Read Online Sullivan Saga 1: Sullivan's War by Michael Rose - Free Book Online
Authors: Michael Rose
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headquarters?”
The man shrugged and returned to his work, scanning the code on each crate as it was unloaded.
Allen muttered a few choice words under his breath, took up his gear and gestured for the other agents to follow him. He entered the warehouse that was receiving the shipment of whiskey, crossed the warehouse floor and stepped out through the large bay door on the street side of the building. It took only a moment for him to realize that the dumpsters weren’t the only source of the stench. Rows of stalls and shacks lined the sidewalk behind the spaceport. From these, all manner of goods were being sold: food, fresh and not so fresh, was piled high in baskets and plastic bins; electronics, many of them no doubt stolen, were arrayed on cloth-covered tables; racks of clothes in various states of cleanliness jutted out into the street, making navigation of the market difficult. Beyond this, the narrow street barely accommodated the two lanes of cars that inched along in opposite directions.
Wagner stepped up beside Allen. “My god, it’s worse than I ever could have imagined.”
Allen nodded. “But it can’t all be like this, can it?”
Takemitsu stepped up, holding his tablet in front of him. “According to this map, the security HQ is east of here. It should be a more-or-less direct shot if we can find our way out of this place.”
Ives stepped over to a table and eyed the goods. As he sorted through the items—mostly garbage, by his estimation—a hand fell on his shoulder. He turned to see a scantily-clad woman smiling broadly at him. He counted at least three missing teeth.
“You look like you could use a little diversion, handsome,” she said, moving her hand from his shoulder to his chest.
Ives jerked away from her. “No. No, thank you, ma’am.”
The woman guffawed lustily, shook her head and moved on.
“We’re pretty damn conspicuous here,” said Wagner. “Let’s get moving.”
The four shouldered their gear and, after encountering a few dead ends, found a road running east and away from the shantytown.
9
IT HAD BEEN a month and a half. Sullivan had cooperated completely. He saw little sense in getting beaten or losing his strength due to being starved as punishment. He’d been given a tablet with its communications hardware removed and, as the tall man had said he could, he spent his days reading or watching movies and exercising.
But he was also watching and listening for sounds outside his cell. He’d learned that he was in a room at the end of a corridor. There were at least three other rooms. One room he could see across from his own through the hatch in the door. The others he knew about because he had heard their doors opening and closing.
He also knew that there was someone in the room next to his. This person had arrived a week after he had and, as far as he could tell, had been given the same treatment as himself: regular meals and buckets for washing and waste disposal. Once, he had heard a brief exchange between that person and Wilson. The voice was low and muffled so he couldn’t be sure, but he thought it sounded like a woman.
The worst part about Sullivan’s captivity was not that he was imprisoned but that the imprisonment of an entire population was continuing. As long as he was in this cell, he was being prevented from completing his work of freeing the people of Edaline. Justice for his parents—and for that teenaged boy—was being delayed.
Sullivan decided the delay had gone on long enough. He had figured out the routine and, through his quiet compliance, hoped Wilson and the tall man would have lowered their guard. He hoped they would not expect an escape attempt after so long a period of inaction.
Wilson brought Sullivan his food and wash bucket between eight and nine every morning. Sullivan was expected to have his waste bucket waiting to be removed. As an experiment, he’d not put it on the ledge one morning, and as punishment, he’d not
The man shrugged and returned to his work, scanning the code on each crate as it was unloaded.
Allen muttered a few choice words under his breath, took up his gear and gestured for the other agents to follow him. He entered the warehouse that was receiving the shipment of whiskey, crossed the warehouse floor and stepped out through the large bay door on the street side of the building. It took only a moment for him to realize that the dumpsters weren’t the only source of the stench. Rows of stalls and shacks lined the sidewalk behind the spaceport. From these, all manner of goods were being sold: food, fresh and not so fresh, was piled high in baskets and plastic bins; electronics, many of them no doubt stolen, were arrayed on cloth-covered tables; racks of clothes in various states of cleanliness jutted out into the street, making navigation of the market difficult. Beyond this, the narrow street barely accommodated the two lanes of cars that inched along in opposite directions.
Wagner stepped up beside Allen. “My god, it’s worse than I ever could have imagined.”
Allen nodded. “But it can’t all be like this, can it?”
Takemitsu stepped up, holding his tablet in front of him. “According to this map, the security HQ is east of here. It should be a more-or-less direct shot if we can find our way out of this place.”
Ives stepped over to a table and eyed the goods. As he sorted through the items—mostly garbage, by his estimation—a hand fell on his shoulder. He turned to see a scantily-clad woman smiling broadly at him. He counted at least three missing teeth.
“You look like you could use a little diversion, handsome,” she said, moving her hand from his shoulder to his chest.
Ives jerked away from her. “No. No, thank you, ma’am.”
The woman guffawed lustily, shook her head and moved on.
“We’re pretty damn conspicuous here,” said Wagner. “Let’s get moving.”
The four shouldered their gear and, after encountering a few dead ends, found a road running east and away from the shantytown.
9
IT HAD BEEN a month and a half. Sullivan had cooperated completely. He saw little sense in getting beaten or losing his strength due to being starved as punishment. He’d been given a tablet with its communications hardware removed and, as the tall man had said he could, he spent his days reading or watching movies and exercising.
But he was also watching and listening for sounds outside his cell. He’d learned that he was in a room at the end of a corridor. There were at least three other rooms. One room he could see across from his own through the hatch in the door. The others he knew about because he had heard their doors opening and closing.
He also knew that there was someone in the room next to his. This person had arrived a week after he had and, as far as he could tell, had been given the same treatment as himself: regular meals and buckets for washing and waste disposal. Once, he had heard a brief exchange between that person and Wilson. The voice was low and muffled so he couldn’t be sure, but he thought it sounded like a woman.
The worst part about Sullivan’s captivity was not that he was imprisoned but that the imprisonment of an entire population was continuing. As long as he was in this cell, he was being prevented from completing his work of freeing the people of Edaline. Justice for his parents—and for that teenaged boy—was being delayed.
Sullivan decided the delay had gone on long enough. He had figured out the routine and, through his quiet compliance, hoped Wilson and the tall man would have lowered their guard. He hoped they would not expect an escape attempt after so long a period of inaction.
Wilson brought Sullivan his food and wash bucket between eight and nine every morning. Sullivan was expected to have his waste bucket waiting to be removed. As an experiment, he’d not put it on the ledge one morning, and as punishment, he’d not
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