Ethan Justice: Origins (Ethan Justice #1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

the tall, narrow corridor, and the lift’s bin was in use and far too light. While searching, he noticed the red ‘break in case of fire’ box to the left of the lift which he promptly smashed with his elbow, sending an ear-piercing, two-tone wail throughout the building.
    Resisting the urge to cover his ears, John charged the door once more, again bouncing back in pain like a rubber ball off a brick wall. He leaned with his back against the door, panting from exhaustion and the adrenaline rush. Jesus, what was he supposed to do? Where was an axe when you needed one? He felt rather than heard the click from the locking mechanism behind him, and the right-hand door twitched slightly inwards. John kicked the door as he turned and rushed into the spacious entrance hall. Empty.
    “Mark, where are you?”
    John eased his way along the high-ceilinged hall. Nothing looked out of place. The Chinese art from several dynasties, which John disliked, was perfectly hung on maroon walls. As always, the place looked spotless and smelt of disinfectant. This was clearly no robbery. All of the doors were shut, which again, was not unlike Mark. Maybe he’d left by the fire escape. But why?
    John ran straight ahead to the far end of the hall and flung open the solid oak door to the lounge. An instant draft hit John, telling him that the window to the stairs on the outside of the building was open. He dashed to the window and leaned out. The metal staircase vibrated with the sound of hurried footsteps.
    “Mark, is that you?”
    John stuck his head out further but the staircase hindered his view. Rather than wait to see who appeared at the bottom, he decided his time would be better spent checking the rest of the flat. If it was his friend descending the outside stairs, then Mark was safe and if it wasn’t, then John was safe. He didn’t give it another thought and took one quick look around the lounge before heading for Mark’s study.
    It wasn’t rocket science. The study was the place where Mark would work or place bets online - therefore he almost lived in there. John strode to the second door on the left, turned the ornate handle and pushed it open. The windowless room was dimly lit by an overturned desk lamp, and it was impossible to make out any detail. John’s heart banged like a bass drum as he reached behind him to turn on the main light. The sight in front of him brought foul-tasting bile to his throat.
    *
    In a small coffee house on Kensington High Street, Herb Johnson was regretting his decision to allow his partner to return to work so soon after injury.
    Four months earlier, in a botched raid on a suspected terrorist’s residence, Max Wilson had taken a bullet meant for Johnson. Wilson had subsequently declined psychological counselling and requested immediate return to work after his release from Earthguard’s private hospital. While Wilson was physically mended, it was clear to Johnson that the mental side of recovery was lagging far behind. The guy had always been a rock and Johnson owed him, but they were off mission and he needed to get Wilson back to current business.
    He looked his stocky, pug-faced partner in the eyes.
    “So what are we doing here, Max? We’re supposed to be keeping watch on Bradshaw.”
    Wilson looked like a well-dressed boxer and spoke like a BBC newsreader. Johnson could never get his head around the anomaly. “Bradshaw’s one of us. I’ve known him for years. I’d be less surprised if HQ suspected you,” Wilson said.
    “That’s not the point. It’s what he’s developed that makes him a risk. Answer my question. What are we doing here?”
    “I just got the feeling that you weren’t happy with my work since my return,” the stocky man said.
    Johnson clenched his teeth. “And that’s why you took us away from our observation points? We could be canned for this.”
    “We couldn’t talk face to face from fifty yards apart.”
    The thought of messing up on the job was tying