Read Online Exodus 2022 by Kenneth G. Bennett - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Kenneth G. Bennett
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man,” Ellis said, voice calm, head high. “You’re a trained killer. I won’t fight you.”
Beck circled closer. “You will attack me. Well-armed. With two weapons, if you like.” He nodded at Wilden, who snapped the fiberglass case open, revealing a collection of gleaming blades.
“I will be unarmed,” Beck continued. “And you will attack me.” He stopped inches in front of Ellis’s face. “Because, if you do not,” he said softly, “your wife, Anne-Elise, and your daughter, Sarah, will vanish from your home in Silver Springs, in the middle of the night. Just as you disappeared from Kabul. And they will never, ever, be heard from again.”
For the first time since he’d arrived on the solarium deck, Ellis’s composure broke. His jaw tightened, his hands clenched into fists. “Beck,” he said. “Please. Leave my family out of this. You have a problem with my articles, take it out on me. Kill me. Or tell me what you want.”
“I want you to fight,” said Beck. “Choose your weapons.”
Ellis ripped two thick fiberglass-handled knives from the foam-lined case, tucked one into the top of his right boot, and crouched low, with the remaining blade outstretched.
“Certain guys on my crew,” said Beck, “might like to get to know your wife, come to think of it. Beautiful woman.” He chuckled. “Might like your daughter even better, knowing them. How old is she now, Ellis? Seventeen?”
Ellis leapt forward, gripping the knife as he drove for Beck’s throat. Beck easily sidestepped the older man, grabbed his arm, and yanked him forward, pulling him off-balance. Ellis stumbled and Beck whirled and shoved him hard into a wall. Ellis thunked against a steel barrier and collapsed to the ground. The knife he’d been holding skittered across the deck and he lay on his back, moaning. Beck’s men laughed.
Beck picked up the knife and tossed it back to his adversary. “I said fight .”
Ellis rolled to his knees, then stood, slowly, clutching the knife once more. Mimicking Beck’s actions—staying low and loose—Ellis came for his enemy more warily this time, jabbing with the blade, edging his opponent back, into a corner. He was sweating heavily now, heart thumping, redlining. When it seemed there was nowhere for Beck to go, Ellis lunged again, flying forward, slashing low, and rising as he charged.
Beck ducked, and twisted away hard at the last instant, smashing the reporter’s outstretched arm with a hop kick, like a move from an Irish dance. Another spinning, booming kick hurled Ellis into a railing, where he collapsed like a rag doll.
Beck, barely winded, leaned over his bleeding, battered quarry and laughed. “What do I have to do to get you to fight, old man?”
Ellis blinked and his eyes swam in pale sockets. His brain stuttered. Tried to reengage. Like a computer restarting after a crash.
“Should’ve had that daylight-basement door fixed, Ellis,” Beck said mildly, turning away. “Makes for very easy access, you know? Off the street, out of sight. Poorly lit. Haven’t been keeping up on your home maintenance, have you?”
Ellis struggled to his feet, clearly suffering now.
“That’s how my men went in,” said Beck, “to place the cameras that are monitoring your family now. And how they’ll go in tomorrow night to take your wife and daughter.”
Ellis gasped, his voice a ragged whisper. “Beck, please. They’ve done nothing to you. Nothing at all. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll write articles praising your company. I’ll swear that everything I said was a lie.”
Beck laughed. “Little late now, my friend. Your reporting cost us three billion in contracts.”
“Beck—”
“Your reporting,” Beck said slowly, his rage evident even in his controlled, measured delivery, “sparked investigations. Congressional hearings. I had to appear. It was messy. Awkward.” He paused. “And now you want to make it all good? I don’t think so.”
“Please,” said
Beck circled closer. “You will attack me. Well-armed. With two weapons, if you like.” He nodded at Wilden, who snapped the fiberglass case open, revealing a collection of gleaming blades.
“I will be unarmed,” Beck continued. “And you will attack me.” He stopped inches in front of Ellis’s face. “Because, if you do not,” he said softly, “your wife, Anne-Elise, and your daughter, Sarah, will vanish from your home in Silver Springs, in the middle of the night. Just as you disappeared from Kabul. And they will never, ever, be heard from again.”
For the first time since he’d arrived on the solarium deck, Ellis’s composure broke. His jaw tightened, his hands clenched into fists. “Beck,” he said. “Please. Leave my family out of this. You have a problem with my articles, take it out on me. Kill me. Or tell me what you want.”
“I want you to fight,” said Beck. “Choose your weapons.”
Ellis ripped two thick fiberglass-handled knives from the foam-lined case, tucked one into the top of his right boot, and crouched low, with the remaining blade outstretched.
“Certain guys on my crew,” said Beck, “might like to get to know your wife, come to think of it. Beautiful woman.” He chuckled. “Might like your daughter even better, knowing them. How old is she now, Ellis? Seventeen?”
Ellis leapt forward, gripping the knife as he drove for Beck’s throat. Beck easily sidestepped the older man, grabbed his arm, and yanked him forward, pulling him off-balance. Ellis stumbled and Beck whirled and shoved him hard into a wall. Ellis thunked against a steel barrier and collapsed to the ground. The knife he’d been holding skittered across the deck and he lay on his back, moaning. Beck’s men laughed.
Beck picked up the knife and tossed it back to his adversary. “I said fight .”
Ellis rolled to his knees, then stood, slowly, clutching the knife once more. Mimicking Beck’s actions—staying low and loose—Ellis came for his enemy more warily this time, jabbing with the blade, edging his opponent back, into a corner. He was sweating heavily now, heart thumping, redlining. When it seemed there was nowhere for Beck to go, Ellis lunged again, flying forward, slashing low, and rising as he charged.
Beck ducked, and twisted away hard at the last instant, smashing the reporter’s outstretched arm with a hop kick, like a move from an Irish dance. Another spinning, booming kick hurled Ellis into a railing, where he collapsed like a rag doll.
Beck, barely winded, leaned over his bleeding, battered quarry and laughed. “What do I have to do to get you to fight, old man?”
Ellis blinked and his eyes swam in pale sockets. His brain stuttered. Tried to reengage. Like a computer restarting after a crash.
“Should’ve had that daylight-basement door fixed, Ellis,” Beck said mildly, turning away. “Makes for very easy access, you know? Off the street, out of sight. Poorly lit. Haven’t been keeping up on your home maintenance, have you?”
Ellis struggled to his feet, clearly suffering now.
“That’s how my men went in,” said Beck, “to place the cameras that are monitoring your family now. And how they’ll go in tomorrow night to take your wife and daughter.”
Ellis gasped, his voice a ragged whisper. “Beck, please. They’ve done nothing to you. Nothing at all. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll write articles praising your company. I’ll swear that everything I said was a lie.”
Beck laughed. “Little late now, my friend. Your reporting cost us three billion in contracts.”
“Beck—”
“Your reporting,” Beck said slowly, his rage evident even in his controlled, measured delivery, “sparked investigations. Congressional hearings. I had to appear. It was messy. Awkward.” He paused. “And now you want to make it all good? I don’t think so.”
“Please,” said
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