Kiss Her Goodbye (A Thriller) Read Online Free

those people go? They aren’t involved, anyway.”
     “We’re all involved, whether we like it or not. You call ’em hostages, you’re right. They’re hostage to a country you, and people like you, created.” He took another hit off the cigarette, then flicked it aside. “But I don’t mean these folks any harm, so I’ll tell you what—you want ’em, you got ’em. Just remember one thing: the water’s cool and clear right now, so don’t for a minute think you can slow me down.”
     He hung up. In the movie of his life, Gunderson was Che Guevara and this idiot was Barney fucking Fife. Donovan had been haunting him on the evening news for months now, spreading the Gospel According to the ATF. Didn’t he realize that sooner or later the tide would turn as more and more citizens began to see the U.S. government for the inbred den of hypocrisy it was? The country had wasted valuable resources blasting sand rats in the Middle East, when it should have been looking inward. The real threat didn’t come from outside. It came from right here, within our own borders. From our own selected officials.
     It was only a matter of time before the people of America came around, and Gunderson would be there, leading the charge.
     Luther and Nemo climbed out of the vault carrying duffel bags full of cash.
     Gunderson looked over at them. “How we doing, boys?”
     “We’re clear,” Luther said.
     “Excellent. Baby?”
     At the back of the room, Sara looked up from a patchwork of Semtex—or plastic boom-boom, as she liked to call it—part of a shipment Gunderson had had smuggled in from Prague. “All set, sweetie.”
     He clapped his hands together. “All right then, let’s put some wheels on this wagon and ride.” He gestured to Luther, who immediately dropped his duffel bag, brought out his cell phone and touched the screen, switching it to video mode.
     The only thing the traditional media offered Gunderson was exposure—which, of course, was his real reason for being here. But the traditional media was controlled by gutless corporate stooges. Expecting them to broadcast his true message was like expecting the late, lamented Mother Teresa to take a dump on the steps of the Vatican.
     Gunderson knew full well that Fox and the nightly news would reduce him to a six-second sound bite courtesy of ATF lackeys like Jack Donovan. So he took matters into his own hands by pirating various high-traffic Internet sites to spread the word.
     That’s where the video cam came in.
     Gunderson smoothed his hair back, adjusted his ponytail, then waited for Luther to take a good pan shot of the damage they’d done. As the camera turned on him, he addressed the hostages.
     “All right, listen up,” he said. “This little garden party has been brought to you courtesy of the Socialist Amerikan Reconstruction Army. We’re ordinary folk, just like yourselves, striking a blow against a New World Order that uses mind control and propaganda to beat its citizens into submission and turn us into slaves. It’s all about freedom, folks, and we’re taking it back. If any of you want to join us, check out our Web site at S-A-R-A dot com.”
    He looked directly into the camera. “Get ready, America. The revolution is now.”
    He scraped a finger across his neck, gesturing for Luther to stop rolling. Unhooking a two-way radio from his belt, he flicked it on. “Big Daddy to Tina. You out there?”
     A voice crackled in response. “Roger, Big Daddy. Already in position.”
    “Thirty seconds and counting,” Gunderson said, then returned his attention to the hostages. “Everybody on your feet.”
     The hostages, still facedown on the floor, glanced at each other as if the command had been too much for their minuscule brains to comprehend. Fucking morons.
     “Come on, come on,” Gunderson snapped. “Hop to it.”
     One by one they started to rise, still looking at each other, fear in their eyes. Some of the women broke