Jivaja (Soul Cavern Series Book 1) by Venessa Giunta

Author:Venessa Giunta [Giunta, Venessa]
Language: eng
Format: epub, pdf
Tags: Jivaja - Soul Cavern Series, Book One
Publisher: Fictionvale Publishing, LLC
Published: 2018-08-29T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen: David

David brought the binoculars to his eyes and looked across the road. Balancing in the boughs of an oak tree, he sat, freezing his ass off, and studied the house. Well, studied the estate.

David had reconned the perimeter when he'd arrived over an hour ago. The wall surrounded the estate as far as he could see. The back of the property abutted a small side road and from there, a rutted track led to a rust red, pipe gate set into the estate's wall. He'd parked on the main road and doubled-back to check out the gate.

In the darkness, he’d made out a stout man sitting on a folding chair just inside the gate, an assault rifle lying across his knees. The track led into a copse of trees. He couldn't see farther in the darkness, but as he'd returned to the van and driven the rest of the way around the perimeter, he'd thought the back gate might be a way to get in.

The tree branch creaked as he shifted his weight. The last few leaves that had clung to his branch sifted to the ground.

The imposing colonial perched on top of a gentle rise, surrounded by landscaped lawns dappled with dozens of species of trees and bushes. The winding drive passed through the gates of a stacked stone wall. Coiled on top of the wall wound nasty looking cords of barbed wire. Just inside the gate, he made out a squat guard station.

The house itself sat like a crown on the hill. Majestic was a fitting description. It didn’t surprise him to see men patrolling along the wrap-around porch. Although they didn't seem heavily armed, they each wore a hip holster equipped with a pistol. David lowered the binoculars and inched along the branch, toward the trunk. Within a minute, his feet crunched on the fallen leaves around the base of the tree.

He moved farther into the tree line, but kept the gated wall in sight. He'd parked the van a few hundred yards away, off an old service road that looked like it hadn't been used since the Carter administration. Close enough to run to if it became necessary, but out of sight of the two lane blacktop that led to the estate.

With each step into the woods, the faint smell of moldy leaves came up to meet him, sour and damp. He took a cell phone out of his pocket — the one he'd taken off Irish — and found the number he'd keyed into it earlier.

“Hello?” A soft, feminine voice.

“Ms. Laos, this is David Trenow.”

He got no response at first. After the pause, she said, “It's almost two a.m., Mr. Trenow.”

“Yes. It's time for our meeting.”

“You keep very odd business hours.”

“Get into your car and drive toward Stone Mountain. I'll call you and give you directions to where we will meet. Come alone.”

“Very well,” she said. “Understand that I do not often take orders. I make an exception this one time, simply because I am interested in meeting with you.

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