Read Online Deep Black by Stephen Coonts; Jim Defelice - Free Book Online Page B

Karr.
    Part of him liked Karr. He was a big, garrulous kid, the kind Dean would have hung out with as a young man. But he was a kid, and his offhand manner implied to Dean that he was more than a bit full of himself. Dean had seen firsthand what happened
     to such types—and, all too often, the people who were following them on a mission.
    And frankly, it rankled a bit that someone so young would be in charge of anything important. Dean wasn’t sure he would have
     let Tommy run one of his gas stations.
    Well, maybe.
    “I sold my business,” Dean said. “It wasn’t foreclosed.”
    “Not a problem,” said Karr.
    “So you know who I am—who are you?”
    “I wouldn’t tell him jack,” said Lia.
    “Why not?” said Karr.
    Lia didn’t answer.
    “Relax, Princess. Dean’s straight up or he wouldn’t be here. Right, Charlie?”
    “Yeah.”
    “I came to Desk Three from the men in black, security team. Actually, I have an engineering degree, but I haven’t used it
     in, I don’t know, a million years.”
    “He designed toilet seats,” snickered Lia.
    Karr ignored her. “They told me they wanted me for the degree, but I think it was because I’m bigger than the average bear.”
    Karr laughed.
    “You’re pretty young to have an engineering degree,” said Dean. “Isn’t that a master’s?”
    “Very good, Charlie. I got into RPI when I was fifteen. What sucked, though, was that I missed the high school baseball team.
     I’d screwed up my knee anyway.”
    “So what are you, twenty-five?”
    “Charlie’s writing a fucking book,” said Lia.
    “Twenty-three. How ’bout yourself?”
    “Twice that,” answered Lia. “Just about.”
    Dean, suddenly feeling defensive about his age, let the error stand. “So what are we doing?” he asked.
    “I’m kinda getting to that,” said Karr. He took off his baseball cap and ran his fingers through his thick hair. Not only
     did he consider looking where he was going optional, but he wasn’t doctrinaire about having his hands on the wheel, either.
     “Basically, we have this problem. We lost an airplane the other day, and we’re not entirely sure why.”
    “Maybe it broke,” said Dean.
    “It wouldn’t have just broken,” said Lia.
    “Maybe it broke,” said Karr, putting his cap back on and returning his hands to the wheel. “Anyway, what we have to do, number
     one, is make sure it was fried to a crisp on the way down. That’s mission one—look for one major crispy critter in the tundra.
     Mission number two—maybe—is see if there’s any clue about who or what shot it down.”
    “Why maybe?” asked Dean.
    “Well, because if the plane really was burned to a crisp, there shouldn’t be any clues left, you follow?”
    “Your fancy gizmos can’t figure it all out for you?” said Dean.
    “Meow,” said Lia.
    “You a Luddite, Charlie?” asked Karr.
    “I’m not a Luddite.”
    “Technology,” said Lia in a sententious voice, “is a force multiplier, not a replacement for human intervention.”
    She began to laugh uncontrollably.
    “She’s making fun of the boss,” explained Karr.
    “Who do you really work for?” asked Charlie. “The CIA?”
    Lia’s laugh deepened.
    “I figure you’re the Special Collection Service, CIA working for the NSA,” said Dean.
    “Wow, he knows his history,” Karr told Lia.
    “I know Division D,” said Dean. Division D was the CIA group charged with assassinations. He had worked with two members of
     it back in Vietnam and immediately afterward, though only as a “trainer” in sniping techniques. If the truth be told, the
     men he worked with knew at least as much as he did. Dean was a bit hazy on the connection between the Special Collection Service
     and Division D, but he believed that the Special Collection Service was an arm of Division D. Or vice versa.
    “Well, listen, Charlie, if it makes you feel more comfortable, think of us as Special Collection on steroids,” said Karr.
    He turned around