1250041996 by Stephen Coonts

1250041996 by Stephen Coonts

Author:Stephen Coonts [Coonts, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Genre Fiction, War, United States, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers & Suspense, Military, Spies & Politics, Espionage, Thrillers
ISBN: 9781466839205
Amazon: B011I0WW74
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2016-02-02T06:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Organized force alone enables the quiet and the weak to go about their business and to sleep securely in their beds, safe from the violent without and within.

—Alfred Thayer Mahan

Things were happening. In the next two days Grafton learned that the FBI had found the trail of the Air Force One shootdown team. Good solid police work had revealed their trail from the day they arrived in the United States until they died. Where they stayed, where they ate, telephone calls, even some fingerprints, none of which had yet been identified. The FBI was working with Interpol and police agencies worldwide, all of which seemed to be cooperating to the best of their ability.

Jake had his chauffer and bodyguards take him to the hospital to see Tommy Carmellini.

* * *

“How come I haven’t heard from you?” Grafton asked me.

“My phone is dead. Or so the hospital staff said. It was in my pocket. Anyway, it’s gone.”

“I saw the doc. He wants to do another brain scan tomorrow.”

“They already did one and said it was fine.”

“They want to do another.”

“Anybody got anything on the guy who blew us up?”

“No. We’ll talk about it when you get back to the office.”

“Where’s my shoes and clothes?”

“Damn if I know. We can get you some clothes. The stuff in your place is a mess. The FBI salvaged what they could, a couple of your guns, a photo album, some of your CDs, a little bit of other stuff, but no clothes. Stuff was impregnated with chemicals and smoke. What are your sizes?”

He talked a little more, didn’t say much. No sympathy. All matter-of-fact. Jake Grafton was no softie, not by a long shot. He looked like he had other things on his mind tonight. What they were he would never tell. He was also the most close-mouthed man you ever ran across. Kinda the opposite of Willie Varner, who was a Grade A gossip and told everything he knew, almost. Willie could keep a secret, if it was important. If he thought it important. But that was a big if.

When Grafton left I lay there in the bed thinking about Anna.

Finally, when the hospital had quieted down and the nurses had checked on me for the last time, I got to thinking about my car sitting in the long-term lot at Dulles Airport without a battery. If some scumbag had stolen the battery, that was one thing. But what if the bomber had stolen it, just to piss me off, giving me the finger, knowing that he had a dynamite bomb rigged in my apartment that was going to kill me dead in just a few hours?

The more I thought about that angle, the better I liked it. A pro would never have done that, but a killer who had a score to settle … well, he just might have.

It was something to think about.

* * *

When Jake got home Callie asked, “How is Tommy?”

“Depressed. He—” Grafton made a gesture. He couldn’t think of anything else to add.



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