Primary Valor Jack Mars (miss read books TXT) 📖

anda few minutes later, another one. He did not stop. He did not think. He movedquickly, in a kind of a daze.

He was strapped now with two MPs,six extra ammunition magazines, the sniper rifle case, Bowles’s pistol and hisown, knives, and grenades. He was like a mule, the things he was carrying, buthe barely noticed.

Soon, the trail leveled off and hewalked through some dense forest, before one final climb to the summit. Just infront of him was a steep drop-off, a dozen stories down a sheer cliff. The spotoffered a commanding view of the shimmering water disappearing into the darkdistance. Buzz was dead. Bowles was dead. No one was left but Luke.

He turned and the mansion was rightthere. Many of the rooms were lit up, as were the grounds surrounding it.

It was still a bit above him, butnot by much. Now he got low to the ground, and moved in a crouch. He needed togo quickly. He was in a vulnerable place. Though he was dressed all in black,to the right kind of eyes, he should be easy enough to spot.

The fence was just ahead of him. Hecrept closer. He stared up at it—two stories high, looping razor wire at thetop. There was another fence ten meters beyond the first one. The space inbetween was the dog run.

He looked both ways—no dogs hereat the moment. He dropped his backpack on the ground, dug through it, andpulled out the heavy wire cutters. He crouched at the bottom of the fence andtouched it with one finger. Nothing. It was not electrified. Give Trudy credit.She had guessed correctly.

He started at the very bottom, andbegan to cut away the fence. He cut the metal loops easily, with a little bitof pressure—Snip! Snip! Snip! Even so, it was going to take a while to cut ahole that he could fit through, enter the dog run, and then cut another onethrough the other fence.

A few more snips, and the firsthole was open. It was just enough space for Luke to slither through. He tookout his pistol and threaded the silencer to the barrel. He bent back the fence,pulled it as far as it would go, and ducked under.

His pack snagged on a jagged edgefor a few seconds, but he pulled it free. He dragged the rifle case in behindhim. He had so much stuff, he was like the Joads driving across country toCalifornia.

He placed the silenced pistol onthe ground and kneeled by the next fence. From the corner of his eye, he caughta movement. He looked to his right. A large black dog with a massive head andjaws trotted toward him along the narrow gap between fences. It growled deep inits throat.

He watched it come.  It was anadult male Doberman, ears pinned back.

There was another one behind thefirst.

“Don’t come here,” Luke said.

He heard a sound behind him, abreath, a heavy pant—he turned, and here came another one the other way.

Three adult male Dobermans, allconverging at once. They were coming.

He grabbed the gun and bounced tohis feet. Instantly, he assumed a shooting position—it was a deep squat, armsout, two-handed shooter’s grip.

The first dog was the biggest andmost aggressive. He came straight on without hesitation. He didn’t bark. Heapproached in a loping run, and then launched himself from about five feetaway.

Everything slowed down.

Luke fired.

CLACK!

The gun made that sound that silencedguns made. To Luke, it always sounded like someone punching a typewriter key.

The dog’s massive head snappedsideways, its entire body following, carried by its own momentum. It crashedinto the fence and fell to the ground. It landed on its back, and did not move.

The next dog came.

CLACK!

It rolled over, its pawsscrabbling at the dirt, a high whine in its throat. It dragged itself to hisfeet and began to stumble away. Luke shot it again, to end its misery.

CLACK!

The last dog was there. It staredat Luke, and Luke stared back. He looked deep into its eyes. There was a sparkthere, of intelligence, but also an uncertainty. The dog wasn’t sure if itwanted a piece of Luke anymore.

“Don’t do it,” Luke said. “Gohome.”

The dog turned away, whined, thentrotted off down the dog run.

“Good dog.”

Luke looked at the dead dogs. Oneof them had its teeth bared as it had died. It was brutal to look upon. Thiswas a brutal job. Now he had killed two dogs. They’d made him do it. Who useddogs like this? Who put dogs at risk like this?

Bad people, that’s who.

That surge of anger, of rage, wentthrough Luke again. He had to stay calm. He had to stay poised, and in control.Angry people slipped up, made mistakes, and died in situations like this. Inthe end, he had benched Ed for being angry. That’s what it was. Anger would getyou killed.

And yet, anger was driving himnow. He raced along with it, surfing a wave of anger. He was angry at them, atDarwin King, at Henry Bowles, at whoever and whatever they were. He was angryat the world, the violence of it, the injustice, the unfairness. And he wasangry at himself.

He went to the fence, kneeled,picked up the wire cutters, and got back to work. In a few moments, he had cuta hole in the second fence.

He squeezed through it, and now hewas inside the compound.

CHAPTER THIRTY FIVE

11:05 p.m. Eastern Standard Time

The Headquarters of the FBI Special Response Team

McLean, Virginia

 

 

“Tell me,” Don Morris said.

The entire building was darkened,except for this conference room, Don’s office, Trudy’s office, and the strangedense warren of wooden shelves, laptop computers, desktop computers, standalonehard drives, wiring, electronic equipment, and empty soda cans that Mark Swanncalled his office. The overhead lights weren’t on in there, but the machinerygave the place an eerie glow.

Swann was good at his job. Donwouldn’t normally let an office like that stand. In this case, he was preparedto make an exception.

The three of them—Don, Trudy, andSwann—sat in various corners of the room. It was late, and he was sure thesekids wanted to go home, but Don needed to see this through. They had beenflying blind until moments ago, no idea what was