Jack Slade: Night Duty by Richard Dawes

Author:Richard Dawes [Dawes, Richard]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798886530605
Publisher: Melange Books, LLC

9

Slade sat at the table with the others, finishing a breakfast of scrambled eggs, potatoes, bacon, and buttered toast. He glanced up as Jeff and Oliver appeared in the open doorway. They were in uniform, black tee shirts and black trousers, holstered side arms at their hips.

“You’re up, big guy,” Jeff said. “The Feds are here. They want to see you…now.”

The others stared at him apprehensively.

Ann placed her hand on his wrist, large blue eyes deep pools of concern.

He put a hand over hers and squeezed reassuringly.

“Just me. Or do they want to see all of us?”

“For now…just you.”

He wiped his mouth with napkin and stood up. “Let me get my jacket from my office, and I’ll meet you at the elevator.”

“You got it,” Jeff replied, and he and Oliver turned and walked away.

They stepped out of the elevator on the tenth floor. Slade sank ankles-deep into dark blue carpeting as he followed the mercenaries down a corridor lined with glass enclosed offices and conference rooms. At the end of the hallway, they turned into a conference room dominated by a long walnut table polished to a mirror-like shine. Two men in dark suits sat on the far side of the table, their backs to the plate glass window. A laptop computer and a large manila folder rested on the table in front of them.

Hard eyes set in faces rigid and uncompromising stared at Slade as he entered.

“Please be seated, Mr. Slade,” one of them said.

As Slade sat, the agent addressed Jeff and Oliver. “Would you two please stand at the two corners?”

Slade leaned back in the cushioned chair, one hand lying in his lap, the other resting on the table, and studied the two agents. One was white, the other black, but they both had the same bland, characterless face of the government bureaucrat. He stared at them coldly, harsh features as set and uncompromising as theirs.

“Let’s start by introducing ourselves,” the white man said. “My name is David Wallace.” He gestured to the other. “My partner’s name is Charles Wingman.”

Wingman lowered his head so that he was gazing up at Slade, emphasizing the whites of his eyes then intoned in a deep, portentous voice, “We’re with the government.”

Slade snorted. “I’ll do my best not to hold that against you.”

“A frivolous attitude might not be the wisest course to follow in this case, Mr. Slade,” Wallace said. “You are in very deep trouble.”

“Really! What are you charging me with?”

Wallace’s mouth stretched in a tight smile. “We’re still working on that.”

“We could start with the killings of eight Federal agents,” Wingman put in.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Are you denying it?”

“If I don’t know what you’re talking about, of course I’m denying it. What proof have you got that I was even involved?”

They just stared at him.

“You clowns don’t have any proof.”

“Calling us names isn’t going to help the situation, Mr. Slade.”

“I don’t care what you two think about anything. You’ve had my gun since Friday night. You’ve no doubt tested it.

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