We are presently in the Wadi Neita village of the Kasarnaba town in the Beqa’a valley.
“We’ll walk down this place to the next village and stop at the first small house we come to. Let’s only hope the residents aren’t militants themselves or their sympathizers. The people here are generally simple farmers. I will go and ask for some help, or at least to use a phone to make a call to your people.” Jameel paused to look over Bradley.
He then stepped aside to check to on the make-do cloth bandage tied across Bradley’s chest and right shoulder and another one around his neck.
“You have taken a slug into your right shoulder and shrapnel into the left side of your neck. I have used the cloth from my shirt to temporarily stop the bleeding, but you will need a doctor soon.”
Jon was mentally surmising the extent of his injuries.
He knew from his knowledge and experience in working with and training informants in the use of the Dragunov sniper rifle, its effective range was 600-800 meters. The distance from where the sniper appeared to have fired at them was beyond that range.
However, he would know later if it was truly a Dragunov rifle that the sniper had been using, only after the slug was retrieved from his shoulder.
Despite being hit by the high velocity sniper’s bullet, it was probably a ricocheting slug, its force already spent before lodging itself into his right shoulder.
It was not a deep penetration. Otherwise, his injuries would have been of life-threatening nature such as severe internal damage including broken bones and tissues, collapsed lungs and severed arteries.
his wrist was still working and its hands showed 10 minutes past 10.00 PM. He had lost all sense of time for over an hour.
Moreover, he had lost his cellphone. That did not worry him. Actually, his mobile unit would have automatically locked and self-destructed itself if not timely reset.
However, the cell’s GPS would have alerted his Control about his last position.
More than three hours had passed since his last contact with him. This was enough time for his Control to have activated whatever the support system in place through the CIA’s local intelligence sources. That is, if the intentions were in the right place, he thought as his previous suspicions returned.
“Jameel, do you have your cellphone intact? I seem to have lost mine?”
“Sorry, Mr. Peter…”
“Jameel, you can call me Peter, for God’s sake…”
“OK. I like that name Boutros better , in Lebanese. I thought my cellphone would be safer inside the car’s glove compartment. Now I’m without my phone and the guns as well,” Jameel said dejectedly. “Pray that we don’t have a situation where we cannot defend ourselves.”
Meantime, Bradley was shifting his weight from one leg to another, keeping the circulation going and maintaining his equilibrium.
While doing so, he looked down at himself. His half-sleeve blue shirt was blood-stained and dirty, and his dark blue trousers were torn in a few places.
Then, for the first time, he realized Jameel was in his undershirt, and that he wore the Keffiyeh wrapped across his forehead. It was wet and blood-stained; some of the blood had flowed down and dried on his face. His black jeans were soiled and spotted with burn holes.
He remembered pulling Jameel away from inside the car after Jameel was hit and they abandoned the vehicle.
The Lebanese man, apparently lucky, must have suffered some temporary concussion at least, when the slug nicked across his right brow.
Yet he tried to appear cheerful and act normal. Jonathan Bradley would salute this man for his courage.
“ Boutros, now listen. We are presently in the Wadi Neita village of the Kasarnaba town in the Beqa’a valley.
“We’ll walk down this place to the next village and stop at the first small house we come to. Let’s only hope the residents aren’t militants themselves or their sympathizers. The people here are generally simple farmers. I will go and ask for some help, or at least to use a phone to make a call to your people.” Jameel paused to look over Bradley.
He then stepped aside to check to on the make-do cloth bandage tied across Bradley’s chest and right shoulder and another one around his neck.
“You have taken a slug into your right shoulder and shrapnel into the left side of your neck. I have used the cloth from my shirt to temporarily stop the bleeding, but you will need a doctor soon.”
Jon was mentally surmising the extent of his injuries.
He knew from his knowledge and experience in working with and training informants in the use of the Dragunov sniper rifle, its effective range was 600-800 meters. The distance from where the sniper appeared to have fired at them was beyond that range.
However, he would know later if it was truly a Dragunov rifle that the sniper had been using, only after the slug was retrieved from his shoulder.
Despite being hit by the high velocity sniper’s bullet, it was probably a ricocheting slug, its force already spent before lodging itself into his right shoulder.
It was not a deep penetration. Otherwise, his injuries would have been of life-threatening nature such as severe internal damage including broken bones and tissues, collapsed lungs and severed arteries.
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