Read Online Total Control by David Baldacci - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: David Baldacci
Tags: Fiction, General, thriller, Suspense, Mystery & Detective, Espionage, Detective and Mystery Stories, Mystery & Detective - General, Crime & mystery, Modern fiction, Missing Persons, Fiction - Espionage, Crime thriller, Aircraft accidents, Aircraft accidents - Investigation, Detective and Mystery Stories; American, Intrigue, Books on tape, Conglomerate corporations, Audiobooks on cassette
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Archer. Your office in Washington gave me this number."
"Western? There must be a mistake. I'm ticketed on USAir. On the New York to D.C. shuttle." Sidney shook her head. A stupid mistake. She had enough on her plate right now.
"Ms. Archer, I need you to confirm that you're the spouse of Jason w. Archer, residing at 611 Morgan Lane, Jefferson County, Virginia."
Sidney's tone betrayed her confusion; however, her answer was automatic.
"Yes." As soon as the word passed her lips, Sidney's entire body froze.
"Oh, my God!" Paul Brophy's voice cut through the room.
Sidney whirled around to look at him. All eyes were staring at the TV. Sidney turned slowly toward it. She didn't notice the words "Special News Report" flashing across the top of the screen, or the hearing-impaired close-captioned subtitles flowing across the bottom while the news correspondent recounted the tragic story. Her eyes were riveted on the mass of smoky, blackened wreckage that had once been a proud member of the Western Airlines fleet. George Beard's face appeared in her mind. His low, confidential tones assailed her. Them was a plane crash.
The voice on the phone beckoned to her. "Ms. Archer, I'm afraid there's been an incident involving one of our aircraft."
Sidney Archer heard no more. Her hand slowly descended to her side. Her fingers involuntarily opened and the phone receiver fell to the thickly carpeted floor.
Outside, the snow continued to pour down so forcefully it resembled one of the city's famous ticker-tape parades. The cold winds hurled themselves against the broad array of windows, and Sidney Archer continued to stare in complete disbelief at the crater containing the remains of Flight 3223.
CHAPTER EIGHT
One man, dark-haired, with a cleft chin below chubby cheeks, dressed in a fashionable two-piece suit and clearly introducing himself as William, met Jason Archer at the airport gate in Seattle. The two exchanged a couple of sentences, each composed of seemingly arbitrary words. The coded greeting successfully exchanged, they walked off together. As William went through the exit doors to signal for their ride, Jason took the opportunity to unobtrusively deposit a padded envelope into a U.S. mailbox located to the right of the exit door. Inside the envelope was the copy of the computer diskette he had made before leaving home.
Jason was quickly escorted to a limousine that had pulled up to the curb on William's signal. Inside the limo William presented identification to Jason that revealed his name actually to be Anthony DePazza. A few words of innocuous conversation were exchanged, but nothing further, as the men settled back into the deep leather. Another man, dressed in a conservative brown suit, drove.
During the ride, at DePazza's suggestion, Jason took the opportunity to remove the wig and mustache.
The leather briefcase rode on Jason's lap. Occasionally DePazza would eye it and then continue to stare out the window. Had Jason observed a little more closely, he would have noticed the bulge and occasional glint of metal under DePazza's jacket. The Glock M-17 9mm was a particularly deadly piece of ordnance. The driver was similarly equipped. Even if Jason had seen the weaponry, however, it would not have surprised him. Indeed, he expected them to carry guns.
The limo headed east away from Puget Sound. Jason looked out the tinted windows. The sky was overcast, and drops of rain splattered against the window. From his small pool of meteorological knowledge, Jason knew this weather was apparently a fixture for Seattle.
Within half an hour the limo had reached its destination: a collection of warehouse buildings that were accessed through an electric gate where a guam was stationed.
Jason looked around nervously, but said nothing. He had been told to expect unusual meeting conditions. They entered one of the warehouses through a metal overhead door that rose up as the limo approached. Exiting the vehicle, Jason could see the door
"Western? There must be a mistake. I'm ticketed on USAir. On the New York to D.C. shuttle." Sidney shook her head. A stupid mistake. She had enough on her plate right now.
"Ms. Archer, I need you to confirm that you're the spouse of Jason w. Archer, residing at 611 Morgan Lane, Jefferson County, Virginia."
Sidney's tone betrayed her confusion; however, her answer was automatic.
"Yes." As soon as the word passed her lips, Sidney's entire body froze.
"Oh, my God!" Paul Brophy's voice cut through the room.
Sidney whirled around to look at him. All eyes were staring at the TV. Sidney turned slowly toward it. She didn't notice the words "Special News Report" flashing across the top of the screen, or the hearing-impaired close-captioned subtitles flowing across the bottom while the news correspondent recounted the tragic story. Her eyes were riveted on the mass of smoky, blackened wreckage that had once been a proud member of the Western Airlines fleet. George Beard's face appeared in her mind. His low, confidential tones assailed her. Them was a plane crash.
The voice on the phone beckoned to her. "Ms. Archer, I'm afraid there's been an incident involving one of our aircraft."
Sidney Archer heard no more. Her hand slowly descended to her side. Her fingers involuntarily opened and the phone receiver fell to the thickly carpeted floor.
Outside, the snow continued to pour down so forcefully it resembled one of the city's famous ticker-tape parades. The cold winds hurled themselves against the broad array of windows, and Sidney Archer continued to stare in complete disbelief at the crater containing the remains of Flight 3223.
CHAPTER EIGHT
One man, dark-haired, with a cleft chin below chubby cheeks, dressed in a fashionable two-piece suit and clearly introducing himself as William, met Jason Archer at the airport gate in Seattle. The two exchanged a couple of sentences, each composed of seemingly arbitrary words. The coded greeting successfully exchanged, they walked off together. As William went through the exit doors to signal for their ride, Jason took the opportunity to unobtrusively deposit a padded envelope into a U.S. mailbox located to the right of the exit door. Inside the envelope was the copy of the computer diskette he had made before leaving home.
Jason was quickly escorted to a limousine that had pulled up to the curb on William's signal. Inside the limo William presented identification to Jason that revealed his name actually to be Anthony DePazza. A few words of innocuous conversation were exchanged, but nothing further, as the men settled back into the deep leather. Another man, dressed in a conservative brown suit, drove.
During the ride, at DePazza's suggestion, Jason took the opportunity to remove the wig and mustache.
The leather briefcase rode on Jason's lap. Occasionally DePazza would eye it and then continue to stare out the window. Had Jason observed a little more closely, he would have noticed the bulge and occasional glint of metal under DePazza's jacket. The Glock M-17 9mm was a particularly deadly piece of ordnance. The driver was similarly equipped. Even if Jason had seen the weaponry, however, it would not have surprised him. Indeed, he expected them to carry guns.
The limo headed east away from Puget Sound. Jason looked out the tinted windows. The sky was overcast, and drops of rain splattered against the window. From his small pool of meteorological knowledge, Jason knew this weather was apparently a fixture for Seattle.
Within half an hour the limo had reached its destination: a collection of warehouse buildings that were accessed through an electric gate where a guam was stationed.
Jason looked around nervously, but said nothing. He had been told to expect unusual meeting conditions. They entered one of the warehouses through a metal overhead door that rose up as the limo approached. Exiting the vehicle, Jason could see the door
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