Read Online The Edge of Armageddon by David Leadbeater - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Leadbeater
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bearing down on the unsuspecting restaurant.
“One.”
And then everything exploded.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Drake flung his body toward the restaurant wall, grabbing the waitress around the waist and taking her with him. Glass and brick fragments sluiced off his rolling body. The oncoming van squealed for traction as its tires struck the restaurant floor and its middle rocked over the window sill, its back end now rising and smashing into the lintel above the pane. Metal screeched. Tables collapsed. Chairs piled up as debris before it.
Alicia had also reacted instantly, scrambling around a table and away, her only wound a small gash across the shin from a fast-moving splinter of wood. Mai somehow managed to roll across the top of a moving table, escaping any harm and Beau went one better, leaping above her and jumping from surface to surface, at last timing a jump so that his feet and hands struck the side wall and helped him land safely.
Drake looked up, the waitress screaming at his side. Alicia stared accusingly.
“So you grabbed her, did you?”
“Look out!”
The van still came forward, slowing by the second, but now the barrel of a gun poked out of the lowered passenger window. Alicia ducked and covered. Mai rolled some more. Drake withdrew his own handgun and fired six bullets at the disembodied hand, the sounds loud in the confined space, vying with the van’s deafening roar. Beau was already in motion, darting around the back of the vehicle. At last the wheels stopped turning and ground to a halt. Broken tables and chairs cascaded from the hood and even from the roof. Drake made sure the waitress was unharmed before moving forward, but by then Beau and Mai were already at the vehicle.
Beau had smashed the driver’s window and was grappling with a figure. Mai checked positioning through the smashed windshield and then picked up a splintered length of wood.
“No,” Drake began, his voice a little croaky. “We need—”
But Mai wasn’t in the mood for listening. Instead she threw the improvised weapon through the windshield with enough force that it stuck hard in the driver’s forehead, quivering in place. The man’s eyes rolled up and he stopped struggling with Beau, the Frenchman looking bemused.
“I did have him.”
Mai shrugged. “I thought I should help.”
“Help?” Drake repeated. “We need at least one of these bastards alive.”
“And on that note,” Alicia piped up. “I’m fine, ta. Nice to see you saving Waitress Wendy’s ass though.”
Drake bit his tongue, knowing at some deep level that Alicia was only ribbing him. Beauregard had already dragged the driver out of the vehicle and was rifling his pockets. Alicia headed over to the miraculously untouched laptop. The USB had finished uploading and had deposited a hash of pictures onto the screen—disturbing images of silver canisters that made Drake’s blood run cold.
“It appears to be the inside of a bomb,” he said, studying wires and relays. “Send it to Moore before anything else happens.”
Alicia leaned over the machine, tapping away.
Drake helped the waitress to her feet. “You okay, love?”
“I . . . I think so.”
“Mint. Now how about rustling us up a lasagna?”
“The chef . . . the chef hasn’t arrived yet.” Her gaze swept the destruction fearfully.
“Hell, and I thought you just threw ’em into a microwave.”
“Don’t worry.” Mai came over and laid a hand on the waitress’s arm. “They will remodel. Insurance should take care of this.”
“I hope so.”
Drake again bit his tongue, this time to stop a curse. Yes, it was a blessing that everyone was still breathing but Marsh and his cronies were still wrecking people’s lives. Without conscience. Without ethics and without concern.
As if by psychic link the phone rang. This time Drake picked it up.
“Are you all still kicking?”
Marsh’s voice made him want to hit something, but he kept it strictly professional.
“One.”
And then everything exploded.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Drake flung his body toward the restaurant wall, grabbing the waitress around the waist and taking her with him. Glass and brick fragments sluiced off his rolling body. The oncoming van squealed for traction as its tires struck the restaurant floor and its middle rocked over the window sill, its back end now rising and smashing into the lintel above the pane. Metal screeched. Tables collapsed. Chairs piled up as debris before it.
Alicia had also reacted instantly, scrambling around a table and away, her only wound a small gash across the shin from a fast-moving splinter of wood. Mai somehow managed to roll across the top of a moving table, escaping any harm and Beau went one better, leaping above her and jumping from surface to surface, at last timing a jump so that his feet and hands struck the side wall and helped him land safely.
Drake looked up, the waitress screaming at his side. Alicia stared accusingly.
“So you grabbed her, did you?”
“Look out!”
The van still came forward, slowing by the second, but now the barrel of a gun poked out of the lowered passenger window. Alicia ducked and covered. Mai rolled some more. Drake withdrew his own handgun and fired six bullets at the disembodied hand, the sounds loud in the confined space, vying with the van’s deafening roar. Beau was already in motion, darting around the back of the vehicle. At last the wheels stopped turning and ground to a halt. Broken tables and chairs cascaded from the hood and even from the roof. Drake made sure the waitress was unharmed before moving forward, but by then Beau and Mai were already at the vehicle.
Beau had smashed the driver’s window and was grappling with a figure. Mai checked positioning through the smashed windshield and then picked up a splintered length of wood.
“No,” Drake began, his voice a little croaky. “We need—”
But Mai wasn’t in the mood for listening. Instead she threw the improvised weapon through the windshield with enough force that it stuck hard in the driver’s forehead, quivering in place. The man’s eyes rolled up and he stopped struggling with Beau, the Frenchman looking bemused.
“I did have him.”
Mai shrugged. “I thought I should help.”
“Help?” Drake repeated. “We need at least one of these bastards alive.”
“And on that note,” Alicia piped up. “I’m fine, ta. Nice to see you saving Waitress Wendy’s ass though.”
Drake bit his tongue, knowing at some deep level that Alicia was only ribbing him. Beauregard had already dragged the driver out of the vehicle and was rifling his pockets. Alicia headed over to the miraculously untouched laptop. The USB had finished uploading and had deposited a hash of pictures onto the screen—disturbing images of silver canisters that made Drake’s blood run cold.
“It appears to be the inside of a bomb,” he said, studying wires and relays. “Send it to Moore before anything else happens.”
Alicia leaned over the machine, tapping away.
Drake helped the waitress to her feet. “You okay, love?”
“I . . . I think so.”
“Mint. Now how about rustling us up a lasagna?”
“The chef . . . the chef hasn’t arrived yet.” Her gaze swept the destruction fearfully.
“Hell, and I thought you just threw ’em into a microwave.”
“Don’t worry.” Mai came over and laid a hand on the waitress’s arm. “They will remodel. Insurance should take care of this.”
“I hope so.”
Drake again bit his tongue, this time to stop a curse. Yes, it was a blessing that everyone was still breathing but Marsh and his cronies were still wrecking people’s lives. Without conscience. Without ethics and without concern.
As if by psychic link the phone rang. This time Drake picked it up.
“Are you all still kicking?”
Marsh’s voice made him want to hit something, but he kept it strictly professional.
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