An Evil Mind Read Online Free PDF Page B

himself Liam Shaw sat on the bed inside the small cell located deep underground – sublevel five of a nondescript building inside the FBI Academy complex in Quantico, Virginia. His legs were crossed under his body, his hands loosely clasped together, resting on his lap. His eyes were open, but there was no movement in them, just a dead, half-scared, half-uncertain look, staring straight ahead at the blank wall in front of him. In fact, there was no movement from him at all. No slight headshake, no twitching of the thumbs or fingers, no tiny adjustment of the legs under him, no shifting or rocking of the body, nothing, except for the unavoidable physical motor-reaction of blinking.
    He’d been in that position for the past hour, simply staring at that wall, as though if he stared at it for long enough he’d be magically transported somewhere else. His legs should’ve cramped by now. His feet should’ve been tingly with thousands of pins and needles. His neck should’ve been stiff from the lack of movement, but he looked as comfortable and as stress-free as a man sitting in his own luxurious living room.
    He’d taught himself that technique a long time ago. It had taken him many years to master it, but he could now practically empty his mind from most thoughts. He could easily block out sounds and blind himself to what was happening around him, despite having his eyes wide open. It was a sort of meditation trance that elevated his mind onto an almost unearthly level; but most of all, it kept him mentally strong. And he knew that that was exactly what he needed right now.
    Since last night, the agents had stopped bothering him. But he knew they would. They wanted him to talk, but he just didn’t know what to say. He knew enough about police procedure to know that whatever explanation he gave them wouldn’t suffice, even if it were the truth. In their eyes, he was already guilty, no matter what he said or didn’t say. He also understood that the fact that he wasn’t being held by a regular police or sheriff’s department, but had been turned over to the FBI, complicated matters immensely.
    He knew he had to give them something soon, because the interrogation methods were about to change. He could feel it. He could sense it in the tone of voice of both of his interrogators.
    The attractive blonde woman who called herself Agent Taylor was softly spoken, charming and polite, while the big man with the crooked nose who called himself Agent Newman was much more aggressive and short-tempered. Typical good-cop-bad-cop team play. But their frustration due to his total commitment to staying silent was starting to show. The charm and politeness were about to end. That had become obvious in the last interrogation session.
    And then the thought came to him, and with it came a name:
    Robert Hunter.

Ten
    Hunter eventually made it back to his apartment to pack his bags, but the flight he took just a couple of hours later wasn’t the one he had booked to Hawaii.
    After taxiing its way up the runway, the private Hawker jet finally received the takeoff ‘go ahead’ from the Van Nuys airport control tower.
    Hunter was seated toward the back of the plane, nursing a large cup of black coffee. His job didn’t really allow him to travel much, and when he did, if at all possible, he usually drove. He’d been on a few commercial planes before, but this was his first time inside a private jet, and he had to admit that he was impressed. The plane’s interior was both luxurious and practical in equal measures.
    The cabin was about twenty-two feet long by seven feet wide. There were eight very comfortable, cream leather seats, set out in a double-club configuration – four individual seats on each side of the aisle, each with their own power outlet and media system. All eight seats could swivel 360 degrees. Low-heat LED overhead lights gave the cabin a nice, bright feel.
    Agent Taylor was sitting on the seat directly in front of Hunter,