The Inner Circle by Robert Swartwood Read Free Book Online Page A

speech.”  
    “Good. Now you can listen to mine.”  
    The Beachside Hotel was about another five blocks away. It was a stationary object in the distance, growing more and more with each step. It wasn’t a monolith like many of the other buildings along Collins Avenue, but still it called to me just the same.  
    “Before you begin your monologue,” I said, “has there been any activity about the hotel over the air?”  
    The Kid was quiet for a moment. “Not yet. I’ve been keeping an ear on the Miami-Dade County radio since you guys arrived and there hasn’t been one call. Either nobody’s called—which is unlikely—or Simon’s redirecting the calls.”  
    “You have my location?”  
    Another pause as the Kid checked one of his many computers. The iPhones we carried were untraceable like disposables—no specific network carrier—but were still connected to the Internet. The Kid had a program running on each of our phones that could track our locations. It was so precise he could narrow down where we were in any given place to about a few feet.  
    “Yes,” the Kid said. “Why?”  
    “Because if you don’t want me ditching my phone right now, I’d hold off on the speeches for the time being.”  
    “I just ... I think this is a bad idea.”  
    “Do you have Carver’s location?”  
    “It’s gone.”  
    “What do you mean?”  
    “They probably destroyed his phone by now. Either that or turned it off.”  
    The Beachside was now less than four blocks away. Traffic continued past me on the street, their tires hissing on the pavement. The rain continued its light drizzle.  
    I paused at the corner, glanced back over my shoulder, then crossed the street to the next block. I said, “I’ll have to call you back.”  
    “Why?”  
    “Don’t call me back. If you do, I won’t answer.”  
    “Goddamn it, Ben, what’s going on?”  
    “I’m being followed.”

    •     •     •

    I’ M A COMPLETELY different man than I was two years ago. Two years ago I was just a house painter that barely pulled in thirty thousand dollars a year. I had a wife and daughter. I had survived only two semesters of college before dropping out. My life was simple but fulfilling, and that’s all that really mattered to me.  
    Then, suddenly, that simple but fulfilling life was stolen. My wife and daughter were taken away. I was thrust into a hell nobody should ever be forced to experience, and many times I was only a few seconds or a few feet from death.  
    But then Carver Ellison entered my life. Carver and his men saved me and helped me understand that there was no way to win Simon’s game. That, despite Simon’s promise, my family was already dead.  
    Two years ago my life changed forever. It was no longer simple, no longer fulfilling. Before, my only purpose was to love and support my wife and daughter. Then, when they were taken away, when I knew they were dead, I realized I had nothing else to live for. Nothing else except to avenge them. I no longer cared about dying, because already most of my soul was dead.  
    Carver trained me well. I was a good student. I studied and trained and did everything I needed to do to become a great soldier. Most importantly, my senses became heightened. When I walked into a room, I immediately assessed the people in there, the number of exits, the different weapons. And I knew when someone was watching or following me.  
    That was how I knew right then, as I disconnected from the Kid and slipped the phone back into my pocket, that I was being followed.  
    I continued down the block, my pace steady, reaching back for the gun strapped in the waistband of my jeans. I kept the gun concealed in my jacket and continued walking, passing the few people still out and about in the drizzle, the Beachside now almost two blocks away. There was a parking lot coming up. I increased my pace and then turned left, pushed myself up flat against the wall, waiting,