Read Online HL 04-The Final Hour by Andrew Klavan - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Andrew Klavan
Tags: Fiction, General, Action & Adventure, Juvenile Fiction, Ebook, Adventure and Adventurers, book, Terrorism, Amnesia, Fugitives from justice
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patrols of the area. Each guard carried an AK strapped over his shoulder.
The moment I saw them walk away from the building, I started moving.
Crouching low, I took the last steps down the barracks hall to the doorway. I slipped outside, feeling the cool of the night surround me. The moon was just a sliver, but it hung above the far trees and angled in across the open space of the compound, giving it some light. In that light, I could see the watchtower guards in silhouette, see they were turned to face out of the compound, watching for intruders from the surrounding woods. The two other guards, the ones on the ground, continued moving away, one off to my left, the other to my right.
I kept my head down and moved as quickly as I could across the open space. I took long, swift strides, careful my bare feet made no noise as they landed on the dirt. I headed for the lighted building.
That crossing—from my barracks to the building opposite—I guess it took maybe five seconds all told, five terrible seconds when I was completely exposed. If one of the patrolling guards had heard me—if one of the watchtower guards had looked down and seen me— they’d have opened fire and shot me where I stood.
Then—thankfully—I was there. Panting, I came up against the building. I pressed hard against the outer wall, trying to stay hidden in the shadows. The light within shone out through the window, falling on the dirt below, just inches from my feet. But the moon was still low enough to leave a line of darkness at the base of the building. I tried to stay inside that narrow line, out of sight.
From where I was, I could hear the burr of voices inside. It sounded as if there were two or three people in there. I strained my ears, listening. It was no good. I couldn’t make out their words. I had to get closer.
I took a breath. I took a glance over my shoulder. I could see one of the compound guards. He was still walking away, but he was getting close to the farthest buildings over by the barbed-wire fence, under the watchtower. I figured when he got there, he’d probably turn around and come back, heading straight toward me.
I turned to look for the other guard. He was gone. I scanned the night desperately. No sign of him. Where was he? Had he gone inside? Was he moving around to surprise me? I just didn’t know—and there was no time to find out.
Just then, I heard the murmur of voices inside the building rise in volume.
“We don’t have any choice,” someone said forcefully. I recognized the voice. It was Prince. “We have to strike when we can, as we can.”
I stopped searching for the second guard. Time was short and I had to find out what was going on inside that room. I sidled closer to the window, my bare feet edging into that yellow glow of lamplight that fell on the dirt from inside.
I pressed hard to the wall and listened.
A voice spoke. It was Waylon, but he was talking in a quick guttural language I couldn’t understand. Arabic, I guess. He spoke for several seconds.
Then a new voice interrupted: “Speak English, will you? I can’t understand.”
I almost gasped out loud. I recognized that voice too. It was Mr. Sherman, my history teacher. Even though I knew he was one of the Homelanders, I was shocked to find out he was here at the compound.
Waylon spoke again, in English this time. “I’m telling you, it’s too soon. He just isn’t ready.”
Prince responded. It was the same calm, intelligent voice I remembered from the weird mansion. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “The simple fact is: We won’t get another chance like this. Yarrow is the key to President Spender’s new policy on terrorism. He’s the one who’s convinced the president to stand up to Congress and declare a real Homeland Security war against us. Killing him will throw their entire new security plan into disarray. After that, we’ll be able to operate with a much freer hand.”
“I understand,” Waylon answered. I
The moment I saw them walk away from the building, I started moving.
Crouching low, I took the last steps down the barracks hall to the doorway. I slipped outside, feeling the cool of the night surround me. The moon was just a sliver, but it hung above the far trees and angled in across the open space of the compound, giving it some light. In that light, I could see the watchtower guards in silhouette, see they were turned to face out of the compound, watching for intruders from the surrounding woods. The two other guards, the ones on the ground, continued moving away, one off to my left, the other to my right.
I kept my head down and moved as quickly as I could across the open space. I took long, swift strides, careful my bare feet made no noise as they landed on the dirt. I headed for the lighted building.
That crossing—from my barracks to the building opposite—I guess it took maybe five seconds all told, five terrible seconds when I was completely exposed. If one of the patrolling guards had heard me—if one of the watchtower guards had looked down and seen me— they’d have opened fire and shot me where I stood.
Then—thankfully—I was there. Panting, I came up against the building. I pressed hard against the outer wall, trying to stay hidden in the shadows. The light within shone out through the window, falling on the dirt below, just inches from my feet. But the moon was still low enough to leave a line of darkness at the base of the building. I tried to stay inside that narrow line, out of sight.
From where I was, I could hear the burr of voices inside. It sounded as if there were two or three people in there. I strained my ears, listening. It was no good. I couldn’t make out their words. I had to get closer.
I took a breath. I took a glance over my shoulder. I could see one of the compound guards. He was still walking away, but he was getting close to the farthest buildings over by the barbed-wire fence, under the watchtower. I figured when he got there, he’d probably turn around and come back, heading straight toward me.
I turned to look for the other guard. He was gone. I scanned the night desperately. No sign of him. Where was he? Had he gone inside? Was he moving around to surprise me? I just didn’t know—and there was no time to find out.
Just then, I heard the murmur of voices inside the building rise in volume.
“We don’t have any choice,” someone said forcefully. I recognized the voice. It was Prince. “We have to strike when we can, as we can.”
I stopped searching for the second guard. Time was short and I had to find out what was going on inside that room. I sidled closer to the window, my bare feet edging into that yellow glow of lamplight that fell on the dirt from inside.
I pressed hard to the wall and listened.
A voice spoke. It was Waylon, but he was talking in a quick guttural language I couldn’t understand. Arabic, I guess. He spoke for several seconds.
Then a new voice interrupted: “Speak English, will you? I can’t understand.”
I almost gasped out loud. I recognized that voice too. It was Mr. Sherman, my history teacher. Even though I knew he was one of the Homelanders, I was shocked to find out he was here at the compound.
Waylon spoke again, in English this time. “I’m telling you, it’s too soon. He just isn’t ready.”
Prince responded. It was the same calm, intelligent voice I remembered from the weird mansion. “It doesn’t matter,” he said. “The simple fact is: We won’t get another chance like this. Yarrow is the key to President Spender’s new policy on terrorism. He’s the one who’s convinced the president to stand up to Congress and declare a real Homeland Security war against us. Killing him will throw their entire new security plan into disarray. After that, we’ll be able to operate with a much freer hand.”
“I understand,” Waylon answered. I
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