Abel Baker Charley by John R. Maxim

Author:John R. Maxim [Maxim, John R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 0553297732
Google: SLx4ngEACAAJ
Amazon: B004XRANO4
Barnesnoble: B004XRANO4
Goodreads: 163583
Publisher: Bantam
Published: 2014-08-16T23:00:00+00:00

On the street below, Tom Dugan had left the blue Oldsmobile and was standing in the shadow of a small service alley near the Essex House. It was full daylight, although the streets and sidewalks remained nearly empty. Except for one white van. It had already passed twice, too slowly. If it passed again, he wanted room to move.

Ten minutes went by and he could see it. Only its front end was visible as it waited out a Sixth Avenue light before turning east again in his direction. He thought he heard a car door slam up there. His service pistol was already in his hand.

The light changed and the blinking van continued its turn. midtown office supplies, it read. It approached the Oldsmobile slowly, but this time it did not pass. Dugan crouched. Abruptly, a rear door swung open, and Dugan heard two feet slap against the damp pavement. A parked truck blocked his vision. Dugan waited.

“Boom!” A voice came from the van.

Dugan steadied his weapon.

”I surrender,” came the voice. A white handkerchief waved above the door.

“Who's that?” Dugan called. “That you, Biaggi?”

Smiling, hands raised, Michael Biaggi stepped away from the van and showed himself over the parked truck's hood. “What do you think this is, Gunsmokel Come on, we got relieved.”

Dugan hesitated. “Why have you been cruising in that thing?”

“Dropping off our relief, dummy. Let's go. Harrigan's already down at the Federal Building. Leave your keys in the Olds.”

Tom Dugan was still unsure. There was always something funny about Biaggi. He wasn't sure Connor Harrigan liked him that much either. “What the hell's going on?” he asked. “And who relieves Connor Harrigan's people?”

“Right at the top. Come on. Mr. Harrigan wants to see the look on your face when you hear about our new job.”

Dugan held back for another beat before he holstered his Colt. “The keys are in it,” he said and stepped quickly toward the open van. Biaggi followed and closed the double doors behind them.

There was only one seat inside in addition to the two in front. Biaggi's topcoat sat on the rearmost. Dugan passed it by.

“Who's driving?” Dugan asked.

“Say hello to Ed Burleson. He's Special Operations.”

Dugan climbed into the front passenger seat and strapped himself in. He turned to extend a hand to the man next to him. “Special Operations?” he asked. “No offense, but I didn't think Connor Harrigan ever worked with .. .”

The man's grip was crushing. Dugan's brain lingered on that message, not wanting to accept the next. Something thin and almost invisible had winked down across his face and kissed against his collarbone before it slid against his throat and tightened. He felt his tongue leap forward and then his eyes. He argued with his brain. This could not happen. That was Mike Biaggi back there. Even Biaggi wouldn't. . .

Tom Dugan was the third to die. An hour earlier, Warren Bagnold had convulsed once more and then was still.

The tunnel was slowing. Stopping. The blue spirals faded into gray shadow and there was nothing again.

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