Read Online The Nameless Dead by Paul Johnston - Free Book Online Page A

keeping well.
    In the morning we had breakfast together and I went off for a session in the pool with Quincy. I’d asked him to see if he could arrange some time on the shooting range, thinking that perhaps he’d be able to swing it with his superiors, but that didn’t work out. I knew who I could blame for that.
    And when I got back to our rooms, there he was— Peter Sebastian, sitting at the table, in front of our laptop.
    ‘Where’s Karen?’ I asked, looking around the living room.
    The FBI man raised his hand. ‘Good to see you, too, Matt.’ He gave me a tight smile. ‘Don’t worry, she’s lying down in the bedroom.’
    I took a deep breath. I had got to the stage that anything to do with Karen provoked unease, or, rather, blind panic.
    ‘Sorry,’ I said, going over to shake his hand. ‘Though I don’t know why. You’re the reason we’re still stuck here. Karen should be in a proper hospital.’
    Sebastian raised an eyebrow. ‘Where Sara Robbins could get to her?’
    I wasn’t letting him get away with that. ‘I guess I assumed the mighty FBI would be able to protect us outside of the camp.’
    ‘Cool it, Matt,’ he said, closing the laptop. ‘You know she’ll get excellent care here.’
    I circled the table, unwilling to sit down with him.
    ‘What’s up?’ he asked.
    ‘Have you got kids?’
    ‘Sure. They’re both at college now.’
    ‘You remember what it was like when they were born?’
    Sebastian smiled weakly. ‘Not much. I was on duty both times. That was when I was working undercover in L.A.’
    ‘Really?’ I was interested because he’d never said much about his past. ‘What were you pretending to be? A junkie?’
    ‘Nice,’ he said, with a subdued chuckle. ‘Actually, I was supposed to have a coke habit. No, the Bureau was investigating links between a Hollywood studio and organized crime. I was a writer with a hot script about the Mob.’
    ‘Who wrote it?’
    ‘Not me, obviously. We found some washed-up script editor and kept him in booze for a month.’
    ‘The romance of the writing life.’
    He looked up at me. ‘Why aren’t you spending your days writing a book about your experiences?’
    Further proof that we were being watched around the clock. I let it go. ‘Because they haven’t ended yet, Peter.’ I sat down opposite him. ‘When are you going to let us go from this shit-hole?’
    He looked around the room. ‘I’ve seen worse.’ He put his hand on the computer. ‘What do you think of this? I haven’t heard any thank-yous.’
    ‘Screw you. When we can walk out the gates of this concentration camp, I might consider thanking you. Until then, you can swivel.’ I raised my leg and pointed at the tracking unit. ‘What am I? A common criminal?’
    Sebastian’s expression was blank. ‘Many Americans would say you’re something a lot worse than that if they knew. Going after the President wasn’t the best move you ever made.’
    ‘So put us on trial. You know any decent lawyer will argue we didn’t know what we were doing.’
    ‘Are you sure you want to risk that? Karen will be nursing your son. Do you want her to do that in court, with the TV cameras running? Do you really think you can win a trial against the President? Even my word wouldn’t be enough.’
    ‘Of course not.’ I looked away. ‘I appreciate the computer and the combat training.’
    ‘How’s that going? Sergeant Jerome comes highly recommended.’ He smiled. ‘Shame you can’t get him to smash the tracking unit on your ankle for you.’
    I’d made a few unsuccessful attempts to put my leg in the way of Quincy’s unrestrained kicks. He’d always managed to pull out in time.
    ‘Haven’t you got anything better to do than watch me all day long?’
    ‘I do. So Special Agent Simms and her team watch for me.’
    ‘Oh, great.’ I wondered if there was a camera in the bathroom—I hadn’t been able to spot one. The idea of the asexual Simms watching me in there was strangely