Term Limits by Vince Flynn Read Free Book Online Page B

the center of the stairs, leaning forward, trying to keep his weight as equally distributed as possible, not wanting the old stairs to creak and wake the owner.
    When he reached the second floor, he stayed on his knees and continued to crawl slowly toward the master bedroom, about twenty feet away. Once again, he waited patiently and listened. Gently, he stuck the rubber tube under the door, put his gas mask on, and opened the valve on the tank. Sitting down with his back against the wall, he started the timer on his watch.
    After fifteen minutes had elapsed, he turned off the valve and pulled the tube out from under the door. Slowly, he opened the door and peeked into the room. Burmiester was lying with his back to the door and showed no signs of movement. The intruder pushed the door the rest of the way open and walked over to the bed. Reaching down, he nudged Burmiester several times. The old man didn’t move. He took the glove off his right hand, placed it on Burmiester’s neck, and checked his pulse. After checking it twice more, he concluded with relief that the old man was fine. The intruder did not know the man he was standing over, and hedid not wish to see him die. Harold Burmiester was not the man he was after tonight. He walked around the bed to the double window that looked out onto the street below and stared straight across at the house opposite Burmiester’s. He lowered the mike and said, “I’m in position. Everything looks good, over.”
    The response came crackling back through his earpiece immediately. “Roger, everything is quiet on this end, over.”
    Five miles away on the other side of the Potomac River, the second team had moved into position. The nondescript white van was parked on a quiet side street. Inside, the blond-haired assassin was undergoing a change. He’d taken off his dark jeans, jacket, and boots and had replaced them with a gray pair of sweatpants, a blue sweatshirt, and a pair of Nike running shoes. He sat still while one of the other men carefully applied black makeup to his face, neck, and ears. The makeup was for camouflage, but not in the typical military sense. It was meant to be noticed and to deceive, not to conceal. After the makeup job was completed, a tight, black Afro wig was placed over his blond hair, and a pair of brown contacts were inserted over his blue eyes. Next, he put his headset back on and pulled a University of Michigan baseball hat over his head.
5:55 A.M., Friday
    The screen covering Mr. Burmiester’s bedroom window had been taken off, and the owner of the house had been carefully moved from the masterbedroom down the hall to one of the guest rooms. The intruder was sitting on a wooden chair, staring out the window at a pair of French doors located on the second floor of the house across the street. Resting on his lap was a Remington M-24 military sniper rifle with a customized silencer attached to the end of the barrel. A round was in the chamber but the rifle was still on safety. The alarm on his watch had beeped five minutes earlier, and he was trying to stay relaxed. The sky was just starting to brighten and the birds were chirping. His target would be rising any minute, and he was making a conscious effort to control his breathing and keep his adrenaline level low.
    A light was turned on across the street, and the drapes on the other side of the French doors turned from gray to yellow. In one fast motion he brought the rifle up into a firing position, pressing the stock between his shoulder and left cheek. His finger came up and flipped off the safety, while he centered the crosshairs on the middle of the French doors. He continued taking slow, controlled breaths. A blurred shadow moved from behind the curtains. The shooter inhaled deeply, and just when his lungs were fully expanded, the doors across the street opened. As they swung inward, they revealed the pudgy, pink-and-white body of Congressman Jack Koslowski.