The Last Operation (The Remnants of War Series, Book 1) Read Online Free Page B
Author: Patrick Astre
Daniels came down, knee on the man's chest, left hand on the forehead with thumb and forefinger at the edge of his eyes. Daniels' right hand flicked out and the gravity knife extended and locked. The narrow point of the honed blade rested just below the man's left eye. A tiny drop of blood glinted in the shadowed face.
"One move I don't like and I'll pop your eye like a rotten pimple," Daniels whispered.
The man laid still. Daniels felt his heartbeat through his knee pressing on the stranger's chest. The man gave a strangled retch, his breathing ragged as he replied.
"Godamned, motherfucker, you treat all your old buddies that way?"
"Rollie," Daniels said, pulling up the knife and coming off the man's chest. "You dumbass, an entire year working with me and you didn't learn shit."
The adrenaline cooled and Daniels felt himself getting pissed off. He helped the man to his feet as he slid the gravity knife back to its sleeve pouch.
Master Sergeant Roland Fournier Washington, US Army third Special Forces Group, stood. He shook his head, picked up the billy club and made it disappear in the bulky sweat suit.
"Shit Rollie, what if I capped you?" Daniels said. "I'd be really pissed. With all the paper work to fill out for your miserable carcass."
Both men stepped back in the street. An elderly Chinese couple strolled by, suddenly putting on a burst of speed when they saw them emerge from the alley. Can't say I blame them, thought Daniels.
Rollie massaged the back of his head and groaned. He'd lost his hat and a trickle of blood ran below his eye, cutting a ruby swath in a broad face shining like Kentucky coal.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" Daniels said. "Forgot how to use the phone or knock on doors?"
"Nah, I just had to see if you still got it. Heard the brothers did a number on you in Africa. Thought you might be going soft."
"They tried, but I made it out and left a few souvenirs behind."
Rollie laughed as they started walking back to the avenue.
"Sources tell me your souvenirs capped a whole execution squad. Definitely cleared some shit from this world."
"So what is this, a social call?" asked Daniels. "If you wanted to shoot the breeze, you should've called. I got a meeting at eight."
"I know. I'm going too. Old Bill Taylor is picking up the tab at Vincent's."
Rollie and Daniels had first met in during the grueling Special Forces training and testing process at Fort Bragg. A few years later they'd jumped with a four men team for a covert rescue of a CIA informer near Medellin, Columbia. William Taylor had recruited them for that operation. It had been his show and the planning had been perfect. The operation and extraction was smooth and less then seventy-two hours later Rollie and Daniels were knocking back cold ones at the Fort Bragg officers club.
Now, apparently, Taylor wanted them again.
Chapter 4
Daniels and Rollie arrived at Vincent's just after eight. They found Taylor waiting in a little empty back room sitting at a solitary table covered with Italian specialties. Two bottles of primo Chianti were decanted along with some Pellegrini mineral water. Bill Taylor knew how to spend Government funds. Better on them then some eight hundred dollar screwdrivers, thought Daniels.
William Taylor is a man who likes to think of himself as some kind of aristocrat. He reminded Daniels of an accountant, always meticulously dressed and groomed. That large black mole on his cheek is the only thing out of place. Daniels always wondered why he never had it removed.
They spent the first couple of hours on the old days and catching up on what each had been up to. Rollie and Daniels had the kind of friendship and easy camaraderie forged by mutual support and dependence on each other during combat operations. Only people who have had this can truly experience this kind of friendship. William Taylor didn't have it. He was the CIA recruiter and purse string holder, the CEO—they were rank and
"One move I don't like and I'll pop your eye like a rotten pimple," Daniels whispered.
The man laid still. Daniels felt his heartbeat through his knee pressing on the stranger's chest. The man gave a strangled retch, his breathing ragged as he replied.
"Godamned, motherfucker, you treat all your old buddies that way?"
"Rollie," Daniels said, pulling up the knife and coming off the man's chest. "You dumbass, an entire year working with me and you didn't learn shit."
The adrenaline cooled and Daniels felt himself getting pissed off. He helped the man to his feet as he slid the gravity knife back to its sleeve pouch.
Master Sergeant Roland Fournier Washington, US Army third Special Forces Group, stood. He shook his head, picked up the billy club and made it disappear in the bulky sweat suit.
"Shit Rollie, what if I capped you?" Daniels said. "I'd be really pissed. With all the paper work to fill out for your miserable carcass."
Both men stepped back in the street. An elderly Chinese couple strolled by, suddenly putting on a burst of speed when they saw them emerge from the alley. Can't say I blame them, thought Daniels.
Rollie massaged the back of his head and groaned. He'd lost his hat and a trickle of blood ran below his eye, cutting a ruby swath in a broad face shining like Kentucky coal.
"What the hell's wrong with you?" Daniels said. "Forgot how to use the phone or knock on doors?"
"Nah, I just had to see if you still got it. Heard the brothers did a number on you in Africa. Thought you might be going soft."
"They tried, but I made it out and left a few souvenirs behind."
Rollie laughed as they started walking back to the avenue.
"Sources tell me your souvenirs capped a whole execution squad. Definitely cleared some shit from this world."
"So what is this, a social call?" asked Daniels. "If you wanted to shoot the breeze, you should've called. I got a meeting at eight."
"I know. I'm going too. Old Bill Taylor is picking up the tab at Vincent's."
Rollie and Daniels had first met in during the grueling Special Forces training and testing process at Fort Bragg. A few years later they'd jumped with a four men team for a covert rescue of a CIA informer near Medellin, Columbia. William Taylor had recruited them for that operation. It had been his show and the planning had been perfect. The operation and extraction was smooth and less then seventy-two hours later Rollie and Daniels were knocking back cold ones at the Fort Bragg officers club.
Now, apparently, Taylor wanted them again.
Chapter 4
Daniels and Rollie arrived at Vincent's just after eight. They found Taylor waiting in a little empty back room sitting at a solitary table covered with Italian specialties. Two bottles of primo Chianti were decanted along with some Pellegrini mineral water. Bill Taylor knew how to spend Government funds. Better on them then some eight hundred dollar screwdrivers, thought Daniels.
William Taylor is a man who likes to think of himself as some kind of aristocrat. He reminded Daniels of an accountant, always meticulously dressed and groomed. That large black mole on his cheek is the only thing out of place. Daniels always wondered why he never had it removed.
They spent the first couple of hours on the old days and catching up on what each had been up to. Rollie and Daniels had the kind of friendship and easy camaraderie forged by mutual support and dependence on each other during combat operations. Only people who have had this can truly experience this kind of friendship. William Taylor didn't have it. He was the CIA recruiter and purse string holder, the CEO—they were rank and
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