Beloved Enemy by Eric Van Lustbader Read Free Book Online Page A

He sprinted the remaining distance. The crane’s steel fingers moved downward to lock into the last crate as he came up on it. There was a locked door and several slit-like windows set with bars, but it was so dim inside, a hurried glance through them revealed nothing of the crate’s contents, except a powerful stench. Something big was inside.
    The crane’s tines gripped the edges of the crate, beginning to dig into the sturdy wooden frame, and Jack began working on the lock. Unlike the one guarding the warehouse door, this one was a simple tumbler he was able to pick in a matter of seconds. Swinging the clasp away, he opened the door and stepped in.
    He shut the door behind him, but not before he had caught a glimpse of the beast curled in one corner. Its eyes briefly glowed a brilliant emerald in the light, its tail switched back and forth as it stared at him.
    Jack had seen tigers before, but this one was massive, a third again as large. Years ago, he had read about the gigantic Royal Bengal tigers whose habitat was the tidal islands of the Sundarbans, on the edge of the Bay of Bengal in eastern India. If he remembered right, besides their size, what set these tigers apart from all others was that they were known man hunters as well as man-eaters.
    He could hear the coughing of the great beast’s breath, like a high wind soughing through tree branches. Its musky odor was overpowering. The tiger didn’t move a muscle, not even when the crate began its ascent, but Jack was absolutely certain it was staring at him, sizing him up.
    Slowly, he crouched down on his haunches, back to the door, and tried not to breathe.

 
    F IVE
    “H OW THE hell could this have happened?”
    Kinkaid Marshall and G. Robert Krofft sat across from each other in a Dunkin’ Donuts on K Street NW, but neither of them cracked a smile at the thread-worn joke. It might seem odd for the directors of the DCS and the CIA to be taking their early breakfast at a fast-food shop, but they both knew that they would remain undetected and anonymous in the continuous foot traffic that headed in and out. Over coffee and powdered donuts, they discussed the president’s emergency briefing.
    “A rotten apple happened,” Krofft said, with a dismissive air. “Dennis Paull and his security team were shot to death by that fucking snake Jack McClure.”
    “Could Dennis have been so blind?”
    Krofft broke open two packets of sugar and added the contents to his coffee. “Who the hell cares? What’s done is done.”
    Marshall, listening to the reassuring background hum of human voices, cut his donut into four precise pieces with a white plastic knife. Every movement he made appeared precise and considered. “Well, we’ll find out soon enough when we have McClure in custody. There are going to be a lot of people who want a piece of him.”
    “You’ve got it wrong, Kin. We don’t want McClure in custody, we want him dead. Containment is priority one. The quicker this sorry incident is put to bed the better.”
    Marshall made a meditative sound in the back of his throat. The scent of warm sugar was as thick as the morning fog down by the water. “Maybe you’re right.”
    “Of course I’m right.”
    The rest of the quarter vanished into Marshall’s mouth. “But what if you aren’t?”
    Krofft, dunking his donut into his coffee, laughed harshly. “Don’t be absurd. Come on, we both saw the evidence. The case against McClure is open-and-shut. Let’s at least refrain from bullshitting each other.” He eyed Marshall. “Unless you have another agenda.”
    “I’m simply trying to be thorough. I’d like to do some follow-up investigation on Dennis and McClure.”
    Krofft’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”
    “Because the two men were friends as well as colleagues.” Marshall peered at him.
    “McClure was a mole. That was part of his job.”
    “It would seem so.” Marshall looked thoughtful. Absently, he ate two quarters of his donut before he spoke