Read Online The Operative by Andrew Britton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Andrew Britton
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in love by the time Harold hugged Marian at the end of act 2. Julie smiled every time she heard it. Jon knew that, knew how tense she’d be.
“Thanks,” she said, picking up. “I needed that.”
“I figured you would,” he said. “You’ll be great.”
“As long as I don’t trip and the microphone works, I think I’m good.”
“Big turnout?” he asked.
“Fabulous.”
“I saw you had a security alert.”
“Doesn’t the CIA’s deputy director have anything better to do?”
“Puckett received it, sent it on. What’s up?”
“Guy came in with a briefcase, acting strange,” she said. “He’s at the bar, talking on his Bluetooth. Center security is watching him. I had Donna check. He’s with Interglobal Pharmaceuticals, a sales rep.”
“Must be some very special samples he’s got.”
“I guess.” Julie was looking at the man. She saw the head of security, Bill Roche, standing at the other end of the bar, facing him.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you,” Jon said. “I just wanted to say I’m so proud.”
“Thanks. And, Jon? Don’t beat yourself up for being in Washington.”
“Hon, I’m not—”
“I think you are,” she interrupted. “I hear it in your voice.”
He said nothing.
“I’m telling you it’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t,” he admitted. “Tonight’s an important moment in your life. I should be sharing it with you.”
“President Brenneman needed you,” she said. “I don’t—”
She froze as she noticed Michael Lohani’s hand emerge from his pants pocket. He raised a cylindrical object that looked like a pen. And then she saw his eyes turn upward and his mouth form words and the security guard look over... .
In the final instant before the explosions, she became conscious of her husband repeating her name over the phone. “Julie? Julie?”
And then the roar swallowed everything.
CHAPTER 3
BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
R yan Kealey and Allison Dearborn had walked along the brick pier where day-trippers were moving by in noisy clusters. Beyond them came the high, excited voices of children farther down the pier, where they were lined up with their parents for paddleboat rentals. A stranger meekly approached the pair and began hashing out a story about how he’d been separated from his friends the drunken night before and just needed a few more bucks to take the Greyhound back to his place in nearby Owings Mills. Apologizing to the stranger, more for their dismissal of him personally than of his far-fetched story, neither agent felt it necessary to flash their official credentials to further discourage the poorly rehearsed beggar, who was still wearing a noticeably fresh hospital bracelet.
They reached the indoor garage on the corner of Charles and Conway at 5:06, exactly nine minutes before the chain of explosions rocked the convention center.
The attendants had parked Kealey’s Saab 9-3 Aero on the ground level, nosing it against the garage’s outer wall, and he needed only to inform them he wanted something out of the backseat to be waved along.
“Think I’ll freshen up my makeup while I have a chance,” Allison said as they approached the silver convertible. “I want to be at my spiffiest for Julie.”
Kealey got his remote key fob out of his pocket and pressed the button to unlock the doors. She sat in the passenger’s seat and flipped down the visor to use the mirror. He got his jacket and her shoes from the backseat.
“Allison, I still haven’t thanked you.”
“For what?” she asked after applying lipstick. “Dragging you to see my former teacher’s keynote speech at a nursing conference?”
“The Harpers are my friends, too,” Kealey said. “No, what we were talking about earlier. I was in a bad place when we met. You pulled me out of it.”
“A jellyfish isn’t a man, and a man isn’t a jellyfish. Anyway, you did most of the heavy lifting.”
He laughed. “If by that you mean after a couple of weeks I did more than grunt
“Thanks,” she said, picking up. “I needed that.”
“I figured you would,” he said. “You’ll be great.”
“As long as I don’t trip and the microphone works, I think I’m good.”
“Big turnout?” he asked.
“Fabulous.”
“I saw you had a security alert.”
“Doesn’t the CIA’s deputy director have anything better to do?”
“Puckett received it, sent it on. What’s up?”
“Guy came in with a briefcase, acting strange,” she said. “He’s at the bar, talking on his Bluetooth. Center security is watching him. I had Donna check. He’s with Interglobal Pharmaceuticals, a sales rep.”
“Must be some very special samples he’s got.”
“I guess.” Julie was looking at the man. She saw the head of security, Bill Roche, standing at the other end of the bar, facing him.
“Well, I don’t want to keep you,” Jon said. “I just wanted to say I’m so proud.”
“Thanks. And, Jon? Don’t beat yourself up for being in Washington.”
“Hon, I’m not—”
“I think you are,” she interrupted. “I hear it in your voice.”
He said nothing.
“I’m telling you it’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t,” he admitted. “Tonight’s an important moment in your life. I should be sharing it with you.”
“President Brenneman needed you,” she said. “I don’t—”
She froze as she noticed Michael Lohani’s hand emerge from his pants pocket. He raised a cylindrical object that looked like a pen. And then she saw his eyes turn upward and his mouth form words and the security guard look over... .
In the final instant before the explosions, she became conscious of her husband repeating her name over the phone. “Julie? Julie?”
And then the roar swallowed everything.
CHAPTER 3
BALTIMORE, MARYLAND
R yan Kealey and Allison Dearborn had walked along the brick pier where day-trippers were moving by in noisy clusters. Beyond them came the high, excited voices of children farther down the pier, where they were lined up with their parents for paddleboat rentals. A stranger meekly approached the pair and began hashing out a story about how he’d been separated from his friends the drunken night before and just needed a few more bucks to take the Greyhound back to his place in nearby Owings Mills. Apologizing to the stranger, more for their dismissal of him personally than of his far-fetched story, neither agent felt it necessary to flash their official credentials to further discourage the poorly rehearsed beggar, who was still wearing a noticeably fresh hospital bracelet.
They reached the indoor garage on the corner of Charles and Conway at 5:06, exactly nine minutes before the chain of explosions rocked the convention center.
The attendants had parked Kealey’s Saab 9-3 Aero on the ground level, nosing it against the garage’s outer wall, and he needed only to inform them he wanted something out of the backseat to be waved along.
“Think I’ll freshen up my makeup while I have a chance,” Allison said as they approached the silver convertible. “I want to be at my spiffiest for Julie.”
Kealey got his remote key fob out of his pocket and pressed the button to unlock the doors. She sat in the passenger’s seat and flipped down the visor to use the mirror. He got his jacket and her shoes from the backseat.
“Allison, I still haven’t thanked you.”
“For what?” she asked after applying lipstick. “Dragging you to see my former teacher’s keynote speech at a nursing conference?”
“The Harpers are my friends, too,” Kealey said. “No, what we were talking about earlier. I was in a bad place when we met. You pulled me out of it.”
“A jellyfish isn’t a man, and a man isn’t a jellyfish. Anyway, you did most of the heavy lifting.”
He laughed. “If by that you mean after a couple of weeks I did more than grunt
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