Endangered Species: PART 1 by John Wayne Falbey

Author:John Wayne Falbey
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller genetic, thriller special forces, thriller international terrorism, thriller bestsellers, thriller conspiracy, thrillers suspense, thriller political, thriller 100 must reads, thrillers espionage

Chapter 8—Albuquerque, NM

It was a little past six in the morning, Albuquerque time. Dawn was just breaking on a mid-April day, slowly brightening the arid landscape that paralleled both sides of I-25 north of the city. A first quarter moon hung low on the western horizon like a large half pie descending. The barren satellite was at a 90-degree angle with respect to the earth and sun. Exactly half of it was illuminated; the other half in shadow.

The digital thermometer on the dashboard of Mitch Christie’s Ford Crown Vic four-door sedan showed forty-three degrees. It was a 2010 model; the next to the last year the car was produced at the St. Thomas assembly plant in Talbotville, Ontario. This one had a blue exterior and interior with the police interceptor and street appearance packages. It also had over 100,000 miles on the odometer and rode like it. The cushioning in the seats was worn out. The springs dug into Christie’s butt. The shocks had worn out long ago. That made handling difficult and added to the discomfort of riding in the car. A myriad of unpleasant aromas filled the vehicle. The smell of stale coffee, old food and body odors clung to the headliner and other upholstery. There were food stains and cigarette burns in the seat covers, or what was left of them after 100,000-plus miles of butts sliding across them. Assorted scratches and gouges marred the dashboard, armrests and center console. There were footprints on the dash on the passenger side where agents had rested their feet. Christie recognized all of them as vestiges of long ago stakeouts.

All of the other Bureau agents in the field office drove newer model vehicles, mostly Impalas. Wojakowski drove a very well equipped Suburban. Christie’s Crown Vic had been destined for the junkyard when Wojakowski learned he was being assigned to her office. She rerouted the paperwork and saw to it that the car was assigned to him. He chalked it up to one more strike in favor of the Polish Viper.

He didn’t usually go to work this early, but Christie was running away from a situation, and he knew it. It was ironic, he thought, that he was choosing to go to the office over something else. He was opting for something he hated over something that scared him. He saw the sign for Exit 233, Alameda Boulevard NE, and glanced to his right. A short distance to the west was Balloon Fiesta Park, site of the city’s renowned annual International Balloon Fiesta. He had been in Albuquerque for almost six months, yet had never visited the popular site. The truth was, he knew, hot air balloons terrified him. It seemed there always were news articles about them crashing and burning and killing the occupants.

Airplanes were a different matter. They had wings and engines to propel them. More importantly, they had devices to control direction and speed. Balloons, however, had none of those. To him, they were helpless objects blown wherever

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