Beloved Enemy by Eric Van Lustbader Read Free Book Online

Redbird felt that they were spiritual twins, or, even, that he might be Rilke reincarnated. “I want to be with those who know secret things or else alone,” Rilke had written, just as if he had somehow time-traveled into the future to read Redbird’s innermost thoughts.
    Redbird, sitting in the first-class lounge at Flughafen Frankfurt, waiting for his flight to Bangkok, had his tattered, German-language copy of Rilke’s The Book of Images open on his lap. Redbird was fluent in more than a dozen languages and always chose to read in the author’s native language, not trusting translators to capture the masterly beauty of the original.
    The soft buzz of hushed voices, the comings and goings of wealthy passengers, cradled him. A cup of black coffee and a plate with a hard roll and a pat of foil-wrapped butter sat on the low table by his right hand. Occasionally, he sipped his coffee while studying the made-up and well-oiled faces of those around him, but the roll remained untouched. Food was of little interest to him. It was people he found fascinating.
    He looked like a professor, or a researcher, which, in a way, he was. Being a student of human behavior had served him well in his chosen profession. Though he seemed to be reading, he was actually absorbing all the intel Dickinson had provided from Dennis Paull’s dossier on Pyotr Legere and the late Leroy Connaston. His mission ultimately was to find Jack McClure, who was believed to be following Legere’s trail, and bring him back to D.C.
    “As you’ll see, the commission could turn out to be a complex one,” Dickinson had said, and now Redbird knew why. Redbird was, by and large, an expert in dealing death. He could count on one hand the number of commissions that had involved something other than straightforward political murder.
    But there was something about this commission that excited him. Maybe it was Legere’s connections to the Kremlin’s elite or his curious involvement in the clandestine world of espionage. But, on second thought, maybe Legere’s involvement wasn’t so curious. With his highly charged client base, Legere was in a unique position to trade secrets.
    Redbird glanced up just as his flight was called. Rising, he grabbed his overnight suitcase and joined the small exodus out of the lounge.
    Plunged into the maelstrom of the airport, he felt a surge of adrenaline, and thought of another line from Rilke: “It is a tremendous act of violence to begin anything.”
    *   *   *
    Jack knew there was no point dressing in the leo’s clothes or using his ID; the suits were sure to have his photo on their mobiles—he’d never get past them. There had to be another way, and time was fast running out. He had just over six minutes to get on the InterGlobal Logistics aircraft before it taxied out onto the runway. If it lifted off without him, he was trapped in D.C., and sooner rather than later, he’d be caught, with no chance to clear his name.
    Then he remembered the cargo vehicle backed up to the warehouse. A quick glance confirmed that it was still there. He turned to the warehouse door, but it was locked. Crouching down beside the fallen leo, he went quickly through his pockets until he found a ring of keys. Checking the lock manufacturer, he found the matching key, inserted it into the lock and pushed open the door. Turning, he grabbed the leo by the back of his collar, dragging him into the interior. It wouldn’t do to have anyone see him lying there, especially the suits.
    From the moment he entered, he could tell this was no ordinary warehouse. For one thing it was overheated, for another, it stank of animals. Jack realized he was in one of Dulles Cargo’s several specialized warehouses, equipped for all manner of exotic cargo, including live animals for Washington’s National Zoo.
    Moving through the interior toward the rear doors, which were open to the crane and the cargo vehicle, he saw that only one crate remained to be loaded.