Retribution by Anderson Harp Read Free Book Online Page B

thought, checking the time again on his watch. The black illuminated dial of his Rolex Submariner showed 12:50 A.M . It had been a long week.
    But I am back in, he reminded himself . And on my terms. For a moment he felt like a schoolboy who just caught the smile from that girl in his math class. A grin crossed his well-worn face.
    The thought of that schoolboy brought him back to a different world. He didn’t have a girl in his math class. Not at Godolphin House. The old proctor would have had a heart attack if he thought a girl was anywhere near Eton College’s Godolphin House. He never learned to like that old man, who’d taken the stick to him on more than one occasion. Eton College raised the elite of Great Britain, and all were taught to be reserved. The private boarding school had raised kings since 1440.
    The Americans think they know the British, but they have no idea.
    â€œMr. Scott?”
    James Fordon Scott turned around to see a hulk of a man approaching.
    That actor in The Green Mile . What was his name? Duncan? While Scott was tall and lanky, this man looked like a wall. He would easily have towered over any linebacker on an American football team.
    â€œIt’s Stidham. Sergeant Shane Stidham. You got a checked bag, sir?”
    Mentally, Scott filed through the bios of Parker’s original ANGLICO team. Shane Stidham had been awarded two Bronze Stars and a Purple Heart for his service in Iraq. If Parker meant to send a message, he’d picked a fine messenger.
    â€œNo checked bag.” Scott had given up on checking bags after September 11. The hassle became too great in public transportation. He slung the overnight bag over his shoulder. “Just this,” he said. “Where’s your colonel?”
    â€œHe’s waiting for you on the other side of the airport. Follow me.”
    It had taken Scott several days to find a lead on William Parker. First, though, he had flown to Qatar to meet the FBI team. The hole in the ground in Doha was much deeper than he had even imagined from the photographs. The body count had gone up since the original report. Six more didn’t survive their head injuries, bringing the total death toll to twelve. He remembered the smell.
    â€œSemtex?” Scott had asked the bomb team.
    â€œYes, sir, but not with the usual tracers.” The FBI’s bomb expert was holding a test tube with a brownish material inside. “This is probably Czech Semtex. A Chechen from Grozny was connected to a purchase recently of a ton of this stuff.”
    Scott knew the Chechen well: Abu Umarov. He also had a good guess as to who Umarov was working for.
    As for Parker, after Korea, he seemed to have disappeared. Fortunately, Scott had remembered the woman who was with him at the end. A court reporter. He’d left several messages with the clerk of the court, only to learn quickly that the courthouse staff was a close family. Finally, he caught an assistant clerk who apparently didn’t know better. She gave Scott the cell phone number for Clark Ashby. And then, all he could do was plead with Parker’s lover to have Parker call him, if she knew where he was. He’d heard the reluctance in her voice, but somehow it had worked.
    â€œCan’t I take that bag?” boomed Stidham’s bass voice. He seemed frustrated by Scott’s slow pace.
    â€œThanks, but no. I’m fine. What do you mean he’s on the other side?”
    Instead of answering, Stidham ignored the question and continued walking. Scott could tell that Stidham rationed his words carefully. He had a slight stutter and he was no doubt conscious of his voice’s uniquely low-octave tone.
    Finally they stepped outside, across an empty street and into a parking lot. This part of the airport also seemed as quiet as a cemetery at one in the morning.
    The bitter cold air surprised Scott a little. This must be an exceptionally cold night in Atlanta. A layer of frost covered