Doomsday Exam [BUREAU 13 Book Two] Read Online Free PDF Page B

altogether bad thing, attempting to eat the attendants had been definitely out of line. Damn near rude.
    "Hey, Ed!” somebody called from the other side of the van. “What was that metallic crunch?"
    "Ran over our own hub caps,” I replied, glaring annoyed at the flattened disks lying crumpled on the hard mud.
    "Yet another example of your splendid driving, Mr. Alvarez."
    In a polyglot of Spanish and Japanese, I muttered an appropriate riposte. Chuckling, the gang encircled the trailer in a standard ***3 defensive pattern. Mindy Jennings stood directly before the doors in a martial arts crouch, her indestructible sword held in muscular hands, its long curved blade glinting in the harsh sunlight. She was now properly dressed for action in loose fitting, neutral colored clothing and military sneakers.
    Wearing US Army fatigues and combat boots, George Renault stood to the left of her, the lengthy barrel of his huge M60 machine gun pointed steady at the side of the trailer. Dangling from his humongous weapon was a glistening belt of linked, steel-tipped, .30 combat rounds. A Colt .45 hogleg was holstered at his hip, along with an ammo pouch bulging with grenades and candy bars.
    Hovering a few feet in the air, Raul casually held his silver wizard's staff in one hand. He was incongruously dressed in leather sandals, neon orange pants, and a sleeveless T-shirt that said on the front ‘NOT A MEMBER OF A SECRET GOVERNMENT AGENCY'. Why do mages have to be so weird?
    Standing nearby, Jessica had drawn a taser stun pistol from the shoulder holster under the short brocade jacket of her summer dress. From the clothing locker in the van, I had obtained a spare sports jacket that happily matched my black slacks and blue shirt. Plus, lots of ammunition. With Magnums in hand, I was maintaining a discrete distance, attempting to watch everything.
    "Also heard glass shatter before,” George said, the stick of a lollipop extending from his mouth. The breast pocket of his green shirt bulged with spare sweets. Because of his time served in Viet Nam as a tunnel rat, George refused to become thin again. “Anybody see what broke?"
    Adjusting his Phillies in ‘86 baseball cap, Raul pointed with his staff. “Taillight on the trailer."
    "Nothing important then?"
    "Nope."
    "So long as it wasn't the padlock again,” Mindy grunted. “We had quite enough trouble getting the muscle-bound lump here."
    "Where are the guards?” George asked, glancing about.
    Raul proffered his Bureau wristwatch. “Ed, should we put in a call?"
    "No need,” Jessica announced, touching her temples. “They're on the way.” Her lovely face had that faraway expression which meant she was in mental communications with somebody, the fingertips of a hand lightly touching her forehead the only indication of direction.
    Turning towards the stonewall, I saw a billowing cloud of dust starting to come our way. Soon, I could identify an F22 Raptor stealth jumpjet skimming along the ground on her bottom jets. Whew. That was something new. Sleek, fast and ultra-maneuverable, the fighter/bomber was a flying arsenal; its delta wings, needle prow and wide belly bristling with weapons.
    Landing a few meters away from us, the canopy retracted with a hydraulic hiss and a figure stood up in the cockpit, his face masked by the mirrored visor of the attack helmet. As his head turned to face us, the guns and missiles tracked along, slavishly copying his every move. I would have loved to sneak a peak at it through my Bureau sunglasses to see what magical armaments the jet carried, but I knew in advance the machine was shielded against such an intrusion.
    "Alcatraz,” the pilot snapped, his hands ominously out of sight.
    "Joliet,” I replied, giving the Chicago pronunciation.
    There was a pause, then a gloved hand raised the hinged visor and I saw the dashingly handsome features of Gilad Lapin, the warden of the Holding Facilities. Removing the helmet entirely, the weapons of the F22