The Battle Begins (The Defender Book 1) by Jerry Ahern

Author:Jerry Ahern [Ahern, Jerry]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Speaking Volumes
Published: 2011-11-08T00:00:00+00:00

20

David Holden didn’t know what to say.

“Will you do me a favor, David? If you won’t come with us, at least take this.” Tom Ashbrooke, Elizabeth’s father—did that still make him his father-in-law? Holden suddenly wondered—extended his right hand and opened his fingers. There was a small key in the palm.

“Please, David?” Diane implored.

“What is it?”

“If you won’t come back with us to Switzerland, it’s the only thing I can give you that might be of some help. It’s the key to a safety deposit box at the main branch of First Liberty. I’ve made arrangements with the bank’s executive vice-president. He owed me a favor. Nothing to sign. Just come in, identify yourself to him—you can trust him—and use the key. If times get really bad here, please.”

“I don’t—and look, I don’t want your money!”

There were so many people moving around them as the gate area was filling up that it was almost as if the three of them were alone in a room.

“David, dammit! Just take the key. Never use it, then. Just keep it until you need it and if you never need it, fine! All right? There’s stubborn and there’s stupid. You’re pushing into stupid, David. Let us help—if you need it. For Liz’s sake, huh?”

“Please, David. Tom and I discussed this. Please?”

David Holden was weary. He took the key. “Fine—satisfied?”

“First Liberty. The fellow’s name is Paul Henderson. If something should happen to him, he’s left a system in his own papers for you to use the key.”

“Fine. Thanks. Look—ahh—I’m just not, ahh—my—self, really. I—I appreciate everything you guys, ahh—hell,” and he closed his eyes. Diane hugged him, kissed his cheek.

David Holden opened his eyes. Tom Ashbrooke said one word. “Son.” And Tom Ashbrooke embraced him....

The van rumbled over the bridge, one of those old wooden affairs that were still seen sometimes out in the country, nothing more than railroad ties and heavy planking to span a stream or where once there had been one. The van slowed.

Rufus Burroughs started to speak. “You get that mask back up on your face, Rosie. Anybody sees we’re cops, it’s our ass.”

“All right, Rufe,” but she thought they were already in deeper trouble than they could realize.

“Somethin’ wrong, Rufe!” It was Rudy, the driver. “Holy shit! Look behind us!”

Rose Shepherd started out of the club chair, but the van was slipping under her and she was pitched forward, the H & K 94 skating over the shag carpeting that floored the van. She rolled onto her back, more gunfire than she had ever heard at once suddenly all around her, the rear windows blowing inward. She shielded her eyes from the spray of glass. “Rufe!” she screamed.

“Two of ‘em—car and a van,” Horace Whitelaw shouted. She heard answering fire, rapid semiautomatic bursts from an assault rifle. Rufus Burroughs stood beside the shot-out windows at the rear of the van.

“They suckered us!” Rufus shouted.

She didn’t try getting to her feet, but crawled across the van floor on her hands and knees, grabbing up the H & K.

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