Primary Valor Jack Mars (miss read books TXT) 📖

over the years might say it was a “lady gun.” But it was a nice solidgun, heavier than it looked, loaded with eight rounds in the magazine, and veryaccurate for its type. No external safety—no fiddling around. Just pull it outand shoot bad guys.

As he sometimes did, he had walkedhere to the Reflecting Pool, lit up in the evening, stood here below the baseof the Lincoln Memorial, and gazed across at the Washington Monument.

He enjoyed coming here. He enjoyedthe anonymity of it. It was night, a handful of people out strolling or joggingor simply taking in the sights. No one recognized him. They were in their ownbubbles, and so was he, soaking in the grandeur of American history.

There was a lot to admire aboutthis spot. For one, the design of the park, the genius, the sheer epic scale ofit, and how it led you to contemplate the place in history of the country’s twogreatest presidents.

For another, the men themselves. Notordinary men, certainly. Everything about them was gigantic, larger than life. Physically,they were just bigger than other men of their times. Washington wasbroad-shouldered, and thought to stand six foot two or six foot three, in atime when a more normal height for a man was five foot six or five foot seven. Hewas so imposing that people were hesitant to approach him from behind.

Lincoln was even larger, perhapssix foot five, and as a young man, known for juggling axes and other feats ofstrength. One of the earliest photographs in existence was a distant shot ofLincoln just before delivering the Gettysburg Address, standing head andshoulders above the men around him.

Washington likely died ofpneumonia, from being out in a cold rain all day. Lincoln, of course, was shotin the head. So not ordinary men, but mortals nonetheless. Their greatness, andtheir permanent place in history, lay in how they responded to crisis. How theystepped up to face the dangers and the opportunities of a challenging moment.

This was a place where Bill Ryanallowed his imagination to run wild. He pictured himself in the august companyof these two men, not as their underling, but as their equal. The United Stateswas in crisis again. A president had been kidnapped and murdered. His own vicepresident had been implicated in the murder and forced to step down, though nolink had been proven.

The new president was seventy-fouryears old. He had also been kidnapped, this time in a hijacking of Air ForceOne by Muslim extremists, and taken to Somalia. He had only survived by theskin of his teeth, and through the efforts of an extraordinary group ofAmerican soldiers. There was very little chance that he would run for officeagain. His hand-picked successor, the current vice president, was a weak man,and compromised in every way.

The time was coming once again fora strong man to step up and claim his rightful place in history.

Bill Ryan was that strong man.

Removing that weak vice president,Thomas Hayes, from the equation before he got the chance to ascend to thepresidency and bring ruin upon everyone, was of paramount importance. DarwinKing held the key to removing Hayes.

Ryan didn’t like dealing withDarwin King. That was an understatement. His disdain for the man was as largeas the big sky of Montana. Darwin was what many people in this town (and NewYork, and London, and any other capitals of finance and government you cared tomention) seemed to think of as a necessary evil.

Darwin reveled in getting his handsdirty. He was the go-between, the man who was happy to make deals with theworst people on the planet. Why wouldn’t he? For all his privileged upbringing,he was one of them.

Sometimes, the United Statesneeded to deal with the worst people. But they couldn’t be seen doing it. Theycouldn’t be seen passing weapon systems, as obsolete as they might be, towarlords in the diamond mining regions of central Africa, despots whodisappeared thousands of their own citizens across the Americas, and mafias ofall kinds.

How could the United Statesprovide automatic rifles and security fencing to Afghan militias using slavelabor to harvest the opium crops? How could the United States airdrop guns andgrenades to Al-Qaeda-aligned Islamic militias working to undermine thegovernment in Syria? How could the United States provide technical assistanceand support to the left-leaning Haitian government controlling Port-au-Princeduring the daylight, while arming the right wing death squads terrorizing thecountryside at night, at the same time?

The easy answer was: they couldn’t.

That was where Darwin King camein. He would do the dirty work. He would roll in the dirt, and get it all overhimself.

The smell, the stench of DarwinKing, was unreal.

And in the process of rolling inthe dirt, he was allowed to become vastly wealthy. And he was allowed to makefriends with the famous, and the infamous, and the powerful. And he was allowedto indulge his most deranged, most sinful proclivities. People were supposed toturn a blind eye to all this, but Bill Ryan could not.

The man was an animal.

An animal that was no longertaking Ryan’s calls.

That was a problem.

Bill Ryan needed DarwinKing. But apparently, Darwin King felt he no longer needed Bill Ryan. He waswrong about that. Darwin had retreated to his island far away, but no man wasan island. Darwin had overstepped this time, badly, and Ryan was going to takehim to school. Darwin only existed, only thrived as he did, because people likeBill Ryan gave it the green light. There were other men just like Darwin inthis world, who would be all too happy to take his place.

Darwin needed to be reminded whohe worked for.

He would survive the comingshakeout, in all likelihood. He would keep his place, and his wealth, and hisconnections. But he would be chastened. He would…

Suddenly, there was a man about fiftyfeet away to the left, who had fallen. He was writhing on the ground, havingsome sort of seizure. People turned to look, but stayed away. Now others movedtoward him.

From Ryan’s right, a joggerapproached, moving fast. He wore dark blue shorts and a red hooded sweatshirt. Youcould not see his face.

The jogger was a blur, comingstraight toward him.

A strong hand grabbed Ryan frombehind,