Dancing with the Dragon (2002) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Joe - Dalton Weber, Sullivan 02
gazed at the sea. "I think the Pentagon is engaged in a cover-up because they don't know what they're dealing with."
"Looks that way." He suppressed a sudden feeling of grief and anger. "Tracy was upset and skeptical when Earlywine first contacted her, but he convinced her that he can find out what's behind the stonewalling."
"Let me guess. That's when she mentioned you to Earlywinedoes she know about the Agency?"
"No, she and Sammy didn't know I was with the CIA, and she believes our consulting firm is as advertised."
"That's good."
"Tracy told him I was a former naval aviator who had been carrier qualified, and he wants to meet me after the memorial ser.
vice.
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, each contemplating the sudden, awful changes wrought in the life of a young woman and her three children. Scott could visualize Tracy sitting on the divan, her teeth clamped on her lower lip, tears cascading down her cheeks, while she attempted to explain to Sally, Paul, and Sam junior why Daddy wasn't coming home again.
"Well," Jackie said, "we're due to arrive in Gibraltar at one, so we'd better start packing."
"Yeah." Scott stared at the tranquil sea and then reached for the telephone. "I'll make some reservations."
Victoria, Canada
As early morning sunlight began to embrace the radiant city, Dr. Dixon Owens, a celebrated physicist, walked unsteadily to the large window in his suite at the Ocean Pointe Resort. The towers and turrets of the unique hotel made it look like a modern version of Camelot.
Nursing a king-size hangover from quaffing three bottles of Dom Perignon champagne the previous evening, he surveyed the regal Empress Hotel and the boat traffic in the picturesque Inner Harbor. A grossly overweight man of elaborate taste and expensive habits, Owens had always lived well beyond his means.
Now, much to his satisfaction, he could ditch his nagging wife and demanding job. No more endless meetings. No more working on weekends. No more compromises. His future would include chartered jets to exotic locations, lounging in the best hotel suites, drinking fifty-year-old Scotch, clothes tailor made by famous designers, and only the finest wines.
Owens followed the slow progress of a small whale-watching cruise ship until it sailed out of view beyond the harbor entrance. He smiled to himself as he continued to examine the mixed collection of colorful sailboats and graceful yachts.
A few moments later, a bright yellow-and-blue Cessna 185 float-plane swooped low across the harbor and gently splashed down on the mirror-smooth water. Owens checked his wristwatch and realized that he would be pushing the envelope to drive to Ogden Point in time to catch the 7:30 ferry to Seattle.
Deciding it was too late to brush his teeth and shave, Owens quickly threw on his rumpled clothes, packed his bag, and then called the front desk.
"This is Dr. Owens in three-twelve," he said brusquely. "I'm checking out and I need you to get my car from valet parking--immediately," he said, and hung up. He grabbed his luggage and rushed out of the room.
Reaching the elegant lobby of the resort, he walked past the woman at the checkout counter.
"Owens, three-twelve--send me the statement, sweetheart." He tossed his key on the counter.
"Sir, if you would--"
"I don't have time," he said with a dismissive wave.
He hurried outside and handed a single U. S. dollar to the young man holding his car keys.
"Thank you, sir."
Ignoring the lad, Owens tossed his bag in the front seat of the Rolls-Royce Silver Seraph and awkwardly slid behind the wheel. He started the V-12 engine and raced out of the hotel driveway, narrowly missing a horse and carriage.
Mashing the accelerator to the floor, Owens roared across the Johnson Street Bridge and flew down Government Street, passing the Empress Hotel at a high rate of speed. Braking heavily, he turned west on Belleville in front of the Parliament Buildings and followed the waterfront route toward
"Looks that way." He suppressed a sudden feeling of grief and anger. "Tracy was upset and skeptical when Earlywine first contacted her, but he convinced her that he can find out what's behind the stonewalling."
"Let me guess. That's when she mentioned you to Earlywinedoes she know about the Agency?"
"No, she and Sammy didn't know I was with the CIA, and she believes our consulting firm is as advertised."
"That's good."
"Tracy told him I was a former naval aviator who had been carrier qualified, and he wants to meet me after the memorial ser.
vice.
They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, each contemplating the sudden, awful changes wrought in the life of a young woman and her three children. Scott could visualize Tracy sitting on the divan, her teeth clamped on her lower lip, tears cascading down her cheeks, while she attempted to explain to Sally, Paul, and Sam junior why Daddy wasn't coming home again.
"Well," Jackie said, "we're due to arrive in Gibraltar at one, so we'd better start packing."
"Yeah." Scott stared at the tranquil sea and then reached for the telephone. "I'll make some reservations."
Victoria, Canada
As early morning sunlight began to embrace the radiant city, Dr. Dixon Owens, a celebrated physicist, walked unsteadily to the large window in his suite at the Ocean Pointe Resort. The towers and turrets of the unique hotel made it look like a modern version of Camelot.
Nursing a king-size hangover from quaffing three bottles of Dom Perignon champagne the previous evening, he surveyed the regal Empress Hotel and the boat traffic in the picturesque Inner Harbor. A grossly overweight man of elaborate taste and expensive habits, Owens had always lived well beyond his means.
Now, much to his satisfaction, he could ditch his nagging wife and demanding job. No more endless meetings. No more working on weekends. No more compromises. His future would include chartered jets to exotic locations, lounging in the best hotel suites, drinking fifty-year-old Scotch, clothes tailor made by famous designers, and only the finest wines.
Owens followed the slow progress of a small whale-watching cruise ship until it sailed out of view beyond the harbor entrance. He smiled to himself as he continued to examine the mixed collection of colorful sailboats and graceful yachts.
A few moments later, a bright yellow-and-blue Cessna 185 float-plane swooped low across the harbor and gently splashed down on the mirror-smooth water. Owens checked his wristwatch and realized that he would be pushing the envelope to drive to Ogden Point in time to catch the 7:30 ferry to Seattle.
Deciding it was too late to brush his teeth and shave, Owens quickly threw on his rumpled clothes, packed his bag, and then called the front desk.
"This is Dr. Owens in three-twelve," he said brusquely. "I'm checking out and I need you to get my car from valet parking--immediately," he said, and hung up. He grabbed his luggage and rushed out of the room.
Reaching the elegant lobby of the resort, he walked past the woman at the checkout counter.
"Owens, three-twelve--send me the statement, sweetheart." He tossed his key on the counter.
"Sir, if you would--"
"I don't have time," he said with a dismissive wave.
He hurried outside and handed a single U. S. dollar to the young man holding his car keys.
"Thank you, sir."
Ignoring the lad, Owens tossed his bag in the front seat of the Rolls-Royce Silver Seraph and awkwardly slid behind the wheel. He started the V-12 engine and raced out of the hotel driveway, narrowly missing a horse and carriage.
Mashing the accelerator to the floor, Owens roared across the Johnson Street Bridge and flew down Government Street, passing the Empress Hotel at a high rate of speed. Braking heavily, he turned west on Belleville in front of the Parliament Buildings and followed the waterfront route toward
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