Danger Close James Sumner (10 best books of all time txt) 📖

The room expanded away to the right, where stacked rows of seats climbed up at an angle. They were also empty.

He walked across the light blue carpet toward the remaining empty chair at the apex of the horseshoe. His footsteps echoed throughout. As he approached the desk, the other fourteen people stood out of respect. He patted the air, gesturing for them all to sit as he did.

Rutherford composed himself and looked around the table at the representatives of fellow member nations of the security council. Then he turned his attention to a solitary chair positioned to face the horseshoe and the man currently occupying it.

He cleared his throat. “Mr. Buchanan, thank you for joining us on such short notice. As I’m sure you can appreciate, these are unique circumstances, and it’s necessary to act quickly.”

Buchanan shifted in his seat, his legs crossed at the knee. He smiled courteously.

“Of course,” he said. “And if I may… my congratulations to you, Mr. Rutherford, on your promotion.”

Rutherford nodded his thanks. “Only temporary, as we know. Now, Mr. Buchanan, this meeting is unofficial and informal.”

Buchanan raised an eyebrow. “Due respect, but it didn’t sound all that informal on the phone yesterday when I was summoned here.”

“No, I suppose it didn’t. But I know the importance of this meeting and the reasons for having it will not be lost on you.”

“They’re not.”

“Good. Then, if there is nothing else from my fellow members of the council, I would like to begin.” He paused, offering a chance for contribution, but none was forthcoming. “Mr. Buchanan, can you please tell us what happened in Paluga?”

Buchanan took a long breath. “You all saw the news, I’m sure. A shot was fired that killed President Herrera and three of my men.”

“Where was this shot fired from?” asked a man sitting to his right.

“From a building overlooking the event from the president’s approximate ten o’clock position. Surveillance footage continues to be analyzed, and we believe it was from a fourth- or fifth-story window.”

“Do you have any leads on the shooter?” asked a woman to his left.

Buchanan shook his head regrettably. “As of right now… no, we don’t. Local police are trying to help, but honestly, they’re not equipped for this. They’re barely a police force. And the military… well, I’m not sure we could trust any intel they give us right now anyway.”

Rutherford nodded. “Do you believe there is a connection between the shooting and the political issues Paluga is facing with the military?”

Buchanan paused a beat, choosing his words carefully. “There’s no evidence to suggest that. It’s too soon for anything more than speculation. But the man I have coordinating things on the ground considers that the most likely scenario right now.”

“You have someone investigating this on GlobaTech’s behalf?”

“Mr. Rutherford, sir, I have two thousand men and women confined to their designated outposts in a country torn apart by civil unrest and tragedy. They’re not able to leave and return home. May as well try and help while we’re there. It’s our job, after all.”

“Indeed.” He took a moment to sift through a small stack of papers in front of him, bringing a new sheet to the top. “How was such a tragedy allowed to happen in the first place?”

Buchanan struggled to compose himself. “I wouldn’t say we allowed anything to happen, sir. It happened. Nobody expected this situation would escalate to assassination. GlobaTech took every precaution when preparing to protect not just the principal target but the thousands of people also in attendance that day. Our responsibility was the president and the crowd. The Palugan military were responsible for securing the area and putting on the event itself.”

“So, you’re saying the military was involved?”

Buchanan took a deep breath. “No, sir. I’m saying GlobaTech worked alongside the military. We took care of the people; they took care of the location. Only the part of the military loyal to the president was working with us. Over half of their forces were on standby in their bases, as per the orders of their general. Look, this isn’t the time to speculate and assign blame. Like I said, this was an unexpected turn of events, and we’re working hard to get to the bottom of it.”

“Unfortunately, Mr. Buchanan, now is the exact time to assign blame. That’s why we’re here… to establish what happened and find out who didn’t do what they were supposed to do, resulting in a foreign leader being killed on national TV.”

“Believe me, I want to find out what happened just as much as you do. Regardless of who was behind it, what evidence we have suggests this was a professional hit.”

The man sitting directly to Buchanan’s left tentatively raised a hand. “So, now you’re saying it wasn’t the military?”

“No, sir, I’m not saying that.” Buchanan’s impatient sigh didn’t go unnoticed. “I’m saying the shot was taken by a trained sniper. That much is clear. Whether they were trained by the Palugan military or hired by a third party… or even acting independently, I honestly don’t know. That’s what we’re working to find out.”

“Why is that clear?” asked Rutherford, genuinely curious.

Buchanan shrugged. “A single gunshot was perfectly timed so as to take advantage of four individuals being lined up in the crosshairs. That’s almost inhuman precision. Whoever pulled the trigger was an expert at the top of their game.”

Rutherford frowned. “And how, exactly, can one bullet kill four people, Mr. Buchanan? I’m no… expert, as you put it, but surely, bullets stop when they hit something?”

Again, Buchanan took a moment to measure his response. He was keen to not give anything away before he has any real answers.

“It appeared the shooter was using advanced weapons technology,” he explained. “A form of munitions we haven’t seen before. It was able to do the level of damage we all saw on TV.”

A low murmur of disapproval and concern rippled around the table. Buchanan quietly watched the men and women of the security