Free Fall by Kyle Mills Read Free Book Online Page B

heard over the background noise.
    "Wait here, please," the woman said, ignoring his question and melting into the riot. Beamon turned his attention to the bank of televisions secured to the wall, each silently playing various news programs from across the nation. Next to them was a colorful poster at least five feet high. In large black letters it read: "R: 33, D: 26, U: 16."
    Beamon assumed that those were the latest poll numbers for the Republican candidate, Democratic candidate and Undecideds. Beneath that was "28 days to go!"
    And beneath that, in bold green letters was: "Us: 19."
    Beamon reached for the pack of cigarettes in his jacket, thought better of it, and went back to examining the numbers on the poster again.
    Hallorin had fought a valiant and insanely expensive campaign, sprinkled lightly with flashes of brilliance, or perhaps dumb luck, depending on who you asked. But despite everything that had happened, it looked like America wasn't ready for a man like him. Less than a month to go and he was still in the cellar.
    "Mark!"
    A small knot of young people scurried away like frightened animals, creating a clear path for David Hallorin to rush up and completely envelop Beamon's hand.
    "Thanks so much for coming. I know you're anxious as hell to get out of D. C. Come on back to my office."
    Beamon followed without a word, watching Hallorin ignore the people rushing to get out of his way. Even Beamon had to admit that he cut an incredibly imposing figure. Usually politicians used the tricks of television to make themselves seem more powerful and presidential, but if any thing, Hallorin had been forced to use the medium to tone himself down.
    What Beamon was seeing now was the uncensored David Hallorin. The mildly stylish glasses and the thin lenses that had given a more cheerful glitter to his cold gray eyes were missing now, as was the warm brow nand-tan color scheme that had replaced the blacks and charcoals that he'd favored before his presidential bid. What was even more noticeable, though, was the way he walked. It wasn't something you saw that much of on television, but it was quite remarkable. It seemed that every motion was punctuated by a strange sense of physical power, a barely contained whirlwind.
    Hallorin stopped at an unobtrusive door in the back wall, threw it open, and stepped aside to allow his guest to go first. Beamon paused for a moment, stifled a sigh and stepped through. No good could come of this.
    Of that he was sure.
    The office was much smaller than Beamon had expected, but other than that was fairly typical. The obligatory antique desk favored by men of power dominated and was surrounded by uncomfortable-looking chairs.
    Strangely, the two bookcases along the wall were full of books and not the reaffirming knickknacks and souvenirs that were the staple of most politicians.
    "Nice place you have here," Beamon said, and instantly felt stupid for opening his mouth.
    Hallorin fell into the chair behind his desk and motioned to the one in front of it.
    "You think so?" He looked around him at nothing in particular.
    "Kind of a vulgar display of wealth, actually. I built it when I was much younger and much more impressed with myself."
    Beamon thought the answer had a slightly practiced ring to it, like his driver's speech about the car but couldn't be sure. His normally acute perceptions were unreliable around politicians meeting with one always made him want to take a shower. Admittedly, the sensation was less urgent with this one than with most.
    Hallorin looked like he was about to continue when the phone on his desk rang. He sighed and held up a finger as he picked it up.
    Beamon only partially listened to Hallorin's half of the conversation he was answering the person on the other end with one-word sentences, obviously wary of giving too much away to his guest.
    Beamon leaned forward and took a framed photograph from the desk before realizing that he probably shouldn't be grabbing at David