Read Online Grandmaster by Molly Cochran - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Molly Cochran
Tags: Crime, Espionage, Mystery, Washington, spy, secret agent, India, assassin, chess, Government, New York Times bestseller, Russia, killing, Secret service, Tibet, dc, international crime, Cuba, Edgar award-winner, genius, Havana, The High Priest
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between his lips. A wave of shock and revulsion rippled up through Justin's insides. For a moment, the man lying dead in the street looked no more human than the carcass of a slaughtered bull.
He looked up uncomprehendingly at the two figures standing over the body, the blond woman with her nose blackened comically with smeared blood, and the dark man holding the switchblade. By the harsh blue-white light of the street lamp, the knife glinted like a moving, living thing as the man walked slowly toward Justin, his breathing audible in the quiet night.
Justin backed away. Slowly at first, his hands shielding his face like a childish mask, he watched the silver gleam of the blade alternately disappear into shadow and shine brightly under the light as the dark man came closer, faster, toward him. His head bumped against the rough surface of a wall. The bump sent one message shooting through his body, and that was that this man, this stranger, was going to kill him.
He ran. Through the street, past heaps of rotting garbage and half-open back doorways reeking of liquor and stale smoke he ran, panting, not daring to look back, trying to keep his footing on the slippery stones of the pavement.
Two men walked out of one of the dingy bars along the street. Justin scurried up to them, clutching one of the men by the leg of his trousers.
"Stop him!" he yelled, pointing. "He's got a knife. He killed my father, and he's going to kill me, too."
Shrugging profusely, the man said something in French that was meant, Justin guessed, to sound comforting. Justin kept pointing, trying to indicate through his gestures that someone was after him. The two men looked at each other, then took a few steps down the street. The running footsteps had stopped. The dark man was gone. There was no one in view except a man and a woman, strolling arm in arm at a leisurely pace.
The Frenchman with Justin gestured to the couple and spoke something that sounded like a question.
"No," Justin said, relief flooding through him.
Then, as the couple passed beneath the street lamp, Justin recognized the blond woman. And beside her, the man with the knife, now hidden from view.
The woman smiled and called a name, holding out her arms.
"Ah," the Frenchman said, lifting Justin off the ground. He laughed and called something to the dark man and the blonde as he offered Justin to them.
Justin screamed, kicking the Frenchman in his side. "Put me down!"
The Frenchman dropped him with a curse and shouted at the couple. They paid him no attention. They were running after the boy.
The two sets of footsteps dropped off to one. The dark man was alone again. The winding street grew darker. Several of the street lamps had been smashed, and the seedy bars had given way to abandoned buildings and vacant lots. There was no one here, and Justin's limbs were trembling from the long exertion.
Still the footsteps came.
Justin forced himself to keep running, searching for a wider cross street, where he could lose himself, find a taxi, a policeman... No. He had learned his lesson with the Frenchman. Anyone he stopped would smile and shrug, not comprehending his pleas for help. And then turn him over to the dark man with the shiny knife. There was nowhere for him to go but straight into the darkness, running as long as he could, until the dark man caught him, until...
His legs buckled. With a groan, Justin hit the pavement on his knees and slapped forward, skinning his face. He heard his breath whistling out of him. He closed his eyes. He couldn't run anymore.
Farther.
He looked up. There was no one. Only the silent night broken by the sound of the dark man's footsteps, walking now.
Farther.
It was not a word, exactly, but a command nonetheless, some unspoken will that was drawing him up, pushing him forward.
The chess pieces, think only of the chess pieces.
He propelled himself ahead, his knees hurting, the bits of gravel embedded in his cheek beginning to sting.
1 am
He looked up uncomprehendingly at the two figures standing over the body, the blond woman with her nose blackened comically with smeared blood, and the dark man holding the switchblade. By the harsh blue-white light of the street lamp, the knife glinted like a moving, living thing as the man walked slowly toward Justin, his breathing audible in the quiet night.
Justin backed away. Slowly at first, his hands shielding his face like a childish mask, he watched the silver gleam of the blade alternately disappear into shadow and shine brightly under the light as the dark man came closer, faster, toward him. His head bumped against the rough surface of a wall. The bump sent one message shooting through his body, and that was that this man, this stranger, was going to kill him.
He ran. Through the street, past heaps of rotting garbage and half-open back doorways reeking of liquor and stale smoke he ran, panting, not daring to look back, trying to keep his footing on the slippery stones of the pavement.
Two men walked out of one of the dingy bars along the street. Justin scurried up to them, clutching one of the men by the leg of his trousers.
"Stop him!" he yelled, pointing. "He's got a knife. He killed my father, and he's going to kill me, too."
Shrugging profusely, the man said something in French that was meant, Justin guessed, to sound comforting. Justin kept pointing, trying to indicate through his gestures that someone was after him. The two men looked at each other, then took a few steps down the street. The running footsteps had stopped. The dark man was gone. There was no one in view except a man and a woman, strolling arm in arm at a leisurely pace.
The Frenchman with Justin gestured to the couple and spoke something that sounded like a question.
"No," Justin said, relief flooding through him.
Then, as the couple passed beneath the street lamp, Justin recognized the blond woman. And beside her, the man with the knife, now hidden from view.
The woman smiled and called a name, holding out her arms.
"Ah," the Frenchman said, lifting Justin off the ground. He laughed and called something to the dark man and the blonde as he offered Justin to them.
Justin screamed, kicking the Frenchman in his side. "Put me down!"
The Frenchman dropped him with a curse and shouted at the couple. They paid him no attention. They were running after the boy.
The two sets of footsteps dropped off to one. The dark man was alone again. The winding street grew darker. Several of the street lamps had been smashed, and the seedy bars had given way to abandoned buildings and vacant lots. There was no one here, and Justin's limbs were trembling from the long exertion.
Still the footsteps came.
Justin forced himself to keep running, searching for a wider cross street, where he could lose himself, find a taxi, a policeman... No. He had learned his lesson with the Frenchman. Anyone he stopped would smile and shrug, not comprehending his pleas for help. And then turn him over to the dark man with the shiny knife. There was nowhere for him to go but straight into the darkness, running as long as he could, until the dark man caught him, until...
His legs buckled. With a groan, Justin hit the pavement on his knees and slapped forward, skinning his face. He heard his breath whistling out of him. He closed his eyes. He couldn't run anymore.
Farther.
He looked up. There was no one. Only the silent night broken by the sound of the dark man's footsteps, walking now.
Farther.
It was not a word, exactly, but a command nonetheless, some unspoken will that was drawing him up, pushing him forward.
The chess pieces, think only of the chess pieces.
He propelled himself ahead, his knees hurting, the bits of gravel embedded in his cheek beginning to sting.
1 am
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