Red Horseman by Stephen Coonts

Author:Stephen Coonts [Coonts, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Thrillers, Terrorism, Russia (Federation), Nuclear Weapons Plants, Grafton; Jake (Fictitious Character)
ISBN: 9781453210598
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2003-10-02T00:00:00+00:00

14

Jake was in the empty office next to the switchboard when Toad Tarkington returned. “Looks pretty deserted out there, Admiral, all things considered. A few people gawking at the bodies but that’s about it.”

“They haven’t picked up the bodies?”

“No, sir.”

“Any Russian cops around?”

“Not a one in sight. They split early this morning.”

“Go get a car. Open the gate and bring it into the compound. No, get two cars. Go.”

Toad went. One of his great virtues was that he never had to be told anything twice. Nor did he ask foolish questions or want directions clarified. He just grabbed the ball and ran with it.

Spiro Dalworth came in leading Jack Yocke, who looked grim.

“Go help the chief with the maps and weapons,” Jake told the lieutenant, who closed the door behind him.

Yocke glanced at his watch. “What’s up?” he asked.

“Sit down.”

Yocke did so. “Dalworth said you wanted to see me.”

Jake just nodded. Yocke was wearing jeans, moderately dirty tennis shoes, and a nondescript sweater. Jake dimly recalled seeing Tarkington in that sweater a few days ago. Yocke must have helped himself. He still looked as American as a ball park hot dog. Jake Grafton pulled out the lower drawer of the desk he was sitting behind and parked his feet on it. A muffled report of a gun penetrated into the room. Jake closed his eyes and massaged his forehead.

“Admiral,” Yocke began impatiently, “I really—”

“How long do you think you’ll last out there before the KGB picks you up?”

Jack Yocke’s face first showed surprise, then darkened into anger. “You were listening! Damned if I will—”

“Shut up!” Grafton’s voice cracked like a whip. He softened it a little and continued, “You aren’t naive enough to think it’s possible to have a private conversation on a telephone in this country, are you? They tell me that sometimes there are so many eavesdroppers on the line that there isn’t enough juice left to ring your phone.”

Yocke leaped to his feet, grabbed a bound report off the desk and hurled it against the far wall. He planted his feet in front of the desk where Jake sat and glowered down at the admiral. “I’m about fed up to here with this cra—”

“Sit down and we’ll talk this over.” Jake nodded at the chair Yocke had vacated.

When Yocke was back in his chair, Jake continued. “You’re a good reporter, Jack. Somewhere deep inside that polished chrome Post ego I think you really do give a teeny-tiny damn about the people you write about. But, honest to God, when are you going to see that you are in about ten miles over your head?”

Yocke merely stared at the admiral.

“I want you to keep your date with Shirley Ross. We’re going to help you.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you. The U.S. government wants to help little ol’ me, praise the Lord! I don’t know whether to shout hosannas or just let the pee tickle down my leg.” He took a long deep breath and exhaled slowly while he examined his hands.

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