Read Online Force of Fire (The Kane Legacy) by Rosa Turner Boschen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Rosa Turner Boschen
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type.
McFadden was shaking his head,
massaging the shoulder portion of the heavy bandage that crossed his bare
chest. He had a three-day growth of reddish beard and spoke in an affected
southern twang. Not Deep South. One of the Carolinas,
probably. Maybe even Virginia.
A stillness settled into McFadden's eyes. 'What the hell do you make of it, Mr. DOD?'
'Neal, the name’s Neal, son,'
Mooney interposed, sounding a bit embarrassed on his nephew's behalf.
Mark examined the marbled
pattern of the patio, taking his time to speak. He could feel McFadden
assessing him, weighing his countenance against some projected image.
'What I make of it, Mr.
McFadden, is really Defense Department information and therefore none of your
goddamned business.'
'Look, asshole, Ana Kane is a
damned good friend of mine, so whatever concerns her safety is my fucking
business!'
Mark stayed coolly in his
chair. McFadden took one big stride in Mark's direction. Mooney stepped forward
to intervene. 'Now, now, boys,' he said, forcing a placating smile. 'We all
want the same thing here.'
McFadden returned to his seat
and sank low in his chair, the blood draining from his face, as Mark downed his
last bit of cubalibre . 'So, McFadden, according to
your story, they left you for dead.'
'My story?' he said, glancing
at his uncle. 'Who the hell does this guy think he is?'
Mooney ignored him, and went
back to the bar to refill his drink. He motioned to Mark, offering a second
round, but Mark declined with a shake of his head. There was still something
about McFadden’s story that didn’t add up.
'Tell me something, McFadden.
How is it that half a dozen armed insurgents didn’t put your lights out?'
McFadden shifted in his seat
and tugged at the bandage. 'Flak vest.'
'Body armor? You went out into the jungle suited up?'
'And why not? I thought there might be trouble.'
'Trouble enough for you, but
not Miss Kane?'
'Lady’s got a mind of her own.'
'Tell me what rots with this
picture. Last time I checked, flak vests weren’t State Department issue.'
Joe took a swig from his bottle
of beer. 'No, Mr. DOD, you got me there. Let’s just say being the Ambassador’s
nephew has its perks.'
Mark decided to look into it
later. His priority now was Ana . Everything he’d heard
confirmed his suspicions. Even though McFadden couldn’t make a positive ID,
this ambush had El Dedo’s greasy fingerprints all
over it.
Mark stood and carried his
empty glass to the bar, relieved to see McFadden rise and clear the room.
'Ambassador, thank you for your
hospitality, but I have a plane to catch.'
'Not so fast, young man.'
Mooney stopped him by standing directly in his path. 'You're going to have a
little company for the road.'
Mark met the older man's look with
an appraising frown. The Ambassador didn't seem prepared for travel.
McFadden appeared in the
doorway, a blue duffel bag under his arm.
Oh God, tell me this isn't
happening. Mark could feel the walls of his stomach closing in. He turned to
Mooney for clarification. Surely this was some sort of maniacal State
Department joke.
'Sorry, son, but it’s true. Joe’s going back to Washington with you. Everything's
already been settled with George.'
Mark turned to Mooney, praying
for an inconceivable out. Beyond the doorway, the two of them could hear the
flap of Joe's sandals descending the polished front steps.
Mooney ventured a smile. 'I'm
sure he knows enough not to get in your way. Besides, you never know when a
fellow like Joe might come in handy.'
The jet took off. Joe reclined
in his seat and fidgeted with the air control. Neal, his nose in a magazine,
was ignoring him completely.
Joe’s eyes flickered over Neal
with contempt. Fine, let the fucker read his magazine. This DOD asshole doesn't
give a damn about me. It's all about operational protocol. I've seen the type. Always dotting all the 'I's' and crossing all those goddamned
'T's'. How the hell did he get to be an operative
McFadden was shaking his head,
massaging the shoulder portion of the heavy bandage that crossed his bare
chest. He had a three-day growth of reddish beard and spoke in an affected
southern twang. Not Deep South. One of the Carolinas,
probably. Maybe even Virginia.
A stillness settled into McFadden's eyes. 'What the hell do you make of it, Mr. DOD?'
'Neal, the name’s Neal, son,'
Mooney interposed, sounding a bit embarrassed on his nephew's behalf.
Mark examined the marbled
pattern of the patio, taking his time to speak. He could feel McFadden
assessing him, weighing his countenance against some projected image.
'What I make of it, Mr.
McFadden, is really Defense Department information and therefore none of your
goddamned business.'
'Look, asshole, Ana Kane is a
damned good friend of mine, so whatever concerns her safety is my fucking
business!'
Mark stayed coolly in his
chair. McFadden took one big stride in Mark's direction. Mooney stepped forward
to intervene. 'Now, now, boys,' he said, forcing a placating smile. 'We all
want the same thing here.'
McFadden returned to his seat
and sank low in his chair, the blood draining from his face, as Mark downed his
last bit of cubalibre . 'So, McFadden, according to
your story, they left you for dead.'
'My story?' he said, glancing
at his uncle. 'Who the hell does this guy think he is?'
Mooney ignored him, and went
back to the bar to refill his drink. He motioned to Mark, offering a second
round, but Mark declined with a shake of his head. There was still something
about McFadden’s story that didn’t add up.
'Tell me something, McFadden.
How is it that half a dozen armed insurgents didn’t put your lights out?'
McFadden shifted in his seat
and tugged at the bandage. 'Flak vest.'
'Body armor? You went out into the jungle suited up?'
'And why not? I thought there might be trouble.'
'Trouble enough for you, but
not Miss Kane?'
'Lady’s got a mind of her own.'
'Tell me what rots with this
picture. Last time I checked, flak vests weren’t State Department issue.'
Joe took a swig from his bottle
of beer. 'No, Mr. DOD, you got me there. Let’s just say being the Ambassador’s
nephew has its perks.'
Mark decided to look into it
later. His priority now was Ana . Everything he’d heard
confirmed his suspicions. Even though McFadden couldn’t make a positive ID,
this ambush had El Dedo’s greasy fingerprints all
over it.
Mark stood and carried his
empty glass to the bar, relieved to see McFadden rise and clear the room.
'Ambassador, thank you for your
hospitality, but I have a plane to catch.'
'Not so fast, young man.'
Mooney stopped him by standing directly in his path. 'You're going to have a
little company for the road.'
Mark met the older man's look with
an appraising frown. The Ambassador didn't seem prepared for travel.
McFadden appeared in the
doorway, a blue duffel bag under his arm.
Oh God, tell me this isn't
happening. Mark could feel the walls of his stomach closing in. He turned to
Mooney for clarification. Surely this was some sort of maniacal State
Department joke.
'Sorry, son, but it’s true. Joe’s going back to Washington with you. Everything's
already been settled with George.'
Mark turned to Mooney, praying
for an inconceivable out. Beyond the doorway, the two of them could hear the
flap of Joe's sandals descending the polished front steps.
Mooney ventured a smile. 'I'm
sure he knows enough not to get in your way. Besides, you never know when a
fellow like Joe might come in handy.'
The jet took off. Joe reclined
in his seat and fidgeted with the air control. Neal, his nose in a magazine,
was ignoring him completely.
Joe’s eyes flickered over Neal
with contempt. Fine, let the fucker read his magazine. This DOD asshole doesn't
give a damn about me. It's all about operational protocol. I've seen the type. Always dotting all the 'I's' and crossing all those goddamned
'T's'. How the hell did he get to be an operative
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