Read Online Line of Succession: A Thriller by William Tyree - Free Book Online
Authors: William Tyree
Ads: Link
family that Carver wished was his own. He had to admit that he and O’Keefe looked good together in their alternate universe. It was too bad that the field house had been compromised. All these pics would have to be destroyed. He was going to miss them.
In the basement he found Lieutenant Flynn’s body on the floor in the same position O’Keefe had described to him on the phone. The sleeve of Flynn’s uniform was still twisted around his neck. Carver pulled it away and noted that the bruises around the neck were consistent with O’Keefe’s assessment. Flynn had been garroted.
He shook his head. The crime scene was bound to be full of DNA samples. If only he could get the lab out here, as O’Keefe had suggested. But that was impossible now. He had to clean this mess up so that the clandestine investigation wouldn’t be discovered. He had to protect the President. And Julian. Definitely Julian. The Chief had no idea what kind of trouble he had let loose with his investigation.
He opened the luggage and pulled out rubber gloves, sheets of plastic, a chemical suit, cleaning equipment and an electric buzz saw with spare blades. He tested the blade’s sharpness against the fleshy part of his palm. Then he plugged it into an outlet near the basement sink.
The chemical suit was made of lightweight nylon, the type used by pest control professionals or arborists, not bio-engineers. He pulled it on and followed with the gloves. Then he stacked several antique milk crates next to the sink, taking care to ensure that the height was equivalent. Finally, he covered the area in plastic sheets – walls, floor and ceiling. He checked his watch. It had been eighteen minutes since he had entered the house. He had to hurry. He was supposed to meet O’Keefe at Lee Federal Penitentiary shortly.
He grabbed Flynn by the ankles and began dragging him across the basement. It never failed. The officer was much heavier dead than alive. What about those twelve grams the body was supposed to lose after death? It felt more like twelve tons were added.
With some trying, he managed to get Flynn’s torso up on the milk crates. The Lieutenant’s stiff legs were now extended over the sink.
As Carver turned on the tap, he gazed up at the black and white photo of the home’s prior inhabitants filleting trout at the very sink where he was about to dismember Flynn. A chuckle escaped his lips.
“ Sorry,” he said as he picked up the saw. “I mean no disrespect.”
Yeager Airport
Charleston, West Virginia
10:40 a.m.
Speers drove out of the airport rental car lot in a white economy car, still wearing the gray suit he’d questioned Lieutenant Flynn in before sunup. He got onto the freeway and spoke slowly to the car’s navigation system: “Local search. Monroe. West Virginia. Holy Grace Baptist Church.”
The nav chewed on the request for a moment before it started barking out orders. “Turn left in twenty feet…Merge right onto I-79…Straight ahead for one mile…”
He had napped for the entire 73-minute duration of the flight, and yet he was still groggy enough to have trouble following the nav system’s directions. He managed to merge onto I-79 toward Monroe before his phone rang.
It was Mrs. Tenningclaus, his 71-year-old neighbor. “Good morning, Misses Tenningclaus,” Speers answered. “How are you?”
“ Julian dear,” Mrs. Tenningclaus began, “My sister in Phoenix broke her hip.”
“ Sorry to hear that. Is she okay?”
“ I just said she broke her hip. I’m headed to Arizona to see her right now. Would you be a prince and look in on the cats?”
Mrs. Tenningclaus lived all alone in the big brownstone across from Speers’ building, and the fact that Speers was the White House Chief of Staff – one of the most important jobs in the free world – did not dissuade her from calling on him often for trivial errands or cat sitting. Like Speers, she didn’t have any other family in town. Speers
In the basement he found Lieutenant Flynn’s body on the floor in the same position O’Keefe had described to him on the phone. The sleeve of Flynn’s uniform was still twisted around his neck. Carver pulled it away and noted that the bruises around the neck were consistent with O’Keefe’s assessment. Flynn had been garroted.
He shook his head. The crime scene was bound to be full of DNA samples. If only he could get the lab out here, as O’Keefe had suggested. But that was impossible now. He had to clean this mess up so that the clandestine investigation wouldn’t be discovered. He had to protect the President. And Julian. Definitely Julian. The Chief had no idea what kind of trouble he had let loose with his investigation.
He opened the luggage and pulled out rubber gloves, sheets of plastic, a chemical suit, cleaning equipment and an electric buzz saw with spare blades. He tested the blade’s sharpness against the fleshy part of his palm. Then he plugged it into an outlet near the basement sink.
The chemical suit was made of lightweight nylon, the type used by pest control professionals or arborists, not bio-engineers. He pulled it on and followed with the gloves. Then he stacked several antique milk crates next to the sink, taking care to ensure that the height was equivalent. Finally, he covered the area in plastic sheets – walls, floor and ceiling. He checked his watch. It had been eighteen minutes since he had entered the house. He had to hurry. He was supposed to meet O’Keefe at Lee Federal Penitentiary shortly.
He grabbed Flynn by the ankles and began dragging him across the basement. It never failed. The officer was much heavier dead than alive. What about those twelve grams the body was supposed to lose after death? It felt more like twelve tons were added.
With some trying, he managed to get Flynn’s torso up on the milk crates. The Lieutenant’s stiff legs were now extended over the sink.
As Carver turned on the tap, he gazed up at the black and white photo of the home’s prior inhabitants filleting trout at the very sink where he was about to dismember Flynn. A chuckle escaped his lips.
“ Sorry,” he said as he picked up the saw. “I mean no disrespect.”
Yeager Airport
Charleston, West Virginia
10:40 a.m.
Speers drove out of the airport rental car lot in a white economy car, still wearing the gray suit he’d questioned Lieutenant Flynn in before sunup. He got onto the freeway and spoke slowly to the car’s navigation system: “Local search. Monroe. West Virginia. Holy Grace Baptist Church.”
The nav chewed on the request for a moment before it started barking out orders. “Turn left in twenty feet…Merge right onto I-79…Straight ahead for one mile…”
He had napped for the entire 73-minute duration of the flight, and yet he was still groggy enough to have trouble following the nav system’s directions. He managed to merge onto I-79 toward Monroe before his phone rang.
It was Mrs. Tenningclaus, his 71-year-old neighbor. “Good morning, Misses Tenningclaus,” Speers answered. “How are you?”
“ Julian dear,” Mrs. Tenningclaus began, “My sister in Phoenix broke her hip.”
“ Sorry to hear that. Is she okay?”
“ I just said she broke her hip. I’m headed to Arizona to see her right now. Would you be a prince and look in on the cats?”
Mrs. Tenningclaus lived all alone in the big brownstone across from Speers’ building, and the fact that Speers was the White House Chief of Staff – one of the most important jobs in the free world – did not dissuade her from calling on him often for trivial errands or cat sitting. Like Speers, she didn’t have any other family in town. Speers
Similar Books
