Choke Point Read Online Free Page B

didn’t lie, which meant there were things she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, say over the phone.

C HAPTER T HREE
     

Central Macau, northern peninsula
     
    Thursday, 28 June 02:01:16 GMT +0800
     
    Thirty years of battles and skirmishes—big wars, small wars, and more hand-to-hand encounters than Bricker Mawl cared to remember—and never once in all that time had he been hit. Until now. It was ridiculous, more embarrassing than painful, and a blow to his image of invincibility.
    Robert Joseph Kelts, known to everyone on the five-man team as “Robbie” or “Jocko” or “the kid,” ripped another strip of camouflage tape off the roll. “A little more, sir. I’m almost done.”
    Mawl raised his arm another couple inches, trying but failing to ignore the explosion of heat that spread down the side of his abdominal wall. Bloody hell!
    Robbie leaned forward, carefully smoothing the tape along the top edge of the trauma bandage, then stepped back and smiled, admiring his handiwork. “That should do it.”
    Mawl nodded once, showing his approval, but careful not to make too much of it. “Thanks, Jocko.” The nickname had nothing to do with the kid’s athletic ability—they were all athletes, or former athletes—but everything to do with his gung-ho, buddy-up enthusiasm. At twenty-four he was the newest and youngest of the group, and still thought being a commando mercenary the most crackin’ job on the planet. Mawl knew better, and taking a bullet in the side had been a good reminder. Though he was still in excellent shape, he suddenly felt every one of his fifty years, and realized he was pushing the envelope of a young man’s game.
    Robbie held up the tiny lump of gray metal. “Aye, you’re lucky it was small-caliber.”
    Mawl nodded again. Damn lucky. Another inch to the right and…
    “I’m thinkin’ you should have taken backup.”
    Mawl took a deep breath and counted to five, fighting to control his anger. Of course he should have taken backup. That was obvious— now! He should have worn body armor. He should have had the gun set to semi instead of single shot. Lots of mistakes. And if Rynerson survived, such mistakes could magnify themselves into a full-blown catastrophe. Getting to such a man twice would not be easy, and making it look like an accident would be impossible. “It was supposed to look like a bungled nick. A snatch job that went bad.” He realized he was explaining his actions, something he made a habit of never doing. “He was supposed to be alone.” Which didn’t excuse his lack of foresight; he could have taken at least two members of the team without jeopardizing the mission.
    The furrow between Robbie’s eyebrows deepened to a trench. “Aye, but—”
    Mawl never allowed backtalk, but let it go with a look. The look was always enough.
    Robbie took a step back, finally realizing he had ventured into a minefield. “I mean…I—”
    Mawl held up a hand, cutting off the words. “You’re dismissed.”
    Robbie started to salute, then remembered that such displays of military protocol were never allowed—a dead giveaway of the team’s background—and quickly retreated into the adjoining room, closing the door behind him. Mawl smiled to himself. Jocko was a good kid, fearless and blindly loyal, but like most pumped-up and puffed-up young men, his ability to think was hampered by an overabundance of testosterone. Assets and liabilities, Mawl thought, the yin and yang of his high-risk profession.
    He pushed himself away from the cheap wooden table and stood up, a fresh jolt of pain pulsating down his side and into his groin. Bloody hell, it felt like he had just taken a hard kick in the goolies. He waited, letting the fire dampen, then crossed to the single window and carefully peeled back the curtain. The guesthouse was old and shabby, only six rooms, located in a run-down neighborhood near the border that separated the Macau province from the rest of socialist China—well away