Read Online Wired by Douglas E. Richards - Free Book Online Page B

Miller’s computer invasion played right into his hands. He
wanted to lead her to his computer and plant false information: now he had the
perfect conduit for this, one that was above suspicion. He instructed Griffin
to leave the backdoor entrance alone.
    Now,
while Desh continued his search for her, he would be planning the specifics of
his trap. He knew he needed to be patient. She would never believe he had
closed in on her in only a day or two, so he would need to wait a while longer.
And the more progress he made prior to setting his trap the better. The closer
he got to her, the more clues he uncovered, the more convincingly he could
craft his misinformation.
    Desh
returned to his high-rise apartment in the heart of Washington. He had chosen
it almost entirely on the basis of its location and premium fitness center. While
his daily workouts couldn’t compare to his regime while still with Delta, they
still managed to keep him in excellent shape.
    While
upscale, the apartment was a bit cramped. Not that he cared. Being single, he
didn’t need much room, and he traveled much of the time on protection
assignments, anyway. Saving money while he determined what new course his life
would take was more important than additional square footage. His apartment was
tidy, but he had been too busy and too numb to personalize it in any way. His
taste in art was eclectic, from the reality bending, impossible constructions
of Escher, to the surrealism of Dali, to the serene, impressionistic work of
Monet. Yet his framed reproductions of favorite works by these artists remained
entombed in brown paper in his closet, a telling sign that his spirit had been
sapped and he had slipped into a steady depression. Even more telling, he loved
books beyond all else, and had collected many thousands over the years: but
while being surrounded by shelf upon shelf of his favorites in their myriad of
colors brought him great pleasure, he had yet to unbox them.
    Connelly
had read him perfectly. Even before Iran he had been contemplating leaving the
military, struggling mightily with the decision. On the one hand, he had found
friendship and camaraderie in Delta, and the importance of what he was doing
could not be overstated. His work had saved thousands upon thousands of
innocents from horrible suffering and death from dirty bombs, nerve toxins,
train derailments, and the like, including children who were in some cases the
principal targets of planned attacks, unconscionable as this was. Many Westerners
were still blissfully unaware that the future of progressive society was
anything but assured. Desh had been on the front lines and seen the fanaticism
that threatened to turn the world’s clock back a thousand years. He was helping
to defeat a rigid and destructive ideology. It was a fire that was blazing
across the world that, if left unchecked, would surely consume civilization.
    But
he had also dreamed of settling down one day. Of becoming a father. Of raising
a family. And if he remained in Delta, this was impossible. He was always on
the move, being called away overseas on missions about which he couldn’t
discuss with anyone—including a future wife. Being married was the sharing of
two lives, and he would be unable to hold up his end of the bargain. And if he
did have children, each time he left his family would wonder if this would be
the time Daddy wouldn’t be coming back—or be coming back inside a body bag, in
pieces—leaving his children fatherless. What kind of life would this be for
them? The answer: no life at all. He had refused to even consider it.
    But
now he had no excuse not to pursue a wife or family. He was no longer in the
military and soon wouldn’t even be involved in something as dangerous as
executive protection. He had wallowed in self-pity long enough. Desh made a vow
to himself: once he finished this final mission, he would find a way to get
beyond what had happened in Iran and get on with his life.
    He
rummaged