Day Of Wrath Read Online Free Page B

light onto the dark and muddy ground. Helen stood in the opening, framed against the glow from a lantern. She eyed him calmly for a second and then motioned him inside, closing the flap behind him.
    Her tent contained little beyond a cot made up with rough wool Russian Army blankets, a couple of battered wooden folding chairs, her travel bag and laptop PC, and an empty supply crate that apparently served as a desk. And, of course, Helen herself.
    Thorn tried to ignore the pulse pounding in his ears. Even in travel-worn jeans and a heavy green fisherman’s sweater, she was lovely. Her wavy black hair silhouetted a heart-shaped face and stunning blue eyes.
    He wanted to kiss her, but he held back. They’d been apart for too long. He couldn’t read her mood with any certainty. It seemed best to play it safe.
    “How have you been, Helen?”
    She arched an eyebrow. “I’ve been fine.”
    “Yes, ma’am.” Thorn obeyed gladly, relieved to hear the bantering tone in her voice. That was a lot more like the Helen Gray he’d come to know and love over the past two years.
    She sat down gracefully on the cot facing him and said more, seriously, “I really was surprised to see you pop out of that helicopter, you know.”
    “I know,” he answered simply. “I almost didn’t.”
    “Oh?”
    Thorn shrugged. “I wasn’t exaggerating much when I said I had to hold my breath and throw a tantrum to win a spot on the team. Even then my boss practically told me that he’d yank me back to D.C. the second he heard any complaints from the NTSB ... or from the Russians, for that matter. I’m the inspection agency’s liaison here on sufferance.”
    Since a team from the On-Site Inspection Agency had been aboard the downed Russian plane, both Washington and Moscow were willing to allow an observer from the agency at the crash site—somebody who could help identify the victims, round up their personal and professional effects, and funnel reports back to O.S.I.A’s Washington headquarters. But none of the top officials involved in either capital were likely to have much patience with him if he pissed off the experts tasked with the real work of investigating the crash.
    Helen leaned forward and asked softly, “Is O.S.I.A really that bad, Peter?”
    “It’s Siberia without the perks.” Thorn tried smiling and failed.
    “Seriously, I have a nice carpeted office, a nice new computer, and a nice clean desk. but nothing important or interesting ever comes across that desk. I write reports analyzing terrorist threats that go straight into a circular file somewhere. And the rest of the time I sit around waiting to answer questions that are never asked.”
    He snorted in disgust. “I’m forty years old, Helen, and I’m stuck behind a desk when I should be out leading troops. But I wouldn’t mind that so much if they’d at least let me do the job they hired me for.”
    “Then why not resign?” Helen asked bluntly. “Why stay in the Army if they won’t let you do what you’re best at?”
    Resign? Leave the Army? Thorn pondered that for a split second and then shook his head decisively. “Can’t do that. They can fire me if they want to, but I won’t quit.”
    She frowned.
    “Jesus, Helen. I know that sounds stubborn, even muleheaded.
    But I’m a soldier. That’s all I’ve ever been. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to be since I was just a kid.” Thorn paused, remembering the pride he’d felt as a little boy watching his soldier father march past with that green beret sitting proudly on his head. “I took an oath to serve my country. I’ll honor that oath however I’m allowed.
    Whether it’s behind some goddamned desk. or out here in these damned woods.”
    Helen’s frown faded. “Now that’s the Peter Thorn I’m used to hearing.”
    Her lips curved upward into a slight smile. “Pigheaded, yes.
    Opinionated, yes. But not a whiner. or a quitter.”
    Thorn winced. “I guess I did sound pretty damned bitter, didn’t