The First Casualty by Gregg Loomis Read Free Book Online Page A

leaving this here island . . .”
    Jason held up a hand, stop. “Leaving? Who says?”
    Momma crossed arms the size of legs of mutton. “Well, I just thought . . .”
    â€œThought what?”
    â€œYou just now coming back from that little country . . .”
    â€œLiechtenstein.”
    Momma knew his every move. Annoying as it was, what could he do? Devices that tracked cell phones, spy satellites, hacking into airline reservations. Privacy was as obsolete as the buggy whip.
    â€œYeah,” Momma nodded, seeming to relish the name, “Liechtenstein. Little bird tell me you got into trouble.”
    â€œYour little bird must be a dodo. Trip went smooth as glass.”
    Momma pursed her lips, an expression almost coquettish. “You weren’t running that Porsche up them hills for the fun of it.”
    She pronounced the marque without the uh sound for the final e .
    How the hell could she have known about that? Must have a really good observation team for him not to have noticed. Either that or there really was substance to her claim of being a Hounan , a voodoo priestess.
    Damned if he was going to give her the satisfaction of asking. “I don’t see the correlation between what might have been trouble and leaving Sark.”
    Actually, he saw it with the clarity of a photograph, a very ugly photograph.
    â€œDon’ much think them fellows in the other car were chasing you for your autograph. They know you in Liechtenstein; they sure know you here. Just a matter of time.”
    He watched her for a moment as she used one massive hand to scratch Pangloss between the ears, the other to rub Robespierre’s belly. The domesticity of the tableau would make it difficult for a stranger to believe this woman ran what was probably the most efficient covert organization in the world, undoubtedly the most efficient in private hands.
    He was tired from travel, his stomach sounded like there was a really unhappy animal inside, his feet were wet and cold, and his immediate future included going to bed alone. He was in no mood for Momma’s games. “Let me guess: Since I may be in some danger here, I need to leave. Since I need to leave anyway, you just happen to have a little job that needs tending to.”
    At first, Momma didn’t reply. Instead, she gently placed the cat on the floor and stood, to Pangloss’s evident disappointment. Stepping across the room, she stopped before a pair of Jason’s paintings.
    â€œSunset and sunrise from the same vantage point. I like the way the reddish tones of morning and late afternoon contrast with the gray of the ocean, particularly the reflection on the water and the wet rocks.”
    Jason felt his anger seep away like water from a cracked cup. It’s hard to be mad at someone who both admires and understands your work.
    But he said, “I’m retired, remember?”
    â€œThat’s what you said last time. You was bored to death with your woman gone then and you’re bored to death with her gone now.”
    Not only did Momma keep track of his whereabouts, she read his mind, too.
    Momma glanced at the gold Cartier on her wrist, a tiny button attached to the trunk of a mighty oak. “Tell you what: It’s late. We can carry this on in the morning.”
    â€œNothing to ‘carry on.’ ” Jason made quote marks with his fingers.
    Momma made a motion with one catcher’s mitt-size hand, and Samedi soundlessly stepped from the shadows. The man creeped Jason out with his dead, corpselike eyes and the way he had of simply appearing like a spirit summoned from Hades. Jason couldn’t remember him ever speaking, either. There was something in his hand . . . a book.
    Momma took it and held it out toward Jason. “Take a look through this and we’ll talk.”
    Hands behind his back as though afraid to touch the proffered book, Jason retreated a step. “No thanks. I’m behind in my