Undetectable (Great Minds Thriller) Read Online Free Page B
Author: M. C. Soutter
mission.
Q: I don’t think I see your point.
A: Terrorism is creative now. More than ever, it’s inventive and unpredictable. An I.E.D . is exactly what it sounds like – something that has been improvised.
Q: Dr. Levoir , few people are worried about encountering road-side bombs on their way to work.
A: And yet this is exactly my point. We have an irrationally inflated sense of security. Terrorism, meanwhile, continues to evolve. It has come to a turning point, a moment of transformation. And the U.S. should be willing to embark on a creative, transformative campaign of its own.
Q: Fine. So explain the initiative.
A: It is as follows: we will be creating scrubbed agents. In fact, we have the first one moving into position now.
Q: Yes, I’ve read your abstract. But I’m asking you to explain . Let’s start with the term “scrubbed.”
Beautiful Emily
Ron Clemson was still staring at Kevin . Jean pulled himself under control and stopped laughing. The two of them regarded him breathlessly, looking at Kevin now with wonder, as though they were in the presence of an unidentified species of snake. Rare and beautiful, but also possibly deadly.
Rich person in the house. Careful.
Kevin felt good for the first time that morning. He realized he didn’t care whether he had said too much. He could handle these people. They were odd and cliquish, but so was any group when you first arrived. It didn’t matter if he had unsettled them, because he wouldn’t be staying here for more than two or three days. Maybe he’d even be gone by tomorrow. He’d get out of here just as soon as he had figured out how –
But then he noticed the clock.
Shit .
The red hand was stuck again. And now he saw that Jean and Ron were not simply being quiet. Maybe that was how this had started, with them going silent as they gr appled with the idea of a millionaire teacher in their midst, but now they were not even moving .
Not moving at all.
They were like the red hand, they were frozen , they were –
“Drinks are on this one!” Jean said suddenly, pointing at Kevin as if the three of them were in a crowded bar.
Kevin stopped himself from jumping, but only barely.
The clock was moving again. Everything was fine.
Son of a bitch. How am I supposed to know when –
He heard the door to the lounge open behind him, and Kevin became aware of a sudden change in the atmosphere of the room. Ron and Jean were both facing the door, and he could watch their faces as they reacted to the person coming in. Ron’s expression changed. There was a subtle brightening, a slow lifting of his features; in another man, this change might have signaled happiness. Jean, on the other hand, was more overt. He simply threw his arms open and beamed. “Ms. Beck!” he sang, as if welcoming a long lost relative.
“Jean, for the last time, call me Emily. There are no students in here. Good morning, Ronald. And hello – ?”
Kevin stood and turned for an introduction, and suddenly he found himself off-balance. A moment ago he had been the master in this room. Not that being the alpha dog in a place like this was such a difficult thing; he was young, he was smart, and he was probably one of the few financially secure adults in the entire building. Plus, he had quashed Ron’s hazing attempt and had managed to turn Jean into an unabashed fan in a space of five minutes. But now the game had changed.
He had just re-acquired his second-fiddle status.
The woman before him was young, younger than he was, probably by three or four years. She couldn’t have been over twenty-five. She was dressed very simply in a light blue skirt and a white blouse, and she had her brown hair pulled back in a bun. There was nothing Kevin could put his finger on…
But there was no denying she was
Q: I don’t think I see your point.
A: Terrorism is creative now. More than ever, it’s inventive and unpredictable. An I.E.D . is exactly what it sounds like – something that has been improvised.
Q: Dr. Levoir , few people are worried about encountering road-side bombs on their way to work.
A: And yet this is exactly my point. We have an irrationally inflated sense of security. Terrorism, meanwhile, continues to evolve. It has come to a turning point, a moment of transformation. And the U.S. should be willing to embark on a creative, transformative campaign of its own.
Q: Fine. So explain the initiative.
A: It is as follows: we will be creating scrubbed agents. In fact, we have the first one moving into position now.
Q: Yes, I’ve read your abstract. But I’m asking you to explain . Let’s start with the term “scrubbed.”
Beautiful Emily
Ron Clemson was still staring at Kevin . Jean pulled himself under control and stopped laughing. The two of them regarded him breathlessly, looking at Kevin now with wonder, as though they were in the presence of an unidentified species of snake. Rare and beautiful, but also possibly deadly.
Rich person in the house. Careful.
Kevin felt good for the first time that morning. He realized he didn’t care whether he had said too much. He could handle these people. They were odd and cliquish, but so was any group when you first arrived. It didn’t matter if he had unsettled them, because he wouldn’t be staying here for more than two or three days. Maybe he’d even be gone by tomorrow. He’d get out of here just as soon as he had figured out how –
But then he noticed the clock.
Shit .
The red hand was stuck again. And now he saw that Jean and Ron were not simply being quiet. Maybe that was how this had started, with them going silent as they gr appled with the idea of a millionaire teacher in their midst, but now they were not even moving .
Not moving at all.
They were like the red hand, they were frozen , they were –
“Drinks are on this one!” Jean said suddenly, pointing at Kevin as if the three of them were in a crowded bar.
Kevin stopped himself from jumping, but only barely.
The clock was moving again. Everything was fine.
Son of a bitch. How am I supposed to know when –
He heard the door to the lounge open behind him, and Kevin became aware of a sudden change in the atmosphere of the room. Ron and Jean were both facing the door, and he could watch their faces as they reacted to the person coming in. Ron’s expression changed. There was a subtle brightening, a slow lifting of his features; in another man, this change might have signaled happiness. Jean, on the other hand, was more overt. He simply threw his arms open and beamed. “Ms. Beck!” he sang, as if welcoming a long lost relative.
“Jean, for the last time, call me Emily. There are no students in here. Good morning, Ronald. And hello – ?”
Kevin stood and turned for an introduction, and suddenly he found himself off-balance. A moment ago he had been the master in this room. Not that being the alpha dog in a place like this was such a difficult thing; he was young, he was smart, and he was probably one of the few financially secure adults in the entire building. Plus, he had quashed Ron’s hazing attempt and had managed to turn Jean into an unabashed fan in a space of five minutes. But now the game had changed.
He had just re-acquired his second-fiddle status.
The woman before him was young, younger than he was, probably by three or four years. She couldn’t have been over twenty-five. She was dressed very simply in a light blue skirt and a white blouse, and she had her brown hair pulled back in a bun. There was nothing Kevin could put his finger on…
But there was no denying she was
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