Read Online Deadline by James Anderson - Free Book Online
Authors: James Anderson
Tags: thriller, adventure, Romance, Action, serial killer, Murder, Women, Canadian, Terrorists, wolfman, newspapers
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northern
Pakistan.
It was an area the Taliban and
al-Qaida controlled. They were protected and sheltered by the
tribal chieftains and their people. It was an autonomous region.
The Government of Pakistan did not rule in this area. Any
government forces venturing there did so at grave risk to their
lives.
Trevanian was puzzled.
Why take him to this desolate area?
What did Dharwal mean when he said Trevanian had been specially
picked for this assignment? What could this high honor for an
infidel be?
Trevanian was nudged from his thoughts
and saw that Dharwal now held the black hood again.
“ You must wear this again
for this stage of the journey, Mr. Trevanian,” explained Dharwal.
“It will not be for long -- only another hour or so. It is a
security measure. You will not be harmed, I assure you.”
Reluctantly, Trevanian allowed Dharwal
to replace the hood over his head. Darkness descended once again.
Hopefully soon the light of this mission would become apparent.
Trevanian could only hope it was all worth it.
He also hoped he would survive
it!
Chapter 21
Andrew Chase’s Office 10:15
AM
THE PHONE rang as Chase checked his
e-mails on the computer at his large desk.
“ Mr. Chase, I have Mr. Rob
Nelson from RBC Financial on the line,” said the clipped, stylish
English voice of his administrative secretary.
“ Thanks, Mrs. Johnston.
Put him through right away,” replied Chase with a sense of high
anxiety.
This was a call he had been expecting
from the country’s largest bank and the paper’s major creditor and
financial backer. Chase had put through a request for a major loan
and extension of credit to keep the paper running.
“ Certainly, Mr. Chase.
I’ll connect you immediately.”
Mrs. Joan Johnston was the epitome of
efficiency. Chase had been impressed with her credentials from
their initial interview.
She had been born in the small seaside
town of Cleethorpes, England, on the North Sea coast. Johnston
started her secretarial career in the nearby fishing centre of
Grimsby after leaving school as a 16-year-old teenager. She started
as a junior secretary for a fishing company and survived the German
blitz of the town in 1940.
Later in the war, she moved to London
and worked her way through a series of office jobs to become a
senior corporate secretary.
She met and married a young Canadian
airman in the RAF stationed at an airfield near London. After the
war, the couple moved to Canada. Johnston fared even better when
they moved to her husband’s home city of Toronto.
She served as chief secretary to a
couple of high-powered financiers before taking the job with Chase
and the Daily Express. Her husband passed away several years ago,
but she continued to work long past normal retirement age. Chase
could never imagine her retiring voluntarily – her work was her
life.
Mrs. Johnston was an
obsessive-compulsive perfectionist who expected everyone else to be
the same. She didn’t suffer fools lightly and many people had felt
the lash of her tongue. If she had a major fault, it was a lack of
diplomacy and tact. Johnston believed in calling things as she saw
them. She could be like an English bulldog at times.
But her major strength was extreme
loyalty to those for whom she worked. She would protect Chase like
he was her own son.
“ Rob, nice to speak with
you,’ said Chase into the phone. “I’ve been waiting to hear back
from you. I hope the word is good from the loans
committee.”
Chase held his breath as he stared at
the heavily book-lined wall directly across from his desk. His
shelf contained mainly non-fiction volumes by writers such as Bob
Woodward, David Halberstam, Walter Cronkite, Katherine Graham, all
giants in the field of journalism. His fiction taste tendered to
favor thriller espionage writers such as John LeCarré, Frederick
Forsyth, and the James Bond novels of Ian Fleming.
Next to it was a wall with several
contemporary paintings that Chase had collected throughout
Pakistan.
It was an area the Taliban and
al-Qaida controlled. They were protected and sheltered by the
tribal chieftains and their people. It was an autonomous region.
The Government of Pakistan did not rule in this area. Any
government forces venturing there did so at grave risk to their
lives.
Trevanian was puzzled.
Why take him to this desolate area?
What did Dharwal mean when he said Trevanian had been specially
picked for this assignment? What could this high honor for an
infidel be?
Trevanian was nudged from his thoughts
and saw that Dharwal now held the black hood again.
“ You must wear this again
for this stage of the journey, Mr. Trevanian,” explained Dharwal.
“It will not be for long -- only another hour or so. It is a
security measure. You will not be harmed, I assure you.”
Reluctantly, Trevanian allowed Dharwal
to replace the hood over his head. Darkness descended once again.
Hopefully soon the light of this mission would become apparent.
Trevanian could only hope it was all worth it.
He also hoped he would survive
it!
Chapter 21
Andrew Chase’s Office 10:15
AM
THE PHONE rang as Chase checked his
e-mails on the computer at his large desk.
“ Mr. Chase, I have Mr. Rob
Nelson from RBC Financial on the line,” said the clipped, stylish
English voice of his administrative secretary.
“ Thanks, Mrs. Johnston.
Put him through right away,” replied Chase with a sense of high
anxiety.
This was a call he had been expecting
from the country’s largest bank and the paper’s major creditor and
financial backer. Chase had put through a request for a major loan
and extension of credit to keep the paper running.
“ Certainly, Mr. Chase.
I’ll connect you immediately.”
Mrs. Joan Johnston was the epitome of
efficiency. Chase had been impressed with her credentials from
their initial interview.
She had been born in the small seaside
town of Cleethorpes, England, on the North Sea coast. Johnston
started her secretarial career in the nearby fishing centre of
Grimsby after leaving school as a 16-year-old teenager. She started
as a junior secretary for a fishing company and survived the German
blitz of the town in 1940.
Later in the war, she moved to London
and worked her way through a series of office jobs to become a
senior corporate secretary.
She met and married a young Canadian
airman in the RAF stationed at an airfield near London. After the
war, the couple moved to Canada. Johnston fared even better when
they moved to her husband’s home city of Toronto.
She served as chief secretary to a
couple of high-powered financiers before taking the job with Chase
and the Daily Express. Her husband passed away several years ago,
but she continued to work long past normal retirement age. Chase
could never imagine her retiring voluntarily – her work was her
life.
Mrs. Johnston was an
obsessive-compulsive perfectionist who expected everyone else to be
the same. She didn’t suffer fools lightly and many people had felt
the lash of her tongue. If she had a major fault, it was a lack of
diplomacy and tact. Johnston believed in calling things as she saw
them. She could be like an English bulldog at times.
But her major strength was extreme
loyalty to those for whom she worked. She would protect Chase like
he was her own son.
“ Rob, nice to speak with
you,’ said Chase into the phone. “I’ve been waiting to hear back
from you. I hope the word is good from the loans
committee.”
Chase held his breath as he stared at
the heavily book-lined wall directly across from his desk. His
shelf contained mainly non-fiction volumes by writers such as Bob
Woodward, David Halberstam, Walter Cronkite, Katherine Graham, all
giants in the field of journalism. His fiction taste tendered to
favor thriller espionage writers such as John LeCarré, Frederick
Forsyth, and the James Bond novels of Ian Fleming.
Next to it was a wall with several
contemporary paintings that Chase had collected throughout
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