Out of the Ashes by William W. Johnstone Read Free Book Online

codes, Mr. Anderson. And please bear in mind General Hyde has a. 45 aimed at your back.”
    The W.O. did not hesitate. He stepped forward and handed the briefcase to General Travee. “Has it hit the fan, sir?”
    â€œYes, son,” the general replied. “It most certainly has.”
    Fowler was sitting in a chair, holding his head in his hands. “Don’t hurt me, C.H. You know I have a low pain tolerance.”
    Travee’s smile was ugly. “I’ll bear that in mind—traitor.”
    Â 
    Monday afternoon
    Â 
    In a warehouse on the waterfront in New York City, the Russian agent looked at the gleaming shape of the Thunder-strike, lying in its long crate, marked: AXLES.
    The Russian shook his head. Leave it to the Americans, he thought. The most secret weapon in the world, and they dump it in a wooden crate, mark it AXLES, and stick it in an open warehouse.
    The missile did not look dangerous; it looked beautiful and sleek. It was minuscule compared to a huge ICBM. But when the warhead was placed inside the nosecone, it became the most advanced missile in the world. Even God—if He existed, thought the Russian—would need clearance to view this missile. The agent knew he was looking at the reason his country signed SALT 5.
    The Thunder-strike suddenly appeared very ominous. The Russian began to perspire, knowing he was looking at, in all probability, the object that would be the cause of his death. Very soon.
    He nailed the lid back on the crate, sighing as he looked at the markings on the crate. D ESTINATION : M AINLAND C HINA .
    â€œLittle yellow bastards!” he muttered.
    â€œHey, you!”
    The Russian turned. A man dressed in jeans and hard hat stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at him.
    â€œWhat the hell you doin’ in here?”
    â€œWaiting for a man.”
    â€œYeah? Well, wait somewheres else. You ain’t supposed to be in here. Git outta here!”
    The worker had apparently not seen him place the hammer back on the workbench. “Of course. I beg your pardon. Is there a place where I may wait, nearby?”
    â€œYeah. Right down the pier. A little beanery. Move!”
    When the Russian had gone, the man walked to a phone, quickly dialed a number, and said, “He bought it; everything is go.”
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    President Fayers looked in disbelief at the body of General Fowler. He was dead! Fayers could not believe this was happening. Not here! Not in the oval office. His head hurt. He felt reality slipping from him; he was sliding through the most intense pain he’d ever experienced. Through his daze and pain, he could hear the military people talking, but their words were incomprehensible; he didn’t even know who those men were. He began to hum, very quietly.
    â€œWhen they learn Fowler talked,” General Hyde said, “we won’t have much time.”
    Fayers looked up and for a moment ceased his humming. Who were these men? Where had they come from?
    â€œWorld-wide,” Dowling said. “Fowler must have named a dozen or more countries. Including Russia. I can’t believe they are planning armed revolt in Russia.”
    â€œC.H.,” Admiral Divico said, “we can’t just carry a body out the front door. There must be a dozen press types hanging around.”
    â€œDid anyone see or hear you waste Captain Bingham?” Travee asked Divico.
    â€œNo,” the admiral said, the taste of betrayal bitter on his tongue. “A traitor on my own staff. I left the son of a bitch sitting in his chair, behind his desk, with half his head gone.” He had locked the door and put a “Do Not Disturb” sign on the doorknob, Bingham’s own signal that he did not wish to be disturbed.
    â€œThis thing is growing like a cancer,” Travee said. “Touching all branches. I’ve been in contact with Saunders and they confirm they were at a special meeting Saturday, all branches present,