Dead Line Read Online Free PDF Page A

altogether. His limbs felt leaden and he had the nauseating sensation of having been duped. But the stakes were too high. His need too urgent. And how could he possibly live with himself if he gave up now?
    The situation had changed, was all. This wasn’t the first time he’d had to adapt to new circumstances and he doubted it would be the last. But he was a resourceful, capable guy. He was well trained and experienced. And his motivation was strong. It was all-consuming.
    He forced himself to his feet. Marched across to the Peugeot and flipped off the busted lights. Snatched the keys from the ignition and fetched his mobile from the glove box. He unbuttoned his denim shirt, peeled it from his skin and laid it across the roof of the car. Unfastened his holster and tossed it into the cab, then ducked in towards the rear bench and grabbed a rug to cover what he needed to cover. He slammed the door closed. Kicked it, too. The steel toecap of his desert boot left a dint in the side of the car. A mark of his frustration. It wasn’t enough. He pictured himself bending down, gripping hold of the chassis and heaving with his back and his knees until he was able to stand upright and flip the car right over the edge in some kind of superhuman expression of his fury.
    He took a long breath, chest quivering as he inhaled. Then he grabbed his shirt and fed his arms through the sleeves and fastened the buttons. He locked the Peugeot and stood back to assess its position. It was pointed at a slant, off to the side of the road, and there was a long steady incline leading up to it. It would be safe enough here. And it wasn’t as if the road was busy. Not a single vehicle had passed. Gone eleven o’clock at night. Close to full dark.
    It was time to start hiking. To start thinking, too.
    *
    Twenty minutes’ walking and Trent came in sight of the perimeter fence that surrounded the Moreau estate. His pace was slower than usual, a consequence of the bruising to his knees and ribs, as well as the extra time he allowed himself to order his thoughts. He was sweating and his breath was shallow and reedy. A fog of midges swirled around his head, drawn by the heat coming off his body. He didn’t waft a hand. Didn’t slap his skin when they bit him. It felt like a torment he deserved. Self-pity. It was an indulgence he could no longer afford. He shook loose his arms and legs and rotated his head on his shoulders, like an athlete readying himself for an event he’d been training for his entire life.
    The fence was high and imposing. It was constructed from some kind of unfinished galvanised steel. The uprights were bevelled and set close together, leaving just enough space to poke an arm through. Sharpened barbs ran along the top and a series of signs had been secured to the uprights at regular intervals. PROPRIÉTÉ SOUS VIDÉO SURVEILLANCE . Property under video surveillance.
    The first camera picked him up at the corner of the estate. It was fixed to a steel pole ten feet inside the fence, partway up a steep grass slope that concealed the house from view. He heard the whirr and wheeze of servos in the heated stillness as the camera pivoted to track his progress. Thirty paces more and the next camera took over. More whirring. More tracking.
    His scalp itched. The sensation of being closely watched. It wasn’t an intrusion he’d ever welcomed but tonight it felt threatening.
    He passed four cameras before he reached the gate. The light from a pair of low-wattage bulbs stained the ground an acid yellow. The gate was made from the same galvanised steel bars as the fence, measured to the same height. It had the same barbs along the top. Same cameras protecting it, one on either side. The units turned with a slow electric hum and slanted down at him, zeroing in like laser-guided weapons locking onto a target.
    He waited.
    The cameras watched him.
    The gate remained closed.
    A dimly lit intercom was fixed to a post at his side. He approached it