Rock Killer by S. Evan Townsend Read Free Book Online

programmers were not.
    “Fine,” she said. “If the Syrians get here soon and if the information we got out of the computer on the Moon is correct, we should reach the belt way ahead of time; even with this delay. Matching orbits shouldn’t be a problem. We can accelerate nine times as much as they can.” She smiled at that thought.
    Griffin also smiled. G od , he thought, she is beautiful when she’s not trying to prove what a cold bitch she is . “That’s good,” he said. Silence hung thick in the room.
    “You should get some sleep,” Knecht stated. She almost sounded caring. Griffin moved closer; he could reach out and touch her. His hand hesitated, then moved for her shoulder. But she caught the action and flinched away. The knife was less relaxed in her hand.
    “Go to sleep, Griffin,” she ordered.
    He nodded and turned to the opening in the floor. As he descended the ladder he watched her watch him leave.
    ***
    Security Chief Mitchel looked at the faces on the screen that covered one wall of his office in the SRI Headquarters building.
    “NESA is very embarrassed,” Rodriguez said on the Moon. “They are willing to help any way they can in the investigation within the confines of their privacy laws. But they don’t think we’ll ever know how the weapons got on the Moon.”
    “Did you,” Mitchel asked, “tell them about the Syrians?”
    Two seconds later Rodriguez nodded. “Yes. But they can’t really investigate in the UBS area any more than they can investigate in our area.”
    “Okay,” Mitchel said. “What about Trent?”
    Another man on the screen spoke from Washington. “Our people watching her say she met with Syrians last night. We put an ultrasound beam on the windows but all we got was a local radio station.”
    “Damn,” Mitchel grumbled. They may be radicals but they weren’t stupid. “What about Damascus?”
    Elisa Morgan was the boss at SRI’s Middle Eastern terrestrial information gathering office in Tel Aviv. “Our agents in Damascus have trouble,” she reported. “Syria’s too much a police state. But, we’ve connected with an underling in the Baath party. He’s getting some information to us. A French arms seller, Philippe Thorez, will be visiting Damascus soon. He specializes in space-borne weapons. This isn’t his first visit.”
“Find out why he’s there,” Mitchel ordered crisply. “It may be important.”
Morgan nodded. “I will.”
“Anything else?” Mitchel asked. No one said anything.
“Okay. Let’s get on this. We need to find out what the GA is up to. Rodriguez, stay on. Everyone else, thank you and good-bye.”
    The screen cleared and showed the SRI logo. Mitchel turned to the smaller screen on his desk. “Rod,” he said, “I’ll be arriving on the next shuttle. How’s Charlie?”
    “Really well, considering,” Rodriguez replied two seconds later, a shade of sadness in his voice. “Anything else?”
    “No, not now. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
    ***
    Alex held Kirsten’s hand across the table. He’d been home a few days and they finally found time to drive to Denver to his favorite Korean restaurant, the Sai Han Sheik Dong. It was in the lower downtown district near Union Station. Denver had closed its city center to private vehicles so they parked Kirsten’s car in a huge underground parking lot at the edge of town and took a light-rail into the city. The train stopped at Union Station and from there it was a short, albeit cold, walk to the restaurant.
    Mr. Pak, the proprietor, and his employees knew Kirsten and Alex well and, after delivering their food, left them alone unless called.
    Alex looked at the device on his wrist that was being grossly underutilized by only displaying the time. The security memorial service on the Moon was about to start. It was for the three security people killed: DeWite, Prince, and a kid named Nakamura whom Alex didn’t know. The services for the others killed were being held by their divisions.