The Schliemann Legacy by D.A. Graystone Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: D.A. Graystone
him no escape. Sirens wailed in the nearby streets. Vaulting the hoods of the stopped cars, Duman crossed the road in seconds. Just down Aubry le Boucher, the Turk could see the Beaubourg and salvation. Hundreds of people wandered on the front lawn of the art gallery, watching the varied entertainment. Duman holstered his gun. He did not want panic, not yet.
The terrorist worked his way into the throng and watched the DST agents fall in behind him. Protected by the crowd, he searched for his target. He moved in front of two young street musicians and stopped behind a homely woman dressed in a bulging, white pantsuit.
The musicians were playing Claude Bolling's Picnic Suite , one of Duman's favorite pieces. Moving to the fluid music, he slipped a knife from under his pant leg, turned, and smiled at the DST. Frantically, they worked toward him through the milling crowd.
Duman grabbed the woman in front of him, wrapped his left hand around the woman's forehead, and drew the blade across her throat. Bright red blood gushed from the gaping wound and soaked into the white cloth. Duman held the woman by her hair and displayed her to the crowd.
The earlier hysteria in the square was mild compared with the bedlam created on the lawn. People ran in all directions, trampling others in their haste. The DST lost Duman in the crush.
The killer used his elbows, shoulders, and several lethal blows to make his way to the edge of the crowd, then ran to Rue Renard and jumped into an out of service taxi. A substantial number of 100-Franc bills thrown into the front seat convinced the driver to ignore his lunch. Tossing a sandwich aside, the man guided the taxi across the Seine at Pont de Sully. The driver registered no surprise when his fare jumped out unannounced at Quai Saint Bernard. He pulled the taxi to the curb, counted the bills, and ate his sandwich.
Duman hurried along the street to the Gare d'Austerlitz. At the rail station, Duman used the washroom to clean up. His beard was miraculously still in place. He combed his hair and washed his hands. As he approached the ticket window, the terrorist resembled any one of the many businessmen in the station. He bought a ticket to Madrid. "You will have to hurry, Monsieur," the man behind the counter said. "The train leaves in ten minutes."
Duman hoped the ticket seller had a good memory. Once the agent's attention was elsewhere, Duman left the station. He took his time, walking with the lazy pace of the tourists. At the "Yawning Lion" gates, he turned into the Jardin des Plantes.
* * * * *
The uniformed policeman crossed the floor of the Gare d'Austerlitz and walked up to a tall man smoking a cigar. "The ticket agent says a man answering Duman's description bought a ticket to Madrid. The train left a half hour ago."
Claude Alain, director of the DST, considered the tip of his cigar for a moment. "Did the agent see Duman get on the train?"
"He said he was busy at the time and would not have noticed. Should I alert the Prefects along the line?"
Alain stared out the large windows and down the tracks that led to Madrid. "Yes. Have the train stopped and searched." He turned away in disgust. "Not that we will find him," he added.
Chapter 6 - DAVID
David Morritt watched the beautiful scenery pass below and wondered why Assi Levy had summoned him to Tel Aviv. Assi's order concerned him, but David forced himself to enjoy the flight. He loved flying over Israel, especially the desert. No matter how far he traveled, Israel would always be the most beautiful country in the world to him. It was home.
The flight path had taken the helicopter over the red desert surrounding Beersheba, an area that might appear desolate to the casual observer. But the sand and rock teemed with life. David knew his people would use their advanced agriculture to renew the desert wastes. The settlements would swell and the desert would support a more varied life than ever before in the history of man. Such was
The terrorist worked his way into the throng and watched the DST agents fall in behind him. Protected by the crowd, he searched for his target. He moved in front of two young street musicians and stopped behind a homely woman dressed in a bulging, white pantsuit.
The musicians were playing Claude Bolling's Picnic Suite , one of Duman's favorite pieces. Moving to the fluid music, he slipped a knife from under his pant leg, turned, and smiled at the DST. Frantically, they worked toward him through the milling crowd.
Duman grabbed the woman in front of him, wrapped his left hand around the woman's forehead, and drew the blade across her throat. Bright red blood gushed from the gaping wound and soaked into the white cloth. Duman held the woman by her hair and displayed her to the crowd.
The earlier hysteria in the square was mild compared with the bedlam created on the lawn. People ran in all directions, trampling others in their haste. The DST lost Duman in the crush.
The killer used his elbows, shoulders, and several lethal blows to make his way to the edge of the crowd, then ran to Rue Renard and jumped into an out of service taxi. A substantial number of 100-Franc bills thrown into the front seat convinced the driver to ignore his lunch. Tossing a sandwich aside, the man guided the taxi across the Seine at Pont de Sully. The driver registered no surprise when his fare jumped out unannounced at Quai Saint Bernard. He pulled the taxi to the curb, counted the bills, and ate his sandwich.
Duman hurried along the street to the Gare d'Austerlitz. At the rail station, Duman used the washroom to clean up. His beard was miraculously still in place. He combed his hair and washed his hands. As he approached the ticket window, the terrorist resembled any one of the many businessmen in the station. He bought a ticket to Madrid. "You will have to hurry, Monsieur," the man behind the counter said. "The train leaves in ten minutes."
Duman hoped the ticket seller had a good memory. Once the agent's attention was elsewhere, Duman left the station. He took his time, walking with the lazy pace of the tourists. At the "Yawning Lion" gates, he turned into the Jardin des Plantes.
* * * * *
The uniformed policeman crossed the floor of the Gare d'Austerlitz and walked up to a tall man smoking a cigar. "The ticket agent says a man answering Duman's description bought a ticket to Madrid. The train left a half hour ago."
Claude Alain, director of the DST, considered the tip of his cigar for a moment. "Did the agent see Duman get on the train?"
"He said he was busy at the time and would not have noticed. Should I alert the Prefects along the line?"
Alain stared out the large windows and down the tracks that led to Madrid. "Yes. Have the train stopped and searched." He turned away in disgust. "Not that we will find him," he added.
Chapter 6 - DAVID
David Morritt watched the beautiful scenery pass below and wondered why Assi Levy had summoned him to Tel Aviv. Assi's order concerned him, but David forced himself to enjoy the flight. He loved flying over Israel, especially the desert. No matter how far he traveled, Israel would always be the most beautiful country in the world to him. It was home.
The flight path had taken the helicopter over the red desert surrounding Beersheba, an area that might appear desolate to the casual observer. But the sand and rock teemed with life. David knew his people would use their advanced agriculture to renew the desert wastes. The settlements would swell and the desert would support a more varied life than ever before in the history of man. Such was
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