Net Force - Tom Clancy [101]
They were gonna get this lubefoot. It was just a matter of time
The priority incoming e-mail chime sounded. Gridley shook his head. The tags were in place on the winnow; if something showed up, his station would scream at him. He shifted to the mail and opened it.
Hmm. The incoming was from one of the field teams. They had, they said, something on the Day assassination.
Well, okay, that was important, too. Not as important as the programmer, at least not in Gridleys mind-Day was dead and hed be dead forever. Nobody could hurt him anymore, but the net was still taking hits. Then again, catching a killer was nothing to turn ones back on. And everybody knew that if they didnt come up with something soon, the bosss head was gonna roll. That was how things always worked around here.
Gridley downloaded the attached file and opened it. It didnt take long for him to see the meat of the message.
Well, well. Look at that
Monday, October 4th, 5:05 a.m. Washington, D.C.
Megan Michaels was on the front porch of their house, holding hands with a dark-haired, burly man. The two of them kissed. The man slid his hands down her back, cupped her buttocks. She moaned softly, then turned and saw Alex standing there. She smiled at him. Im his now, she said. Not yours. She reached over, put her hand on the mans crotch-
Michaels came out of the nightmare, thick with jealousy and anger.
Dammit!
Scout was asleep, curled into a tight little ball near Alexs feet. There was a new dog bed on the floor next to the TV console, a top-of-the line hand-woven basket with a pillow full of cedar shavings, but the dog declined to use it unless Michaels made him. Somehow, ordering a dog whod saved his life to sleep on the floor didnt seem right; besides, if Scout wanted to sleep on the bed, well, it was plenty big enough. It wasnt as if he was a mastiff.
When Michaels awoke, Scout raised his head and looked at him. He must have decided nothing was wrong, because he relaxed and recurled himself after a moment.
Walt Carver had a ten a.m. meeting with the President. If Net Force did not have anything new for him to bring to the table regarding Steve Days assassination, Net Force would grow itself a new head-as soon as Alex Michaelss got lopped off
Hell with it. He got up and shuffled toward the bathroom.
Scout stood, stretched himself like a cat, hopped off the bed and came to stand next to Michaels. The dog sat, then watched intently as the stream of urine splashed into the toilet bowl. What was Scout thinking? That this was a bit of territory the man was marking as his own?
Yep, this is my toilet, all right, Michaels said. Mine, mine, mine.
Scout yipped in acknowledgment.
Monday, October 4th, 5:05 a.m. Washington, D.C.
Toni lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling. Naked next to her under the covers, Jesse Rusty Russell slumbered on, breathing heavy.
Oh, Lord. Why had she done this?
She glanced at the man next to her. Rusty was attractive, smart, sexy. She had certainly enjoyed the taste and feel of him, and it had been quite an athletic and satisfying romp. The bought-long-ago condoms she had dug from under the panties and bras in her dresser drawer were still a few months shy of their expiration date. She and Rusty were adults, they werent married to anybody else, so-who got hurt?
This was all true, and yet, it still wasnt right. Why did she feel so guilty? What was she doing here with this stranger in her bed? There was a sense of unreality about it, as if it were a dream, not really happening to her. A feeling that also bordered on the edge of nausea. She felt a kind of sick dread. As if she had done something terribly, terribly wrong.
It should be Alex lying there, sated, happy, in love with her. It should mean something. She liked Rusty