Ebola K: A Terrorism Thriller: Book 3 Read Online Free Page A

important than my life ? Is that what you’re telling me, Mr. Cooper?”
    Paul gritted his teeth and glared at Holloway as he tried to come up with a counterargument.  Of course, Holloway’s point of view was absurd.  But, maybe it was dead on.  Paul looked at his feet.
    Papers shuffled.  Hushed voices conferred on the other side of the table.
    “Mr. Cooper, you were taken into custody.  Is that correct?”
    Paul looked up at Holloway.  “I was kidnapped.”
    With a disappointed shake of his head, Holloway pointed to his right.  “You know where the fence is.  Go if you want.”
    Paul didn’t move.
    “That’s what I thought.” Holloway sighed.  “You’ll be assigned to the clinic in Silo K3.  Silo K3 is one of the security areas for criminal volunteers.  You’ll be going in with privilege.  That’s to say, Mr. Cooper, you’ll be something of a trustee.  You’ll have duties.  You’ll perform them.  You can’t leave the missile complex without express permission from Dr. McCardle or Sergeant Marazzi.  Follow the rules, do your work, or sit in a cell in the bottom of Silo K3 with the other malcontents and felons.  You pick.”
    Paul said nothing.
    “Pick.  Which will it be?”
    “Clinic,” muttered Paul.  “Why do I have to get tattooed? I don’t want one.”
    Holloway glared at Paul. 
    McCardle leaned forward.  “Supply chain management, Mr. Cooper.  We have to control every step in delivering plasma from donor to recipient.  The best way to make sure that the plasma you donate is properly marked is to tattoo the skin where the needle goes in.  When mistakes are made, people die.”
    “That’s a stupid system.” Paul wanted to make sure his tone underscored his choice of words.  “Why not give me a bracelet with a barcode.”
    “Bracelets come off.  Tattoos don’t.” McCardle looked back down at his folders.
    “Get a flower tattooed over it when you get out next spring—to match your wife’s tramp stamp.” Holloway nodded toward a vacated tattoo chair.  “Get your mark then go to Silo K3.  Report to Sergeant Marazzi.”

Chapter 4
    Sergeant Marazzi was a tall man with an S-shaped posture and a pregnant belly.  In a nasal voice, uncharacteristic for such a big guy, Marazzi said, “Lieutenant Meeks fell out last week.”
    “Fell out?” Paul asked, not because he didn’t guess the meaning, but as a way to get Marazzi talking.  Rapport, Paul guessed, would lead to friendship, and friendship with his warden would make his life better.  The strategy worked with crappy managers, why not Marazzi.
    “Ebola.” Marazzi looked Paul up and down as Paul turned away from the ladder.  Marazzi’s sour look told Paul that Marazzi didn’t have a high opinion of his lieutenant.
    Paul looked up a hundred feet of ladder.  “Is that the only way in?” He smiled so it wouldn’t sound like a complaint.
    Marazzi didn’t answer but waved Paul to follow down the same hall Paul had followed earlier when leaving the warrens on his way to the hearing.  It was like walking through the winding carcass of a giant earthworm, passing through circles of ribs of rusting steel and flaking paint.  Bulbs burned in metal cages along the ceiling at intervals widely spaced enough to leave most of the warren in shadows broken by pools of feeble, tainted light.
    Paul hurried a few steps to walk beside rather than behind Marazzi. 
    Marazzi made no protest.
    After passing through several curves and two intersections, Paul said, “This goes on for a while.”
    “Remember your way.” Marazzi groaned at the effort of having to point at spray-painted letters and arrows on the walls.  “Silo K3.  The letter in the silo name designates the Ebola strain of the volunteers inside.  The number,” Marazzi groaned.  “It’s a number.  We got three silos for K strain.  We got three more silos for other strains.
    “This leads to all the missile silos?” Paul asked.
    Marazzi nodded.  “Follow