Final Vector Read Online Free Page B

without moving, saying nothing and staring unabashedly at the young women, many of whom were barely half his age, walking and running past the bench in a more or less steady stream.
    He made no effort to hide his interest in their forms, especial y the ones outlined nicely in tight-fitting T-shirts and Lycra running shorts.
    Nelson felt his stomach clench in an unwitting visceral response to the man's arrival, and he tried to examine his newspaper with renewed interest, reading the same sentence about the Nationals three times but absorbing nothing. He knew the man sitting quietly a couple of feet to his left was the one he was scheduled to meet with today, although he had never seen him before and had no idea what he looked like. Obviously it was impossible to get a sense of the man's appearance from a few e-mails and a whispered phone call or two.
    Nelson began to sweat even more profusely and wanted nothing more than for this meeting to be over, the sooner the better.
    He had been assured in a telephone call to his contact that the suspicious auditor--Lisa Jensen, her name was--would be "taken care of," an assurance that had done little to calm his nerves. Then this morning, he had arrived at work to discover the very same auditor had been killed over the weekend in a car accident. Nelson desperately wanted to believe the two events were unrelated, but he knew deep down they were not and in any event did not possess the courage to ask.
    Nelson had never felt more exposed in his entire life. He felt as though the word traitor was emblazoned on his chest, like the scarlet letter in the classic Nathaniel Hawthorne novel that he had been forced to read in high school.
    Now, though, he knew exactly how poor Hester Prynne must have felt. It seemed to Nelson that everyone was staring suspicious-ly at him as they walked or jogged past. He knew that wasn't actually happening; in fact, no one was paying the least bit of attention to him. The exposed feeling was just his overactive imagination playing games with his nerves, but knowing it logically and accepting it emotionally were two completely separate issues.
    After ten long, silent minutes, Nelson picked up his contact's briefcase. He had been given very precise instructions, and he had been told he must follow them to the letter when making the exchange. There had been no or else attached to the instructions, but none had been necessary. Nelson knew that the people he was dealing with did not play by the same rules as everyone else, and if he expected to see the sun rise tomorrow morning, he had best do exactly as he was told.
    Nelson risked a glance at the man's face. He looked completely at ease, like any of the hundreds of other people enjoying the park on this Monday afternoon. He never even returned Nelson's glance, just continued sitting with his legs stretched out, watching the girls pass by as if he could spend the rest of the day enjoying the sunshine and doing absolutely nothing else. Nelson figured maybe he could.
    With the new briefcase clutched in his sweating hand, all Nelson wanted to do was sprint out to his car and race back to the office; the urge to escape was almost overwhelming. Somehow he forced himself to stand and walk through the park at the leisurely pace that had been demanded of him by the stranger.
    After an eternity, Nelson reached the parking lot and the safety of his car. He didn't think he had ever been as relieved to slide into the stained and torn cloth driver's seat as he was right now.
    He fired up the engine, avoiding even a single look into Lady Bird Johnson Memorial Park as he drove out of the lot, then continued the short distance to the Pentagon.
    Nelson had not eaten lunch and normally would be starving by now, but he had never felt less like eating in his life. He was queasy, and he could feel acidic bile rising into his throat. A headache, the seeds of which had been threatening to bloom all day, continued to worsen and showed signs