Deep Fire Rising - v4 Read Online Free PDF Page B

circles as someone with unique professional credentials and terror-related experience. Ira Lasko had approached Mercer last year with an offer to join his staff. He wanted to create a post specifically for him as special science advisor. The job went far beyond the purview of the chief executive’s regular scientific personnel. They focused on forming national policy. Mercer was to be a consultant and sometime field agent for when the worlds of science and terror collided, a fresh perspective on problems that no one else could solve.
    Mercer spiraled down the stairs and crossed the foyer. The easy banter from the past hour had evaporated, and his anticipation for his first vacation in a year was gone. Ira wouldn’t send two agents unless he absolutely had to. Something was up. Something big. “Why don’t you gentlemen come in,” he said. “Harry, take your time walking Drag.”
    “Right you are.” The octogenarian smiled at the agents. “Sorry about my little joke. No hard feelings.”
    The shorter agent flashed his Secret Service credentials to Mercer. He was Special Agent Michael Thayer. “Who was that man?”
    “A friend who knows about my position with Ira Lasko. Relax.”
    Thayer remained terse. “Admiral Lasko sent us to deliver you to Andrews Air Force Base, where an aircraft is standing by. He said you should pack for a week.”
    At least Ira’s expecting me to return, Mercer thought. He asked one of the more practical questions swirling in his head. “Do you know where I’m going? I need to know what to bring.”
    “We weren’t told,” the second agent said.
    “All right, give me a few minutes.” He went back to the stairs. At the balcony, Mercer saw neither of the agents had moved from near the front door. “The old man and his dog will be back in a few minutes. Tell him I’m in my bedroom packing.”
    Mercer hadn’t unpacked from Canada, so he dumped the dirty clothes from his suitcases into the hamper and tossed the empty luggage on his bed. An aircraft waiting at Andrews could mean a thirty-minute helicopter ride or a C-5 Galaxy cargo jet that could take him to the other side of the planet. No sense trying to guess what he’d need. He stuffed a week’s worth of socks and underwear into a bag along with his toiletry kit. A pair of jeans went next, a couple of casual shirts, a pair of slacks and a sports jacket. He added one dress shirt, one tie and a pair of heavy-duty miner’s coveralls with reinforced patches at the knees and elbows.
    Before throwing a metal hard hat on top of the pile, he grabbed the Beretta 92 semiautomatic from his nightstand. The weapon was coolly familiar in his hands. There was no need to check if the magazine was full; he could tell by its weight. He slid it into the helmet’s liner and zipped it into the leather bag. Work boots and loafers went into outside pockets.
    He checked his watch. Three minutes and forty seconds from the time the bag hit the bed until he was done. Not bad.
    He heard Harry’s voice from downstairs and peered over the balcony. “Don’t bother coming up. I’m leaving.”
    “You think I care what you do?” Harry retorted. “I left a full drink on the bar.”
    They met at the library landing, and Mercer followed Harry into the dark oak-and-brass barroom. He downed the last of his gimlet. “I’ll be gone a week, or so they tell me. Who knows.” Mercer peeled two hundred-dollar bills from his wallet. “For your party.”
    “Thanks.” Harry left the money untouched.
    “Hire someone to clean up when you’re done. Last time there were enough pizza boxes lying around to corner the world cardboard market.” Mercer smiled. “See you, Harry.”
    “Yeah, see you.” Harry shot him a good-natured scowl, trying not to show his disappointment.
    Drag rewarded Mercer with a sloppy kiss when he scratched behind the basset’s ears. Then he ambled off to lie at his master’s feet.
    Mercer pulled a bomber jacket from the coat closet next to