Read Online Executive Treason by Gary H. Grossman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gary H. Grossman
Tags: FICTION/Thrillers
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Ninety-one seconds later, Ferret delivered the answer.
“I just accessed all of the known terrorists in the memory, along with state-by-state motor vehicle license photos, FBI records, newspaper archives, military IDs, and dozens of other sub directories. Here come the results.”
The computer image reduced to one half the page, with the picture on the left and data on the right. Parsons read the analysis.
“Your man is a possible match to, let’s see….” He highlighted a single line of text. “7,451,209 other subjects worldwide.”
“Oh, fuck!” Roarke swore.
“And that’s assuming he’s even in the damned database. Wanna bet he isn’t?”
Chapter 5
Cheviot Hills Recreation Park
Los Angeles, California
He was waiting for her. Lynn Meyerson had already circled the Cheviot Hills Park and Rancho Golf Course once, a run of about three miles. Olsen planned to strike on mile six of her second lap.
He watched her still-powerful, long strides come into view again. She had circled the golf course, cut back into the park, and now darted across the grass near the parking lot. Her run took her between two baseball fields where Little League teams played. Olsen stood up from his park bench and stretched. Maybe she would have sprinting power left, he thought. He better be ready himself.
Meyerson took in all the sights and sounds while she ran. It relaxed her. With everything on her mind, it helped.
Closer again. He watched as she hugged the fence that separated the outfield from the greens, then followed a worn path toward the tennis courts, another 200 yards further. There she angled right, which took her by an asphalt basketball court. A few players stopped to catch a glimpse of the redhead. She’s not for you. No one noticed when Olsen fell into step about fifty yards behind her.
Lynn rounded the recreation center. She heard a dance class. The door was open and young girls, probably no older than six or seven, were practicing ballet. She circled around again and ran in place just to take in the sight. About ten girls struggled to stay on their toes. It was sweet and almost comical. They were all dressed in pink tights and black leotards, their hair tied with pink ribbons. They did their best to please their instructor, a Russian immigrant, who had obviously worked with better students.
Lynn saw the pride in the faces of both the youngsters and the parents. She remembered the looks of her own mother and father, watching from bleachers just like the ones in the rec room. For an instant, it seemed like yesterday.
He suddenly slowed, rounding a turn along the path. The woman was jogging in place, distracted by something inside a building. Olsen rerouted to the sidewalk and leaned against a tree. He pretended to be out of breath. Thirty seconds later, she took up her run again, but he waited, not wanting to get too close too early. He noted how her breasts rose and fell with each step. He watched the firmness of her ass and the grace of her legs. He estimated how far away he was. Sixty yards. Good.
Meyerson continued running on a sidewalk that bordered the parking lot she’d crossed before. She gave her watch a quick glance. She figured she had another thirty minutes or so of good light. Enough time to finish up and get back to the hotel. She tried to be aware of the light and run when it was safe. All told, it would be a six-plus- mile course, covering the exact same path she’d carved out two days earlier and repeated the day before.
Now she cut left on the last arc of her run, down a road that rounded a dog park and to the empty park bench she’d spotted the previous day. She’d sit and rest there.
Fifty yards. Thirty. Twenty-five. The jogger behind Lynn counted down the distance as he closed in. The girl had paced herself the entire run, except when she stopped to watch the dancers. For a moment, he thought she might not continue beyond that point, but the ritual called out too loudly to her.
Twenty,
“I just accessed all of the known terrorists in the memory, along with state-by-state motor vehicle license photos, FBI records, newspaper archives, military IDs, and dozens of other sub directories. Here come the results.”
The computer image reduced to one half the page, with the picture on the left and data on the right. Parsons read the analysis.
“Your man is a possible match to, let’s see….” He highlighted a single line of text. “7,451,209 other subjects worldwide.”
“Oh, fuck!” Roarke swore.
“And that’s assuming he’s even in the damned database. Wanna bet he isn’t?”
Chapter 5
Cheviot Hills Recreation Park
Los Angeles, California
He was waiting for her. Lynn Meyerson had already circled the Cheviot Hills Park and Rancho Golf Course once, a run of about three miles. Olsen planned to strike on mile six of her second lap.
He watched her still-powerful, long strides come into view again. She had circled the golf course, cut back into the park, and now darted across the grass near the parking lot. Her run took her between two baseball fields where Little League teams played. Olsen stood up from his park bench and stretched. Maybe she would have sprinting power left, he thought. He better be ready himself.
Meyerson took in all the sights and sounds while she ran. It relaxed her. With everything on her mind, it helped.
Closer again. He watched as she hugged the fence that separated the outfield from the greens, then followed a worn path toward the tennis courts, another 200 yards further. There she angled right, which took her by an asphalt basketball court. A few players stopped to catch a glimpse of the redhead. She’s not for you. No one noticed when Olsen fell into step about fifty yards behind her.
Lynn rounded the recreation center. She heard a dance class. The door was open and young girls, probably no older than six or seven, were practicing ballet. She circled around again and ran in place just to take in the sight. About ten girls struggled to stay on their toes. It was sweet and almost comical. They were all dressed in pink tights and black leotards, their hair tied with pink ribbons. They did their best to please their instructor, a Russian immigrant, who had obviously worked with better students.
Lynn saw the pride in the faces of both the youngsters and the parents. She remembered the looks of her own mother and father, watching from bleachers just like the ones in the rec room. For an instant, it seemed like yesterday.
He suddenly slowed, rounding a turn along the path. The woman was jogging in place, distracted by something inside a building. Olsen rerouted to the sidewalk and leaned against a tree. He pretended to be out of breath. Thirty seconds later, she took up her run again, but he waited, not wanting to get too close too early. He noted how her breasts rose and fell with each step. He watched the firmness of her ass and the grace of her legs. He estimated how far away he was. Sixty yards. Good.
Meyerson continued running on a sidewalk that bordered the parking lot she’d crossed before. She gave her watch a quick glance. She figured she had another thirty minutes or so of good light. Enough time to finish up and get back to the hotel. She tried to be aware of the light and run when it was safe. All told, it would be a six-plus- mile course, covering the exact same path she’d carved out two days earlier and repeated the day before.
Now she cut left on the last arc of her run, down a road that rounded a dog park and to the empty park bench she’d spotted the previous day. She’d sit and rest there.
Fifty yards. Thirty. Twenty-five. The jogger behind Lynn counted down the distance as he closed in. The girl had paced herself the entire run, except when she stopped to watch the dancers. For a moment, he thought she might not continue beyond that point, but the ritual called out too loudly to her.
Twenty,
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