The Venice Code by J Robert Kennedy Read Free Book Online Page A

his favorite job that didn’t involve a weapon.
    A softball game was underway with the rest of his team and their families, the laughter intoxicating. He normally did this job alone, sometimes pining for the old days when he was just one of the guys, and his old boss would be grilling away.
    Command structure was loose in Delta, all of them some type of sergeant. There were no officers here, they were in the building, cooking up and responding to mission requests. But in the field? It was all NCO’s—Non-Coms—that did the grunt work.
    And he loved it.
    There was nothing like being in-theatre, on a mission, living on the edge of life and death, then accomplishing their task and coming back home, all alive, all well. It didn’t always work out that way, and just recently they had mourned the loss of one of their own, but they usually made it out with just a few scrapes and the occasional bullet wound, their training and equipment exceptional.
    Today however, instead of tending the grill by himself, he had Maggie at his side, chatting him up. She was a hot little number, sporting a t-shirt exposing her flat midriff and shorts that were just a little too short showcasing long, tanned legs. It had taken Dawson a little while to figure out she was sweet on him, and he still hadn’t decided what to do about it. He had always thought of himself as a life-long committed bachelor. He’d have the occasional dalliance just to let off some steam, but had never found “the one”.
    He sometimes envied the family men like his best friend Mike “Red” Belme, his second-in-command, who had a wife and kids. Dawson had a sister with a fantastic daughter who he adored, and he was godfather to Red’s son Bryson who was a joy except when he neared Dawson’s prized 1964½ Ford Mustang convertible in original Poppy Red with his hands covered in dripping ice cream or worse.
    When he was all cleaned up he and Red would take Bryson out for drives, usually ending up somewhere necessitating a cleanup before the drive home.
    Red would always admonish him with some variation of “Get a mini-van then you won’t care!” Dawson would just give him the evil eye as he supervised the wipe-down.
    Cheers mixed with groans came from the game and Maggie motioned toward the group. “Looks like game over.”
    Dawson nodded, noting her hand resting on his shoulder and the low level of her third bottle of brewed courage. She was a great looking woman, very friendly and intelligent.
    But she’s the Colonel’s secretary!
    If it didn’t work out, every time he’d have to see the Colonel she’d be there. The level of discomfort would be insane. And if she were to quit because of it? The Colonel would probably tear him a new asshole for losing him a perfectly good secretary.
    “Oh, here comes the chaperone.”
    Chaperone? Are we on a date?
    Red trotted over, young Bryson racing behind him, his legs a little too uncoordinated for Dawson’s liking.
    He eyeballed the boy’s hands.
    Clean.
    “Hey, you two. How’re the burgers coming? I think you’ve got a hungry bunch about to get cranky.”
    “Almost ready.”
    “What? You’re usually bang on with these things.”
    Maggie giggled, putting both her hands on Dawson’s shoulder and laying her head against him. “Sorry, I guess I’ve been distracting him.”
    “I guess so,” replied Red, scratching at a few days of stubble, its harsh orange color revealing the source of his nickname.
    Dawson motioned toward his nearly bare scalp, a little growth showing there as well.
    “Thinking of growing it back?”
    Red ran his hand over his head several times. “Nope. Just can’t find my shaving knife.”
    “Huh?” It was Maggie who was surprised by the statement, not Dawson. He knew his friend shaved his head with a Bowie knife. Dawson had asked him once why a knife and not a razor and his response had been typical Red.
    “Because I can.”
    Dawson’s car radio, tuned to some generic Top 40 station at