Myrmidon by David Wellington Read Free Book Online Page B

said. “You take out your sidearm and lay it carefully on the floor, or we fill you full of holes right here.”

 
    CHAPTER TWELVE
    C hapel had to admit when he’d been beaten. He saw it all at once—­how Belcher had manipulated him. “Nice. You got me angry, got me frustrated. Got me to stop thinking through every move. You knew if you pushed my buttons enough—­and gave me crates to play with—­I would come in here. Under this roof.”
    â€œWhere your little drone friend can’t see you,” Belcher confirmed. “I believe I asked you to relinquish your weapon.”
    Chapel nodded. Very slowly, very carefully he drew his pistol and held it up by the barrel. Bending low, he placed it on the concrete floor.
    â€œKick it over to me,” Belcher said. “No theatrics, now.”
    Chapel did as he was told. The pistol skittered and scraped over the concrete. Belcher stepped forward and put his foot on top of it, leaving it where it lay.
    â€œCharlie,” he said, “search the agent. Make sure he doesn’t have any other weapons or listening devices.”
    The big, tattooed man was thorough and quick about it. He took Chapel’s wallet and the keys to the rental SUV and stuffed them in his own pockets. When he got to Chapel’s shoulder, he grunted in surprise. “Something wrong with his arm,” he said.
    â€œThere’s nothing wrong with it. It’s just a prosthesis,” Chapel told him.
    Belcher raised an eyebrow. “Pretty convincing. Does it have a built-­in microphone? Does it launch tiny little missiles from the fingers?”
    â€œNo. It just does what my other arm does.”
    Belcher nodded. “Let him keep it for now. Agent, why don’t you have a seat on the floor there and put your hands on your head.”
    Chapel complied, maintaining eye contact with Belcher the whole time. “I thought you were smarter than this.”
    Belcher ignored him for the moment. Once Chapel was sitting down, he bent over and retrieved Chapel’s pistol, checked the safety, and put it in his pocket. “Andre,” he said, “I think you know what comes next. Go and tell the others.”
    Chapel couldn’t see Andre’s face—­he was standing behind Chapel—­but he could hear the stammer in Andre’s voice. “It’s . . . it’s time? Really?”
    â€œThis is what we’ve been waiting for. Go on, now. Charlie can back me up here.”
    â€œHot damn,” Andre said. Chapel could hear him run out of the warehouse, his boots slapping on the concrete floor.
    â€œThis won’t work,” Chapel said.
    Belcher nodded but didn’t reply.
    â€œIf I don’t come out of this warehouse in an hour—­and make the right signal that the drone can see—­the whole weight of the US military is going to come crushing down on your little racist town, Belcher. You wanted to keep your kids safe? This is the worst thing you could have done. But it’s not too late. You can—­”
    Belcher nodded at Charlie, and the big tattooed man came up behind Chapel and put a thick arm around his throat, choking off his airway. Charlie pulled upward like he wanted to pull Chapel’s head off his neck. Chapel had no option but to stand up, his shoes kicking at the floor. His vision started to go red, and he felt his chest heave for breath.
    The Rangers had trained him for this exact situation, drilling him endlessly in combative moves to escape even a sleeper hold. He shot his left elbow backward, straight into Charlie’s groin, and immediately felt the big man’s grip loosen. But apparently Charlie had been in a few fights before, himself. He stepped backward, pulling Chapel with him and keeping Chapel from getting his feet planted on the floor. He made a fist of his free hand and pounded Chapel hard in the kidney—­a move that could kill if it