The Rule of Nine Read Online Free

pretty clear. What’s more, the print didn’t belong to the victim. And it wasn’t yours. We checked. When we ran it through our computer, the thumbprint on your card matched an unidentified print we lifted from another crime scene. Next picture,” says Thorpe.
    We flip to the next eight-by-ten glossy.
    At first it is difficult to determine what the image is until I realize it’s a human body. It is charred, burned so thoroughly that the gases, body fat, and oils have erupted from the abdomen, leaving a darkened cave of encrusted and exposed ribs. Both legs end in sharpened stubs somewhere below the knee. The head looks like a burned volleyball, all the facial features gone.
    â€œOkay, if you’re trying to scare me, you’ve succeeded,” says Harry.
    â€œI wouldn’t expect you to recognize him, Mr. Hinds. I don’t think you ever saw him,” says Thorpe. “But both of you, Mr. Diggs and Mr. Madriani, did see this man, possibly more than once. He was at the scene that day near the gate to the naval base. He was one of the terrorists. In fact, we believe he was the leader. His name was Alim Afundi. We know that from the DNA we were able to extract from the body. He had been in federal custody at one point. I’m not at liberty to tell you where he was confined, but a DNA sample was taken at that time. He apparently escaped. Suffice it to say, we did not take him into custody at the scene in Coronado.”
    â€œSo contrary to Mr. Olson’s statement, the terrorists were not all killed at the scene?” says Harry.
    â€œNo,” says Thorpe. “We found his charred remains two days after the shootout in Coronado at a location near National City, a few miles north of the Mexican border, which is where we lifted the unidentified print matching the one found on your business card,” says Thorpe.
    â€œBut you don’t know who the print belongs to?” I ask.
    â€œNo. But we do have rumors as to who killed Afundi. There’s some sketchy information from sources across the border that the person who killed him is a Mexican hit man. According to the information, he’s a professional assassin known only by reputation, mostly among aspiring young guns trying to claw their way to the top of the professional pyramid. To them, none of whom claims to have actually seen the man, he is known variously as the Mexicutioner, sometimes Muerta Liquida. It means liquid death,” says Thorpe. “Others just call him Liquida.”
    â€œCharming,” says Harry.
    â€œFrom what we’re told by the Mexican authorities, he’s connected to the Tijuana drug cartel. But he also freelances. We thinkhe may have been working with the people who transported the device to Coronado.”
    â€œYou mean the IED,” says Harry.
    â€œAny of you ever heard the name Liquida?” Thorpe ignores Harry. “Perhaps during your sojourn down south?”
    â€œYou mean the trip to Costa Rica?” says Herman.
    â€œThat’s what I mean.”
    Herman and I had gone south to find a witness and gather evidence in a criminal case. It was how we got caught up in the events surrounding the attack in Coronado.
    â€œDo you have any description of this man Liquida?” I ask.
    â€œNothing,” says Thorpe.
    I remember the pockmarked cheek and the evil eyes stalking me from a moving car that night as I hid in the shadows under a parked vehicle in San Jose. All I got was a fleeting glance as fear forced my face into the gravel, not enough to provide a reliable description. Still, I may have a name to go with the evil eyes.
    â€œIf Liquida was working with them, why would he kill this guy Afundi?” says Herman. “If Afundi was the boss, I mean.”
    â€œMaybe to silence him,” says Thorpe. “We don’t know. As you can see, the body was badly burned. But the medical examiner did find what appeared to be some indications of torture