The Constantine Conspiracy Read Online Free Page B

his face. He’d pretty much failed as a human being and the towel heads in the mosque praying to a god he didn’t cotton to certainly didn’t mean anything to him. But other than accidentally running over a dog about four years ago, he’d never killed nothing, and he didn’t particularly like the notion of starting that kind of thing now. Maybe he’d alter the scheme a tad, get close enough to blow up a few things but without harming too many folks. After all, he already had payment for the job.
    He thought of Lisa and Tina again. What would they think of him when the media spread his face all over the news? But maybe that wouldn’t happen. The stocky man had told him to leave his driver’s license in a trash can somewhere and he’d already done that. Since the truck wasn’t his, nobody could trace him that way either. If the explosives did their job, they might not find enough of him to identify, and Tina and Lisa would get the million without ever suffering for it.
    The whiskey bottle showed up in his hands again, and Bobby drained it and shoved the bottle back in his pocket. One million dollars, one million dollars, one million dollars.
    Only a couple more minutes until prayers ended. Needed to do the deed; just one more detail.
    He slipped a phone from his jacket and dialed 911. When the operator answered, Bobby spoke quickly.
    “Tell folks this,” he grunted. “The mosque—what I do now . . . I do . . .” Bobby took a big breath, his nerve faltering.
    “What? Who is this?”
    Bobby almost shouted to speak the words he’d been ordered to say, what he’d been paid a million dollars to say, what he knew the TV would play over and over again after they gained access to the 911 call.
    “What I do now I do in the name of Jesus Christ and for his eternal glory!”
    He shut off the phone and stepped into the building. One million dollars, one million dollars, one million dollars.
    At least ten steps short of reaching the main prayer room, Bobby closed his eyes, thought of Tina and Lisa one last time, then touched the detonator on the explosives in his vest.

4
    W hen the walkie-talkie squawked, it took several seconds for the sound to register in Shannon’s drowsy brain. For a year she’d waited on this contact, the message that signaled the start of either the beginning or the end for her. But when the walkie-talkie actually bleeped, it took every ounce of her strength to punch the button to receive the call.
    “Officer Bridge,” she said when her finger finally triggered the receiver.
    “Acknowledge that,” the dispatcher said. “We got a 911 from 1001 Elk Ridge. You copy?”
    Shannon’s breath almost stopped, but she managed to respond anyway. “Copy,” she said. “1001 Elk Ridge. That’s the Carson place, right?”
    “Roger that. EMT on the way, police also, but ETA of authorities over 45 minutes. Can you respond?”
    “Acknowledge that, Bridge to respond to 1001 Elk Ridge,” she said, already moving toward the cabin porch. “Condition status of 1001 Elk Ridge?”
    “Negative on that—no details. A distress call, that’s all we got, injuries on site but type unknown.”
    “Acknowledge that. Bridge is responding.”
    “Backup on the way.”
    Shannon shut off the walkie-talkie, yanked shut the cabin door, and ran to her jeep. A second later she flipped open the back to verify the presence of the first-aid satchel that all NPS officers kept on board their vehicles. A quick survey showed everything in place, so she shut the jeep’s hatch, hopped into the driver’s seat, and peeled out, leaving behind everything but the panic that filled her throat and the hope that filled her heart.

    Less than fifteen minutes later, Solitude’s alarm system announced a vehicle approaching the entry gate. In the great room on the first floor, Rick Carson stepped from the fireplace, checked the video monitor, and saw a jeep headed his way. Unsure of the driver’s identity, he moved to the library,