Read Online The Term Sheet: A Startup Thriller Novel by Lucas Carlson - Free Book Online
Authors: Lucas Carlson
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socks. The refrigerator was empty except for half a carton of spoiled milk and a couple eggs. At 6:12 a.m. he ate a scrambled egg. He then took a fifteen-minute cold shower. He put on his navy suit. As he passed the picture of his wife Norah, his fingers grazed over the top of the frame. He grabbed the keys sitting on the nightstand next to the photo and got into his old black Jaguar.
Five minutes into the drive, he passed the dark glass office building on his right. It had been a particularly wet winter in Washington DC and now that the tourist season was winding down, the streets were clearing up. As he approached the National Mall, it was quiet and still. Most of the Mall didn’t open for another hour.
The rains had helped wash the streets of the physical scars from the devastating events just a month earlier, but the psychological scars remained. The workers had just started laying bricks for the old brewery after having rebuilt much of the interior. The community garden remained untouched since planting season had long since passed.
Shawn pulled up to the spot where the Secret Service tent had been. He parked his car and sat there silently. After a few long minutes, he got out of the car and stepped onto the freshly paved street. You could still smell the asphalt and the rain made the new ground feel tacky.
“The president’s driver is awaiting our signal.” He could hear Abigail’s voice like she was right in front of him.
“Tell the driver to proceed,” he remembered saying as the ground around the operations tent began to shake. Most of the dead had been accounted for, but they never found the remains of Abigail Onassis. The train had come in full force through Shawn’s tent and had proceeded to run into another building before coming to a halt.
Shawn’s phone rang loudly in his pocket.
“Boss, where are you?” Brandon sounded concerned.
“I’ll be right in. Have you heard anything new yet?”
“Yes, I just tracked down a rumor about the ashcat, Jared Wilson Farthing. Jared’s an ex-con and apparently their inside man. He broke the neck of the conductor minutes after the train left the station and then installed a remote override mechanism that disabled the safety mechanisms in place, before jumping off the train.”
“So where is he now?”
“In the wind. The FBI has put him on the ten most wanted list, but he skipped town before we knew to stop him.”
“I want to know everything there is to know about Jared Farthing. Have a file on my desk when I get there.”
“Yes, boss.”
Shawn put the phone back in his pocket and got back in the car.
----
A s he came out of the elevator, the briskness of the cold air cleared Shawn’s mind. He spotted Brandon down the hall carrying papers in one hand and a brace in the other. Brandon had been out of the way of the train, but a computer-turned-projectile had shattered his left arm when the train came through the tent.
“Brandon, is the profile done?”
“Oh.” He turned to see Shawn. “Yes, boss. Jared Wilson Farthing. Twenty-five-year-old orphan who was in and out of foster homes until he found his way to Columbia Heights and joined the MS-13 gang when he was thirteen. He was in jail for armed robbery when he was sixteen and was released two years ago. Only one living relative, a great aunt living in California, but he has been in DC all of his life. Think this is gang related?”
“Absolutely not. This was a carefully planned and well-executed attack. Who are his known associates?”
“All I could find were gangbangers. Another man was spotted limping away from the train around the time of the hijacking, but nobody stopped him and we only have a vague description.”
“Okay, well check hospitals for all recent leg injuries. And let’s start following the money. Look into Jared’s bank records. How’s your arm?”
“It’s okay, mostly just hurts at night and during storms. Thanks for asking. How are you? Where were you this
Five minutes into the drive, he passed the dark glass office building on his right. It had been a particularly wet winter in Washington DC and now that the tourist season was winding down, the streets were clearing up. As he approached the National Mall, it was quiet and still. Most of the Mall didn’t open for another hour.
The rains had helped wash the streets of the physical scars from the devastating events just a month earlier, but the psychological scars remained. The workers had just started laying bricks for the old brewery after having rebuilt much of the interior. The community garden remained untouched since planting season had long since passed.
Shawn pulled up to the spot where the Secret Service tent had been. He parked his car and sat there silently. After a few long minutes, he got out of the car and stepped onto the freshly paved street. You could still smell the asphalt and the rain made the new ground feel tacky.
“The president’s driver is awaiting our signal.” He could hear Abigail’s voice like she was right in front of him.
“Tell the driver to proceed,” he remembered saying as the ground around the operations tent began to shake. Most of the dead had been accounted for, but they never found the remains of Abigail Onassis. The train had come in full force through Shawn’s tent and had proceeded to run into another building before coming to a halt.
Shawn’s phone rang loudly in his pocket.
“Boss, where are you?” Brandon sounded concerned.
“I’ll be right in. Have you heard anything new yet?”
“Yes, I just tracked down a rumor about the ashcat, Jared Wilson Farthing. Jared’s an ex-con and apparently their inside man. He broke the neck of the conductor minutes after the train left the station and then installed a remote override mechanism that disabled the safety mechanisms in place, before jumping off the train.”
“So where is he now?”
“In the wind. The FBI has put him on the ten most wanted list, but he skipped town before we knew to stop him.”
“I want to know everything there is to know about Jared Farthing. Have a file on my desk when I get there.”
“Yes, boss.”
Shawn put the phone back in his pocket and got back in the car.
----
A s he came out of the elevator, the briskness of the cold air cleared Shawn’s mind. He spotted Brandon down the hall carrying papers in one hand and a brace in the other. Brandon had been out of the way of the train, but a computer-turned-projectile had shattered his left arm when the train came through the tent.
“Brandon, is the profile done?”
“Oh.” He turned to see Shawn. “Yes, boss. Jared Wilson Farthing. Twenty-five-year-old orphan who was in and out of foster homes until he found his way to Columbia Heights and joined the MS-13 gang when he was thirteen. He was in jail for armed robbery when he was sixteen and was released two years ago. Only one living relative, a great aunt living in California, but he has been in DC all of his life. Think this is gang related?”
“Absolutely not. This was a carefully planned and well-executed attack. Who are his known associates?”
“All I could find were gangbangers. Another man was spotted limping away from the train around the time of the hijacking, but nobody stopped him and we only have a vague description.”
“Okay, well check hospitals for all recent leg injuries. And let’s start following the money. Look into Jared’s bank records. How’s your arm?”
“It’s okay, mostly just hurts at night and during storms. Thanks for asking. How are you? Where were you this
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