The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

nature, it needs to be fed, has needs to be nurtured like a hovering spirit. Working for WW Lawford III would destroy it.
    Richard Daniels finished the third set of bench presses just when a courier knocked on his door. The guy handed him a message in a sealed manila envelope. A one-sentence message:
    Join me for dinner, eight PM, Vincent's in Little Italy.
    - William Taylor
    William Taylor, hound dog for CIA black operations division. Taylor had recruited Daniels into covert CIA operations in South America while he was stationed with the Third Special Forces in Panama. He'd continued on several operations in Columbia and Peru until Afghanistan came along. Shortly after his second tour, Daniels had been discharged with the rank of Captain.
    The Zaire African disaster had been Daniel's first foray as a mercenary. He really didn't look forward to getting back in with the black operations spooks, but what the hell, he thought, where he was now, he would talk to anybody for a free meal at Vincent's.
    It was dark when Daniels left the Tai-Zen dojo at about seven PM. He had intended to take a leisurely stroll to Vincent's and have some wine while waiting for William Taylor. He couldn't say for sure when he first sensed someone following him. The edge warned him well before he felt it in his consciousness. That's how it worked most of the time.
    The streets were pretty crowded this early in the evening and Daniels was still in Chinatown. He did a couple of stops and quick turnarounds until he picked out his tail from the crowds.
    The man following him was big, well over six foot four, Daniels guessed. Seemingly absorbed by the contents of a Chinese knick-knack shop, he wore bulky sweat suits, "rapper" style with a large floppy Jamaican bush hat pulled low and covering most of his face.
    Daniels crossed the avenue twice and turned off into a small dingy street four blocks before Little Italy. The man was still tagging behind, but now he stuck out a little more among the few people on the sidewalk.
    Suddenly he ducked into a narrow alley between two streets that turned out to be the back end of a row of small and dirty restaurants. Damp and fetid, the alley had the smell of a place accustomed to holding rotting garbage. Daniels kicked something large and squealing in the darkness as he ran ten feet to the hanging ladder of a fire escape. He jumped, grabbed the bottom rung and hoisted himself on the tiny ledge. Pressing against the building and the ledge, he felt the darkness enveloping him like a trusted old friend. He slowed his breathing and froze his movements, blending with the building and the fire escape.
    Daniels saw the man enter the alley, slow and cautious. The stranger approached with the high and silent footstep of the practiced night fighter. Just a little light from the street silhouetted him, enough for a reflected glint of black gunmetal in his right hand.
    As the stranger passed beneath, Daniels launched his body from the ledge, both hands joined together in the Club-Kata move. Daniels was silent as a twilight shadow but the man was very good. He must have sensed the subtle change in air pressure, or maybe it was his own Edge. He was just quick enough to deflect the full power of the blow.
    Still it was a powerful strike, glancing off the base of his head as he hit the ground with a woosh of expelled air. The man came back with a swing toward Daniels' head and in that nano-second, Daniels saw he had no gun but some sort of blackjack. It whistled past Daniels' head as he ducked.
    The man was fast and he was good, especially after the hit he suffered. Most men Daniels knew would have gone down. Daniels grabbed the passing arm in a cross handed hold, turning the energy inward, doubling the arm under and throwing the stranger off balance.
    As the man pitched forward, Daniels' knee came up, hitting hard just below the abdomen. He flipped the man, landing him on his back with a muffled thud. In a single blur of motion