The Shadow Protocol Read Online Free Page A

to regard Syed from directly overhead. Even at the UAV’s altitude, it was easy to see the terrorist turning his head every few meters to check if anybody was following him. “You’re lookin’ the wrong way, assfag,” Kyle said with a smirk. Holly Jo made a faint
tsk
sound.
    “Let’s keep the language professional,” chided Tony. Everything that happened in the operations center was being recorded. “John, is your team ready?”
    “Soon as you give the word,” Baxter answered.
    “Okay.” The distance between the green circle and thered diamond on the overview was rapidly shrinking. “Get ready.”
    Lak swerved around a three-wheeled autorickshaw, giving its driver a blast on the horn before looking ahead. The road the Mercedes was now on ran parallel to the market street. “How far away is he?”
    Baxter’s laptop displayed the same overhead view of the city as Tony’s. “Three hundred meters,” he reported. “Two fifty.”
    Lak accelerated, spray gushing from the van’s wheels as it jolted through puddles. He spotted the side road. They would emerge on the market street in front of Syed, but not by much.
    “The turn’s coming up,” he called to the men in the back.
    “He’s eighty meters ahead,” said Baxter. “Fifty, twenty … okay, we just passed him.”
    “Hold on!” Lak braked sharply, the Mercedes squealing in complaint as he made the turn. The side street was short, but busy, a few stalls that had overflowed from the main thoroughfare at its far end. He sounded the horn again. Disgruntled shoppers cleared a path.
    “Jesus, he’s less than twenty meters away,” Baxter muttered. If Syed decided to take the side road, they would have a tough job turning back around to follow.
    But he was on the other side of the street, still moving through the market. “Here he comes,” said the Alabaman. “Go right, go right!” Lak turned again, forcing a taxi to an irate stop as he pulled out across its path and brought the van onto the crowded street. “Okay, we’re in front of him.”
    Lak surveyed the street. Although there was strictly speaking only room for one lane of traffic in each direction, in places there were three or even four rows of vehicles as autorickshaws and scooters forced themselves into any available gap. “Which side of the road is he on?”
    “The left.”
    “Okay. Ready with the distraction?”
    Baxter looked to one of his team, a beefy, mustachioed man named Perez, who nodded in reply. The laptop now showed that Syed was twenty-five meters behind the slowly moving van. “Ready, get ready …” The gap opened up slightly. “Okay, go!”
    Lak brought the van to a sudden halt, a scooter’s horn providing a shrill rebuke from behind. Perez slid open the side door and hopped out. He rounded the back of the Mercedes and jogged across the street, one hand raised to ward off an autorickshaw coming in the other direction. The van set off again.
    Even though his target was now less than fifteen meters away, Perez didn’t turn his head, keeping his gaze ahead as if transfixed by the stacks of cheap plastic goods on one of the stalls. His hand slipped into a pocket, finding a roll of cigarette-sized metal cylinders.
    He went to the stall’s side, pretending to examine a set of brightly colored bowls as he took out the roll. The stallholder was haggling with a woman, not looking at him. A flick of his hand, and the cylinders were tossed into a doorway. The woman’s eyes twitched around at the faint clatter as they landed, but Perez had already moved on.
    Syed was now level with him on the other side of the street. The American kept pace. The terrorist leader was about fifty meters from the van, which had stopped again beside a telephone pole. Perez crossed diagonally back across the hectic thoroughfare, slotting in behind his target. His hand went into his other jacket pocket. “Just give the word,” he muttered into his Bluetooth headset.
    Kyle zoomed in. None of the