Darwin's Nightmare Read Online Free PDF Page B

walls. I heard her say, “Not by me, sir,” before ending the call with a “yes, sir.”
    She looked at me and said Mr. Naismith would be out momentarily to see me. I decided to chance it and asked the receptionist, “Is Mikey’s office still around the corner there?”
    The receptionist craned her neck, her eyes following my pointing finger down the left hall, and said, “Um, no. That is where our associates work. Mr. Naismith’s office is the door in other hallway.”
    I thanked her and started down the hall. I heard a protest of, “Hey, you can’t do that!” But I kept on walking. As I neared the door, I could hear a buzz and the sound of the receptionist calling from her desk to inform Mr. Naismith about my behaviour. I opened the expensive door without slowing down.
    Mike was bent over his desk, his back to me, speaking into the intercom. It must have buzzed as he walked to the door, and he had reached over his desk to answer the call. He had just enough time to look over his shoulder and see me before I pulled his hand off the buzzer and punchedhim in the kidney. My arm was around his neck before he had a chance to slump to the floor.
    I spoke into his ear calmly and clearly. “Tell the girl at the desk that everything is cool. Tell her we went to school together and I was trying to surprise you.” When I said the last few words I squeezed his throat for emphasis. “Anything funny and you’ll be dead before you hit the floor. The receptionist will be next, way before she gets from nine to one one on the phone.”
    I reached over and held down the speak button on the intercom. Mike laboured out, “It’s okay, Martha, my friend just wanted to surprise me . . . I . . . I haven’t seen this guy since high school. Please just hold my calls.” There was a small grunt of pain in between breaths, but he got out what I wanted him to say.
    â€œYes, sir, Mr. Naismith.” The receptionist sounded like she wasn’t convinced, but she was in no position to question. She clicked off the line and went back to work.
    I kept the choke on and squeezed until the man I now knew as Mike Naismith brought his hands up to pull on my arm. I seized the opportunity and let the choke go in favour of a wrist hold. I pinned him to the desk with his head beside a paperweight and his arm ninety degrees in the air.
    â€œNow,” I said, “it’s time we had a talk without guns being pointed at people.”
    â€œHow did you find me?” All the bravado and tough language from before had left when I hit him.
    â€œDo you think it was that hard? You’re an amateur and I’m a pro. Finding you is a slow morning. I want to know how you found me.”
    There was a long pause before Mike grunted. “We followed you.”
    I twisted his arm, feeling bone scrape on bone. “Allright, all right,” he said. “The bag had a GPS . We tracked it.”
    There was a new world dawning while I slept. A GPS tracker let these amateurs follow me home, and I didn’t do a thing about it. I should have got rid of the bag right away, but I was told to deliver it. I assumed the bag was clean because, before now, every bag I delivered had been clean. I hated myself for five seconds, then I got back to work.
    â€œNow, what did I take from you?” I figured identifying the package would give me some info on how bad the situation was. I had to find out how far these guys would go to get the bag back, and what it would take to persuade them to give up. Everything depended on the bag. Mike gave me no response, so I pushed the arm to ninety-five degrees and asked again. “What did I take?” I felt the last few degrees produce another grinding sensation deep in Mike’s shoulder. His arm was so far back he was unable to offer any fight against the hold. Any more pressure from me and his shoulder would start splintering apart like old