Consortium of Planets: Alien Test Read Online Free PDF Page A

as usual, finally showed and they took off for France.
    They landed a few kilometers outside Mets, France, at a small airfield not much more than a paved road without incident. Each of them carried a small bag of gear and jumped on the waiting motorcycles. They averaged about 110 kilometers per hour in the dash to Paris. The weather was mild and the speed was exhilarating as the beautiful green countryside and occasional castle flashed by.
    The sidewalk café sat on the side of one of the many shopping squares in Paris that spanned about four hundred meters from side to side. A large fountain, bubbling away in the middle of the square, was a testament to a fallen hero from some long ago war.
    By the time they reached the café, the temperature had dropped a few degrees, signaling a cool front. Accompanying cloud cover had washed out some of the old stone buildings’ vibrant colors and the newly hung banners proclaiming the presidential election the next day.
    Team Bravo Oscar got off their bikes and gathered around Dean. He was looking for a red beer can that his contact would have displayed prominently on one of the sidewalk tables. The can was there, but a nun was sitting beside it, enjoying a double espresso. Interesting , Dean thought as he stepped up to the nun and smiled.
    “Is this seat taken?”
    She looked up at him with large, soft, brown eyes and smiled back. “There is always room at my table.”
    “Do you always have an unopened beer can with you?” That wasn’t part of the verification code Dean was given. Curiosity had gotten the better of him, and the nun began to shift nervously. He decided, before anyone got hurt, to get the conversation back on track. “It’s such a nice day…it would be a shame if someone got hurt.” He had to say it perfectly or his contact would disappear.
    The steel that had crept into her eyes softened and she visibly relaxed.
    “Yes, let’s get back to my flat and get you set up,” she said as she assessed the rest of his team.
    Gabriella’s apartment was small, even by European standards: about six by seven meters, Dean estimated. A simple curtain separated the bedroom from the combined living room and kitchen. A tall wooden wardrobe sitting by the twin bed was the closet. The only other door was probably for the bathroom. A few pictures of birds hung dutifully from the walls. It wasn’t dirty, but it wasn’t exactly clean, either.
    This woman travels light for a quick getaway , Dean surmised.
    All five gathered around a low coffee table that was surrounded by four straight-back chairs.
    “Sit,” Gabriella said as she waved them toward the chairs and stepped into the kitchen.
    Dean moved up sideways to the small window. He carefully peered out at the narrow cobblestone street two floors down to see if anyone had followed them. His team took their seats but watched him carefully, in case he saw something. Satisfied, he turned and nodded that it was clear.
    “Would anyone care for coffee?” Gabriella inquired brightly.
    Through their jet lag, they all said “yes” in unison.
    Dean smiled at the unified response. It was a small thing, but small things quickly add up to a successful mission, which in Dean’s mind meant the target died and none of Team Bravo Oscar. They worked the rest of the night hammering out every detail for the following morning’s event, scheduled for 10:10 a.m.
     
    At exactly 10:00, Gretchen lay prone on the roof top of a three-story stone building with her favorite British-made L115A14 sniper rifle. She slapped in a five-round clip and surveyed the typical tree-lined Parisian boulevard. Through its powerful scope, she gazed in the direction of the coming motorcade. From three hundred meters, she could almost count nose hairs. Antoine was doing the same on the top of the building across the street. Their target would be a man standing in the second vehicle, waving to the crowd.
    Gretchen never asked who the targets were because it might