Shattered Bone Read Online Free Page A

somewhat unusual for him to fly such a long sortie.
    Normally he would fly about an hour, maybe two hours if he did air refueling. But tonight he would climb up behind a tanker to get gas not only once, but twice. Both times he would meet up with his tanker just off the western coast of Korea and refuel as they flew out over the Yellow Sea. After topping off his tanks for the second time, he would turn back toward home, knowing he had enough fuel for several practice instrument approaches before he would have to land.
    Inside his Q room, Ammon stripped to his underwear and settled himself onto his bed and tried to sleep. But although he felt very tired, sleep did not come. After laying on his bed for an hour, Ammon gave up and turned on the television to a rerun of ‘The Beverly Hillbillies.” “The Hillbillies” were a favorite of the Korean people. It reinforced their concept that all Americans were somewhat dim, but rich nonetheless. It was laughable to watch the voice-overs that mismatched the actors’ lips. Although Ammon couldn’t speak Korean well enough to follow the story, the familiar sight of Granny and Ellie May brought him some comfort when he was so far from home.
    At four o’clock Ammon picked up the phone. He dialed the international code for the United States, then a California area code and number. It took several seconds for the call to go through. When it did, the phone on the other end of the line only rang three times before an answering machine clicked on. Ammon listened to the message, then waited for the beep.
    â€œJesse, I’ve got bad news,” Ammon said quickly. “I’ve been trying to call you since yesterday, but you haven’t been home. My father is sick. I think he’ll be okay though. Reggie is with him now. Don’t worry. I’ll call you when I can. You have my word.”
    He immediately hung up and looked at his watch. It only took twenty seconds to make the call. Less than the required thirty seconds it would have taken to trace the number he had been connected to out in California. Good. That was extremely important. After checking his watch, he reached down and dialed again. This time he talked a little bit longer, but he didn’t really care. It was to a number that couldn’t be traced.
    Fifteen minutes later, Ammon was stepping out of the shower to shave. He studied his face in the mirror, looking for any signs of the stress or anxiety he was feeling. Nothing showed. In his reflection he saw only the same trusting smile and even features that had served him so well in the past.
    Richard Ammon was not tall, only a fraction of an inch above six feet. But at twenty-nine, he was still solid, his shoulders and back sculpted into graceful lines by frequent workouts at the gym. He had tan skin and blond hair, which he wore in the same tight cut as most of the other pilots in his squadron. His teeth wcre white and straight. His jaw was square and taut. His face was friendly, for he frequently laughed, which helped to soften the intensity of his hard black eyes.
    Ammon quickly shaved and then sat down on the edge of his bed to dress. Opening his nightstand drawer, he took out a long elastic sports bandage and wrapped it tightly around his left knee. He put on a clean flight suit and pulled on his boots, then grabbed the flight bag which he kept by the bedroom door. The last thing he did was stuff a plastic Ziploc baggie into his pocket. He then walked out of the room without turning out the light.
    He drove to the fighter wing complex where he parked his battered Isuzu in front of the wing intelligence building. He punched the keys to the cipher lock on the side entry and greeted the Sergeant who let him in. As one of the squadron tactics officers, he had an office inside the building. He quickly made his way down the wide corridor of the empty building to his door, where he paused for a moment before pushing it open. He shared the