Greene's Calling: Seventeen Book Three (A Supernatural Action Adventure Thriller Series 3) Read Online Free Page A
Author: AD Starrling
came apart to reveal a pair of gleaming short swords. The dog jumped back at the slick, metallic noise, a low whine escaping his jaws.
Conrad lifted his right arm behind his head and threw the blade in his hand. The sword cartwheeled in the air with a faint hum and sliced neatly through the creepers holding the briefcase prisoner. It fell to the fern-covered ground. The sword thudded into the earth next to it, gilded end vibrating to a slow stop.
The immortal bent and retrieved the case. Bar some superficial scratches, it was intact. He turned it and stared at the combination lock on the front. His gaze shifted to the dead man. He placed the briefcase on a giant root, walked over to the body, and patted it down under Rocky’s anxious stare. His fingers closed on a wallet in the inside pocket of the suit jacket. He stood and flicked it open.
The dead man’s surname was McPherson. He couldn’t make out the rest of the details of the California driving license tucked inside the front holder; the wallet was heavily scorched. He raised an eyebrow when he found the burnt remains of a dozen hundred-dollar bills and a half-melted Amex card. The rest of the wallet was empty. There was no sign of a code for the combination lock.
Conrad turned and considered the briefcase. If the plane was indeed a charter as he suspected, a flight plan should have been filed with the airport where it took off. There would, however, have been no legal requirement on the part of the pilot to include the name of his passenger. The contents of the case might reveal the identity of the dead man.
He eyed the dog questioningly. Rocky barked once, his tail spinning furiously from side to side. Taking that as a sign of the canine’s approval, Conrad wedged the briefcase between the roots of the kapok tree, raised a sword, and jabbed sharply at the combination lock. It broke after three blows.
He sheathed the twin blades, tucked the short staff inside his waistband, and picked up the case. Rocky trotted beside him as he headed for an open area of land away from the trees. He knelt down in the dirt, placed the briefcase on the ground, and unfastened the clasps. The dog’s hot pants washed over his neck as he lifted the lid. His hands stilled on the metal.
The case contained two items. The first one was a thick envelope; the second was a 9mm semiautomatic Colt pistol lying atop it. Rocky lowered his head and sniffed at the gun. Conrad pushed the dog’s muzzle aside and carefully picked up the weapon. He checked the chamber. It was loaded.
He removed the magazine, ejected the bullet from the port, and placed the gun on the ground. He reached for the envelope next. A loose sheaf of papers fell out and scattered across the rich, moist earth as he lifted it.
He scooped it up and examined the short, cryptic lines covering the top sheet. The next two papers were folded maps depicting the areas of a large outside space and the floor plans of an oval-shaped building. Sunlight gleamed on the glossy surfaces of the remaining ten sheets as he slowly thumbed through them.
They were all photographs, each depicting a different, solemn individual dressed in a conservative suit and wearing sunglasses. Although they all had loose-fitting jackets over their shirts, he spotted the strap of a gun holster and the curling wire of an earpiece on several of them. From their poses, they had all been unaware they were being snapped. His fingers froze on the last shot. Rocky huffed and licked the picture.
Coldness gripped Conrad as he stared at the hauntingly familiar features of Laura Hartwell.
Chapter Three
T he late afternoon sun was bathing the swamp in red light when Conrad finally departed the clearing where his home once stood. As he suspected, officers from the Alvarães civil police and the local branch of the military firefighter corps arrived by boat barely an hour after the crash.
Rocky’s barks alerted him to their approach. By the time they reached the
Conrad lifted his right arm behind his head and threw the blade in his hand. The sword cartwheeled in the air with a faint hum and sliced neatly through the creepers holding the briefcase prisoner. It fell to the fern-covered ground. The sword thudded into the earth next to it, gilded end vibrating to a slow stop.
The immortal bent and retrieved the case. Bar some superficial scratches, it was intact. He turned it and stared at the combination lock on the front. His gaze shifted to the dead man. He placed the briefcase on a giant root, walked over to the body, and patted it down under Rocky’s anxious stare. His fingers closed on a wallet in the inside pocket of the suit jacket. He stood and flicked it open.
The dead man’s surname was McPherson. He couldn’t make out the rest of the details of the California driving license tucked inside the front holder; the wallet was heavily scorched. He raised an eyebrow when he found the burnt remains of a dozen hundred-dollar bills and a half-melted Amex card. The rest of the wallet was empty. There was no sign of a code for the combination lock.
Conrad turned and considered the briefcase. If the plane was indeed a charter as he suspected, a flight plan should have been filed with the airport where it took off. There would, however, have been no legal requirement on the part of the pilot to include the name of his passenger. The contents of the case might reveal the identity of the dead man.
He eyed the dog questioningly. Rocky barked once, his tail spinning furiously from side to side. Taking that as a sign of the canine’s approval, Conrad wedged the briefcase between the roots of the kapok tree, raised a sword, and jabbed sharply at the combination lock. It broke after three blows.
He sheathed the twin blades, tucked the short staff inside his waistband, and picked up the case. Rocky trotted beside him as he headed for an open area of land away from the trees. He knelt down in the dirt, placed the briefcase on the ground, and unfastened the clasps. The dog’s hot pants washed over his neck as he lifted the lid. His hands stilled on the metal.
The case contained two items. The first one was a thick envelope; the second was a 9mm semiautomatic Colt pistol lying atop it. Rocky lowered his head and sniffed at the gun. Conrad pushed the dog’s muzzle aside and carefully picked up the weapon. He checked the chamber. It was loaded.
He removed the magazine, ejected the bullet from the port, and placed the gun on the ground. He reached for the envelope next. A loose sheaf of papers fell out and scattered across the rich, moist earth as he lifted it.
He scooped it up and examined the short, cryptic lines covering the top sheet. The next two papers were folded maps depicting the areas of a large outside space and the floor plans of an oval-shaped building. Sunlight gleamed on the glossy surfaces of the remaining ten sheets as he slowly thumbed through them.
They were all photographs, each depicting a different, solemn individual dressed in a conservative suit and wearing sunglasses. Although they all had loose-fitting jackets over their shirts, he spotted the strap of a gun holster and the curling wire of an earpiece on several of them. From their poses, they had all been unaware they were being snapped. His fingers froze on the last shot. Rocky huffed and licked the picture.
Coldness gripped Conrad as he stared at the hauntingly familiar features of Laura Hartwell.
Chapter Three
T he late afternoon sun was bathing the swamp in red light when Conrad finally departed the clearing where his home once stood. As he suspected, officers from the Alvarães civil police and the local branch of the military firefighter corps arrived by boat barely an hour after the crash.
Rocky’s barks alerted him to their approach. By the time they reached the
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