Read Online Dark Zone by Stephen Coonts - Free Book Online Page A

that talking about it was an effort, one he didn’t feel like making. But the young man said nothing.
    Dean reached into his pocket and took out the room key that he had snatched from the dead man. Without saying anything, he held it out so Karr could see.
    Karr grinned. “They thought it was yours?”
    “The first policeman made me empty my pockets in the park. Good thing we didn’t check in.”
    “Ah, you would have come up with something,” said Karr.
    Dean wasn’t sure about that. He’d never been a particularly good liar, and he certainly couldn’t joke and josh the way Karr did. He remembered the words an older commander had once used to describe him on a fitness report or something similar: taciturn by nature.
    He’d seen it as a compliment then. Now he wasn’t so sure.
    “Semper fi,” the lieutenant said as he left Dean and Karr in a waiting room upstairs in the embassy. “Good luck, sir.”
    “Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Dean. “Semper fi.”
    “Nice furniture, huh?” said Karr. He dropped back into a frail-looking antique chair against the wall.
    “What are we going to do now?” Dean asked.
    Karr shrugged. “We give the Art Room time to sort this all out, Charlie. Relax. You’re too wound up.”
    “I should be more like you, right? Water off a duck’s back.”
    Karr chuckled. Dean knew by now that the op actually was much more serious, much more focused, than he appeared. Under his “What, me worry?” veneer and his corny sense of humor, he was calculating several steps ahead. He was a sharp, truly bright kid who also happened to be immensely big. Dean thought Karr had learned to pretend to be goofy as a boy growing up. Bright kids usually didn’t fit in by showing how smart they were; they had to adopt some sort of act, like class clown. And yet nonchalance was definitely part of Karr’s personality. The op would laugh in the face of a hurricane and probably honestly think getting soaked was interesting.
    The door opened. A man in his early thirties stuck his head out into the hallway. “Karr, what are you doing in London?”
    “Stephens, you Anglophile you.” Karr jumped up and walked to the man. As he came close, he reared back and started to throw a punch with such force that Dean thought he would knock the man through the wall. But he pulled his fist back at the last second, stopping it a half inch from Stephens’ shoulder.
    “I knew you weren’t going to hit me,” said Stephens, whose posture and closed eyes suggested the exact opposite.
    “You’re awful trusting for a spook,” said Karr.
    “You’re awful obnoxious for an NSA clown.” The man turned to Dean. “You’re Charles Dean?”
    “Yes.”
    “Nice to meet you. I feel sorry for you, if you have to work with Tommy Karr. He ever tell you how he came to be called Tommy?”
    “I’ve never asked.”
    “Don’t. Come on inside. I have a million questions for you, though I’m sure you won’t answer most of them.”
    Just then there were footsteps on the nearby staircase; Dean and Karr turned to see a young woman and an older man descending. Dean recognized the woman’s skirt before her face came into view—it was the girl they had helped in the street.
    “You,” she said as she came into view.
    “Well, hey, hello,” said Karr.
    “Oh my God. These are the people I told you about, Daddy.” The girl came over to them. “What are you doing in the embassy?”
    “Lost my passport,” said Karr, patting his pockets. “Would you believe it? Dumb of me, huh? Lose my head if it wasn’t attached.”
    The girl frowned, clearly not believing him. She looked to Dean. He nodded solemnly, but her frown only deepened.
    “Thank you for helping my daughter,” said the ambassador.
    “Anytime,” said Karr. “Pleasure was mine.”
    Stephens stood awkwardly to the side. The ambassador nodded at him, then tapped his daughter’s arm to get her to follow as he went back to the stairs.
    “Whoa,” said Stephens inside.