Read Online Immortal by Bill Clem - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Bill Clem
Tags: Suspense & Thrillers
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there was a soft brushing noise, a scraping, a faint click. Josh couldn't believe it. Someone was trying to get in. He knew that medical records was off limits to everyone except the technicians who worked there, and on-duty surgeons, should they need access to a patient's records in an emergency surgery. But today the techs were off, and there were no surgeries going on. Kelly Frock had told him that the OR's were having new equipment installed and no one was operating until Wednesday. So who was pawing at the door?
Someone was still working the knob, making various clicking and scraping noises. It was unbelievable.
More soft sounds, a sharp click--and then Josh stared in disbelief.
The security light on the door had just turned green.
Chapter 26
Terry Brooks' desk stood in front of her picture window, which afforded a stunning night time mountain view from her condo on Phoenix Avenue and Yucca Drive in Scottsdale. She closed the curtains to avoid the pleasant distraction while she was writing. At the moment she was drafting the story that she'd dreamed about for the past three years. Not only would she make a fortune off of it, she'd also prove once and for all what she had known all along. She was a great reporter. The Ford Clinic story was Marty Branigan's brainchild, but now, out of desperation, she was making it her story.
As she typed on her MacBook, Terry heard the creak of a door somewhere in the apartment. She ignored the sound.
She was on a roll, that rare time when every word she wrote fell beautifully in to place. The Ford Institute story had huge ramifications, with scientific and ethic and religious implications. Potentially, it was more explosive than the original expose by Marty, that Ford was somehow aligned with the Aurora Life Extension Foundation.
And now she was going to tell it.
It was too bad that Marty Branigan had confided in her. Terry needed a story to keep her job and if Marty was dragging her feet on it, well, to hell with her. She'd write it herself and give it to the editor. Then they'd see she was worthy of her job. Hell, she'd probably get a promotion. It was so ground shaking she didn't mind lying to her editor about her sources.
Terry imagined her story running in a major newspaper. If her editor gave her any crap, she'd just pitch it to the Washington Post, or maybe even the New York Times. Big Dollars!
Terry drained her third cup of coffee of the morning and pushed aside her cat, Freckles. She indented and prepared to type the next paragraph.
She heard a shuffle behind her in the hallway.
"Go on, Freckles, get some food and be a good kitty for mommy. I'll play with you in a little while."
Terry Brooks felt a movement of air then something cold and sharp against her neck.
"Hello, Terry," said a man's voice. "I see you've been a bad girl." Terry Brooks exhaled silently and her back went slack.
She squelched the impulse to run or cry out. She could feel the blade against her neck veins and feared that if she turned, she would be cut.
"What do you want?" she struggled to ask.
"Want? I don't want anything except for you to stop writing these lies you're writing. Do you know who I am?"
She turned slightly as the assailant eased the pressure off the cold steel against her neck.
Terry Brooks felt mortal fear shoot through her body. If he's going to let me see him, I'm dead. Oh God! Oh no!
She turned slightly.
"Am I supposed to know you?" she asked, feigning ignorance.
"Don't play games, Terry. Now tell me, where'd you get all your information? You seem to know an awful lot about me."
Terry Brooks talked until her mouth was as dry as the desert outside her window.
"That's good. So Marty Branigan is behind all of this?"
Brooks pursed her lips trying to get saliva in her mouth. "Yes, I'm just typing it for her. I promise I'll throw it all away if you want. Delete it all."
"Don't bother, Terry. I'll do it for you. But first..."
Terry Brooks felt the assailant pick her up by
Someone was still working the knob, making various clicking and scraping noises. It was unbelievable.
More soft sounds, a sharp click--and then Josh stared in disbelief.
The security light on the door had just turned green.
Chapter 26
Terry Brooks' desk stood in front of her picture window, which afforded a stunning night time mountain view from her condo on Phoenix Avenue and Yucca Drive in Scottsdale. She closed the curtains to avoid the pleasant distraction while she was writing. At the moment she was drafting the story that she'd dreamed about for the past three years. Not only would she make a fortune off of it, she'd also prove once and for all what she had known all along. She was a great reporter. The Ford Clinic story was Marty Branigan's brainchild, but now, out of desperation, she was making it her story.
As she typed on her MacBook, Terry heard the creak of a door somewhere in the apartment. She ignored the sound.
She was on a roll, that rare time when every word she wrote fell beautifully in to place. The Ford Institute story had huge ramifications, with scientific and ethic and religious implications. Potentially, it was more explosive than the original expose by Marty, that Ford was somehow aligned with the Aurora Life Extension Foundation.
And now she was going to tell it.
It was too bad that Marty Branigan had confided in her. Terry needed a story to keep her job and if Marty was dragging her feet on it, well, to hell with her. She'd write it herself and give it to the editor. Then they'd see she was worthy of her job. Hell, she'd probably get a promotion. It was so ground shaking she didn't mind lying to her editor about her sources.
Terry imagined her story running in a major newspaper. If her editor gave her any crap, she'd just pitch it to the Washington Post, or maybe even the New York Times. Big Dollars!
Terry drained her third cup of coffee of the morning and pushed aside her cat, Freckles. She indented and prepared to type the next paragraph.
She heard a shuffle behind her in the hallway.
"Go on, Freckles, get some food and be a good kitty for mommy. I'll play with you in a little while."
Terry Brooks felt a movement of air then something cold and sharp against her neck.
"Hello, Terry," said a man's voice. "I see you've been a bad girl." Terry Brooks exhaled silently and her back went slack.
She squelched the impulse to run or cry out. She could feel the blade against her neck veins and feared that if she turned, she would be cut.
"What do you want?" she struggled to ask.
"Want? I don't want anything except for you to stop writing these lies you're writing. Do you know who I am?"
She turned slightly as the assailant eased the pressure off the cold steel against her neck.
Terry Brooks felt mortal fear shoot through her body. If he's going to let me see him, I'm dead. Oh God! Oh no!
She turned slightly.
"Am I supposed to know you?" she asked, feigning ignorance.
"Don't play games, Terry. Now tell me, where'd you get all your information? You seem to know an awful lot about me."
Terry Brooks talked until her mouth was as dry as the desert outside her window.
"That's good. So Marty Branigan is behind all of this?"
Brooks pursed her lips trying to get saliva in her mouth. "Yes, I'm just typing it for her. I promise I'll throw it all away if you want. Delete it all."
"Don't bother, Terry. I'll do it for you. But first..."
Terry Brooks felt the assailant pick her up by
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