Read Online The Clone Assassin by Steven L. Kent - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Steven L. Kent
Ads: Link
established a blockade around Earth. Transports penetrating that blockade would not go unnoticed.
Freeman jogged some of the distance, but mostly he walked. He walked up a hill, crested the rise, and saw Mazatlán in the near distance. A few lights glittered in buildings and along the streets, but mostly the city showed as a solid silhouette against the less absolute darkness of the night. On the other side of town, the lights of the relocation center glowed like a field of embers.
The scene before him sat silent in the desert air, heavy and dry. Freeman could see the sea from this spot as well. A nearly full moon hung above it, illuminating waters as black and shiny as obsidian, with gray breakers rolling into shore.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Location: En route to Washington, D.C.
Date: July 17, 2519
Travis Watson called Emily, his fiancée, from the shuttle a few minutes after takeoff. He didn’t worry about waking her. She was a night owl; call her anytime before three in the morning, and she would be alert and awake. Call her before noon, and she would sleep through the call.
She answered on the first ring, and said, “Baby, what is going on down there?”
Watson said, “I’m on my way home.”
“Do they know what happened to Wayson?”
Though Harris’s disappearance had not been released to the public, Emily knew about it. Gordon Hughes, the late governor of the New Olympian refugees, had been her grandfather. She didn’t live or work with the New Olympians, but she kept up with news of the Territories, even when the news included classified information. Few EME generals or admirals had been informed about Harris, but Emily knew all about it, as if all people associated with New Olympia absorbed the information through the airwaves by osmosis.
Since he saw no point denying information that she already knew, he said, “No.”
“Is he still missing?”
“Yes.”
“Jeez,” she said. “What a nightmare. It’s like everything is happening all at once, the attack on the Pentagon, the one on the prison, and now Harris. Someone said they all happened at the exact same time, like it had all been synchronized.”
Watson said, “I can’t talk about that.” Then he admitted, “It must have been.”
“What does Don have to say about it?” “Don,” the late Admiral Don Cutter, was Watson’s boss.
“I haven’t spoken with him,” he said, trying to sound natural. Cutter had been killed in space. Only a small group knew about the assassination—the crew of the
Churchill
, a few select officers in the Pentagon, Freeman, and the people behind it.
“I don’t get how the military works,” said Emily. “I would have thought Harris’s disappearance would be a top priority.”
Hoping to prevent the conversation from evolving into a guessing game, Watson said, “Look, Emily, Sunny doesn’t know about Wayson.”
“You haven’t told her anything?”
“I wanted to wait until we had something . . . something more than an empty hotel room.” He wondered what he could tell Emily and what she already knew. As the late Gordon Hughes’s granddaughter, Emily had well-placed friends in the New Olympian hierarchy.
He said, “I saw Harris’s hotel room. If they got him, he didn’t go down without a fight.”
“Do you think they killed him?” Emily asked, the shock apparent in her voice.
“No. I don’t think so,” he said, remembering his final conversation with Freeman. “He killed three of theirs. There may have been a fourth, but I don’t think they would have taken his body if they got him,” said Watson.
They
left
Cutter sitting at his desk,
he added, but only in his thoughts.
“M, I’m going to call Sunny next,” he said, trying again to take control of the conversation.
Silence. Then after several seconds, Emily said, “Oh, Trav, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I mean, how is she going to take it? You know, she’s kind of, I mean, she’s kind of . . .”
“Pampered”
Freeman jogged some of the distance, but mostly he walked. He walked up a hill, crested the rise, and saw Mazatlán in the near distance. A few lights glittered in buildings and along the streets, but mostly the city showed as a solid silhouette against the less absolute darkness of the night. On the other side of town, the lights of the relocation center glowed like a field of embers.
The scene before him sat silent in the desert air, heavy and dry. Freeman could see the sea from this spot as well. A nearly full moon hung above it, illuminating waters as black and shiny as obsidian, with gray breakers rolling into shore.
CHAPTER
ELEVEN
Location: En route to Washington, D.C.
Date: July 17, 2519
Travis Watson called Emily, his fiancée, from the shuttle a few minutes after takeoff. He didn’t worry about waking her. She was a night owl; call her anytime before three in the morning, and she would be alert and awake. Call her before noon, and she would sleep through the call.
She answered on the first ring, and said, “Baby, what is going on down there?”
Watson said, “I’m on my way home.”
“Do they know what happened to Wayson?”
Though Harris’s disappearance had not been released to the public, Emily knew about it. Gordon Hughes, the late governor of the New Olympian refugees, had been her grandfather. She didn’t live or work with the New Olympians, but she kept up with news of the Territories, even when the news included classified information. Few EME generals or admirals had been informed about Harris, but Emily knew all about it, as if all people associated with New Olympia absorbed the information through the airwaves by osmosis.
Since he saw no point denying information that she already knew, he said, “No.”
“Is he still missing?”
“Yes.”
“Jeez,” she said. “What a nightmare. It’s like everything is happening all at once, the attack on the Pentagon, the one on the prison, and now Harris. Someone said they all happened at the exact same time, like it had all been synchronized.”
Watson said, “I can’t talk about that.” Then he admitted, “It must have been.”
“What does Don have to say about it?” “Don,” the late Admiral Don Cutter, was Watson’s boss.
“I haven’t spoken with him,” he said, trying to sound natural. Cutter had been killed in space. Only a small group knew about the assassination—the crew of the
Churchill
, a few select officers in the Pentagon, Freeman, and the people behind it.
“I don’t get how the military works,” said Emily. “I would have thought Harris’s disappearance would be a top priority.”
Hoping to prevent the conversation from evolving into a guessing game, Watson said, “Look, Emily, Sunny doesn’t know about Wayson.”
“You haven’t told her anything?”
“I wanted to wait until we had something . . . something more than an empty hotel room.” He wondered what he could tell Emily and what she already knew. As the late Gordon Hughes’s granddaughter, Emily had well-placed friends in the New Olympian hierarchy.
He said, “I saw Harris’s hotel room. If they got him, he didn’t go down without a fight.”
“Do you think they killed him?” Emily asked, the shock apparent in her voice.
“No. I don’t think so,” he said, remembering his final conversation with Freeman. “He killed three of theirs. There may have been a fourth, but I don’t think they would have taken his body if they got him,” said Watson.
They
left
Cutter sitting at his desk,
he added, but only in his thoughts.
“M, I’m going to call Sunny next,” he said, trying again to take control of the conversation.
Silence. Then after several seconds, Emily said, “Oh, Trav, I don’t know if that’s a good idea. I mean, how is she going to take it? You know, she’s kind of, I mean, she’s kind of . . .”
“Pampered”
Similar Books
