Armageddon Conspiracy Read Online Free PDF

but always sexy. Serious face that could thaw in a heartbeat into a teasing smile. Dark eyes full of cool intelligence one minute and fiery passion the next. Maggie defied labels, a wild combination of lush and sparse, serious and funny, sensual and tough. Her contrasts worked perfectly for him.
    He’d never opened up to people easily, but with her—especially after Harry’s death—it had been different. Even though they hadn’t spoken in months, he imagined her walking through the door right now. Lithe and athletic, her movements quick and sure. Even in her absence she remained a part of him, like the enduring sensation of an amputated limb.
    He took out his cell phone, dialed her number, but then hesitated. What would he say—confess to being lonely and confused? They’d broken up because she had wanted a bigger commitment, one that hestill wasn’t ready to make.
    For him, two other things had always come before marriage, namely his debts to Fred and Harry. His older brother had dragged him from the fire that destroyed their house and killed their mother, then protected and guided him for years afterward. Fred had taken in the two orphans and become the family they had lost.
    For Christmas 1999, Brent had given Harry a brand new twenty-eight foot Mako because his brother loved saltwater fishing. Borrowing a hundred thousand dollars on top of tens of thousands of dollars in education debt was something most people would never understand, but Brent knew Harry could never afford that boat on a fireman’s salary. In hindsight, it was the best decision he’d ever made. He and Harry had spent irreplaceable weekends fishing during the summer of 2000.
    In Fred’s case, Brent planned to buy him a small house in Florida. It was something Fred might have afforded on his own, only not after the expense of raising his two nephews. Brent’s salary from GA would soon make the house a reality. Then, if the job even lasted that long, a few more months of scrimping and he’d finally be free of tuition debt and able to start thinking about other things.
    In the building opposite, couples were still laughing, talking, and sitting together in contented silence. The sight added to his hunger for the sound of Maggie’s voice; however, instead of pushing the send button, he closed his phone.
    His regret was a cold stone in his chest. He’d never fully explained his reasons to her but held them inside the way he did so many things. Now he was paying the price.

SEVEN
PARIS, JUNE 14
    AS HIS LIMO PULLED UP in front of the Hôtel de Crillon, Abu Sayeed glanced out the rain-spattered windows and thought yet again how much he detested Europe. He hated the gray skies, the springtime of constant spitting rain, and the wet cold that went straight into his bones. He took his briefcase and dashed up the steps, and as he came through the front doors, his hatred bloomed to embrace all things European, from the lobby’s rococo gold leaf décor to the cigarette smoke, the ever-present wine and alcohol, even the self-satisfied smirk and chatter of the people.
    Europe made him yearn for silence, for the burn of the Saudi Arabian desert air in his nostrils, for sunbaked sand and the endless emptiness south of Riyadh. Unlike this northern hell, with its babble of godless infidels and honking horns, he craved his homeland, where the aridity and bone-scorching heat reduced man to his essence.
    Out of the corner of one eye he could see his young lieutenant, Naif Abdulaziz, dressed in a dark pinstriped suit, reading the Financial Times in a chair where he could observe the entire lobby. Naif’s hair had been styled in dreadlocks, which made him look less Muslim and more secular, like some young African businessman. His left leg was crossed over his right, the all-clear signal, so Abu Sayeed continued through the lobby to the library bar where he would meet the American.
    He sat at a small table at the rear of the otherwise empty room and ordered tea. He