However, all readers - sooner or later - find for themselves a literary genre that is fundamentally different from all others. Deadly Undertaking by Allen Gregory (to read list TXT) đź“–
- Author: Allen Gregory
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Book online «Deadly Undertaking by Allen Gregory (to read list TXT) 📖». Author Allen Gregory
“Everybody’s gotta be somewhere,” Flint said grimly.
“So, is Cone the guy who was behind the construction of the Guidestones, and who was ultimately responsible for this plan to wipe out most of humanity? What a cold, devious bastard!”
“Possibly,” Flint acknowledged. “It’s hard to figure that the flunkies left behind would be as committed to the plan as some geezer who knew he was living on borrowed time.”
“I guess crazy isn’t restricted to those with lots of money,” CJ said. ”There’s always a dedicated few True Believers willing to help others make the Ultimate Sacrifice —willingly or not.”
They rode in silence as the chopper sped towards its destination. Once they were about ten minutes out, CJ leaned into Flint and said, “The plan still to land east of the stadium and locate the body?”
Flint nodded. “I don’t think we’re gonna have any trouble locating the body. They’ve got the body lying in state on a special-constructed catafalque, with the ceremony scheduled to start at 6:00 p.m. sharp. According to news reports, people have staked out seats in the stadium since before noon. It’s standing-room-only even now, and we’re still about thirty-five minutes till showtime.” He studied her worried face. “It will be a stampede, and hundreds will be killed in the crush if the people panic.”
“It’s a Catch-22,” CJ replied. “Thousands will be killed outright if we don’t stop it from exploding. Both options suck. Seriously.”
As the pilot banked right, the stadium came into view, and his voice crackled over their headsets, “Target just ahead, sir, ma’am. We’ll put down just to the east of the stadium. There’s a concert pad there.”
Flint and CJ looked at the huge crowd gathered in the stadium. Over 20,000 curious faces, their hands shielding their eyes from the late afternoon sun, watched as the helicopter positioned itself to land. Flint wondered if this would be the last lazy, sunlit afternoon they would enjoy, or if he and CJ could stop the potential slaughter just minutes away.
They all watched as the helicopter lowered itself onto the pad on an elevated levee near the stadium. The steady thrum of crowd noise intensified as the copter doors opened and Flint and CJ dashed out, headed for the gate to the stadium.
As they approached the gate, a middle-aged security rent-a-security-guard approached them and asked, “Can I help you, folks?”
Ignoring him, Flint and CJ sprinted past the guard and bypassed the gate heading for the catafalque. Two more security guards approached, their hands moving towards their sidearms. “Hold up! No one approaches Mr. Cone until the ceremony starts.”
Moving quickly, CJ disarmed the larger of the guards and rendered him senseless with a quick elbow strike to the face. The other guard, too busy watching CJ, never saw Flint’s punch until it was too late.
“You’re really something, Ms. Jeong,” Flint grinned.
“Oh, you say the sweetest things when our species is facing extinction,” CJ responded with a mirthless laugh.
They rushed to the casket, a huge, silver model with a brushed finish. There were several men, all wearing dark suits, positioned around it. As Flint and CJ approached, one of the men held up his hand and motioned for them to stop.
“Hold on here, who in the hell do you think you are?”
Flint drew his Glock 19 and placed the muzzle squarely on the man’s forehead and replied, “I’m the man who’s going to blow your brains all over that nice sliver casket unless you get the hell out of my way.”
The man’s eyes were wide with shock as he stammered, “Uh—please, go ahead,” as he and the others scrambled to get out of the way.
CJ had her Glock on them as well, motioning them further away from the casket. “You should all step away from the casket.” They all stepped back several paces.
Flint glanced at his watch. Just minutes left now. He ran to the casket and attempted to yank open the lid. Locked.
He turned and pointed his Glock at the men and shouted, “Who has the casket key?”
A tall black man raised his hand, carefully reaching into his coat pocket with this other hand. “We were instructed to open the casket at five minutes till 6:00 p.m.” He handed the key warily to Flint and stepped back.
Flint’s Precog was blaring in his head like a silent burglar alarm.
TWO MINUTES TILL DETONATION.
Flint hurriedly used the wrench to unlock the lid and flipped it open. There, surrounded by satin, his weathered face frozen in a waxy state of repose, lay the earthly remains of Wendell Cone, billionaire philanthropist and terrorist from beyond the grave. Flint thought, I’d say he looks so natural, but there’s nothing natural about any of this.
CJ cautioned him, “Flint, be careful, he may be booby-trapped. And —”
“It’s a chance I’ll have to take,” he interrupted breathlessly. “You use the jammer, and I’ll see if I can find the phone.”
ONE MINUTE TILL DETONATION.
Grimacing, Flint reached slowly into the casket, slowly edging his hands along the cushioning, feeling for the mobile. This is really creeping me out.
“Shit!” CJ shouted, “the battery must be dead on the jammer—it’s not working!”
This just keeps getting better. Why didn’t I check to make sure it had a full charge? What kind of espionage agent does that?
“I’ll have to see if I can find it in time to destroy it!”
Beads of sweat popped out on Flint’s brow, precious seconds ticking away as he tried to jostle the late Mr. Cone as little as possible. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see CJ fiddling with the jammer, frantically trying to get it operable. A lone trickle of sweat ran down his nose and dropped onto Cone’s face, the dead man completely unperturbed by the annoyance.
THIRTY SECONDS TILL DETONATION.
Flint felt a familiar twinge from his Precog. Focusing intently, his hands underneath Cone, Flint felt the smooth hard outline of the mobile. It was underneath the coffin’s satin lining. He ran his finger alongside the device until he felt ripped fabric where whoever had placed the phone had cut the lining.
Throwing caution to the wind, Flint scrabbled desperately for the phone, trying to snatch the phone from its hiding place without jostling Cone’s body too much.
FIFTEEN SECONDS TILL DETONATION.
Finally, his hand found purchase of the mobile. His Precog filled his mind like a shrieking banshee. He seized the phone and wrested it from the casket.
“Flint! It’s not working! It’s too late!”
6:00 PM—DETONATION.
Or not.
Flint had instinctively turned away from Cone’s body, expecting a millisecond of pain before his consciousness was ripped away by a fiery blast.
Instead . . . nothing. His Precog had silenced instantly when he had grabbed the phone. He still heard the birds chirping in nearby trees and the constant buzz of crowd noise in the stadium.
He slowly looked around. He saw that CJ had knelt into a protective crouch, and was gradually daring to peek from behind her hands. The men in the dark suits who had surrounded the casket had flung themselves to the ground and had covered their heads with their hands.
The mobile was an older model Android LG phone. He gingerly tapped the screen and saw the message, NO SERVICE.
His hands shaking uncontrollably, his breath coming in shaky, quivering breaths, Flint dropped the phone to the ground. He ground the phone into the pavement and then stamped his foot again and again until the phone was shattered to pieces. To be certain, he picked it up and ripped the pieces apart, cutting his fingers in the process.
No service. Jesus!
Within minutes, an explosives and hazmat team from Linchpin had arrived on the scene, quickly cordoning off the area and moving the crowd out of the stadium in a semi-organized fashion. A med-tech from Linchpin had wrapped Flint’s hand and was in the process of checking his vitals. Flint attempted to brush the tech away, insisting, “I’m fine. Seriously.” He glanced at CJ, who had a blanket over her shoulders but was shivering as if she were in the throes of the worst flu attack imaginable.
Dr. Malloy wove his way through the crowd and came to them, his face somber but relieved. “Good work, you two! Not to put too fine a point on it, but that was cutting it close.”
Flint laughed, shaking his head. “Doc, we were saved by pure dumb luck or a technical glitch, whichever way you want to look at it.”
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