Assault or Attrition Read Online Free PDF Page B

back of
the plane, disappearing into one of the private rooms.
    “What’s up with
red?” Mac asked innocently – or, more accurately, in a tone that
was designed to feign innocence. “She seems even more pissed off
than usual. Did someone drop a house on her sister?”
    “She hasn’t
slept in three days. Cut her some slack.”
    Mac smiled
again – a crooked, mischievous grin that usually meant he was about
to suggest a detour. With two day’s worth of beard stubble and a
thicket of dark rumpled hair, he perpetually had a dazed look to
him, like he’d just rolled out of bed after a night of binge
drinking. He was more than just the life of the party – Mac was the party. Well into his forties and two decades removed
from college, he still celebrated each day as if he lived in a
raucous frat house. His abundance of energy baffled me; at
twenty-nine years of age I was perpetually exhausted, but Mac had a
seemingly bottomless gas tank, fueled by nothing more than alcohol
and debauchery.
    “ No ,” I
said emphatically.
    “I didn’t say
anything,” he protested, holding his hand up in surrender.
    I pressed my
fingertips into my eyelids and let my head sag forward. “Just say
it,” I insisted. “I know you have something in mind.”
    “Okay, so have
you ever been to Montreal?”
    I shook my
head. “I just had surgery,” I grumbled. “We’re not going to
a strip club.”
    “How did you
know I was going to suggest a...anyway, this isn’t just any strip club – it’s the strip club. In Montreal they play by
an entirely different set of rules. You know how when you’re in a
club in the States they have that pesky ‘no touching’ rule?”
    I winced and
took a seat, reclining into one of the lounge’s white leather
chairs. “No, Mac. I did not know that.”
    “Well,” Mac
explained, his hands more animated than usual, “in Quebec it’s
practically the opposite. You can touch the strippers anywhere
– they almost insist on it. And lap dances only cost—”
    “Look,” I
interrupted, “I know you’ve been on this jet for nearly three
months, and you’re going a little crazy, but I need to rest .
Recover. Groping a nineteen-year-old French girl with daddy issues
isn’t at the top of my priority list.”
    “I just
figured, you know...after what happened in Argentina. You’d want to
get out. Live a little.”
    “I’m not going
to talk about Argentina,” I said quietly, careful not to let my
words travel throughout the rest of the aircraft. “And neither are
you.”
    “Fine, fine.”
Mac smiled and returned to the cockpit. He took a seat and pulled a
long red lever, bringing the powerful twin engines to life with a
soft rumble. “Where are we off to now, ‘Mister’ Moxon?” He added
the ‘Mister’ ironically, since he knew it bothered me.
    “Fortress 23,”
I instructed. “But first, we need to make a stop in Thunder
Bay.”
    “What’s in
Thunder Bay?” he asked curiously.
    “Another
hospital.”
    Mac glanced
over his shoulder. He flashed a set of pearly-white teeth as he
extracted a pair of aviator glasses from his jacket. “Mox, you sure
how know to party.”
     
    ***
     
    It took us
just thirty minutes to cross The Great Lakes and arrive at our
destination – a small hospital on the outskirts of Thunder Bay,
Ontario. The sleepy, overcast city seemed particularly quiet, and
the snowfall had accumulated far more than in the Toronto area. We
touched down on hospital’s small rooftop hoverpad and I stepped out
of the jet, landing ankle-deep in crisp white snow.
    Valentina
zipped up her jacket and followed closely behind, but I insisted
she stay onboard and try to get some rest. I was still concerned
about security, but a superhuman assassin seemed like overkill for
a stroll through a small-town hospital. I had my wrist-com in case
of emergency, and she wouldn’t be far away if I needed her. She
grumbled and argued, but I insisted she stay. A consummate
professional, she never let