EXOSKELETON II: Tympanum Read Online Free PDF

he’d collected on Red Wraith had been incomplete, and he’d often hit a wall when he requested information that could fill the gaps. Sometimes he was told certain files didn’t exist. Other times he got no response whatsoever. Nonetheless, he’d been able to establish a direct link between Red Falcon and Red Wraith. It was this connection, and the insidious details of Red Wraith, that had brought on the nightmares. But the meaning of the term separation had eluded him, and it antagonized his mind continuously.
    The timing of his reassignment was also suspect. He believed that some event related to Red Wraith had led to the removal of the former CIA Director two months earlier. The possibility that the project might still be active disturbed him.
    Two unique events had occurred in the past three weeks. First, his research on Red Wraith had been put on hold. Second, he’d been reassigned to a new project that was deemed urgent. The subjects of all of his previous research had been old and dormant; the new project was undoubtedly active in the present. That was unusual.
    His attention went back to the new pile of documents. He’d been given only two words to start his new research: Operation Tabarin. He grabbed the first folder on the top of the pile and started reading.
     

 
    3
    Thursday, 7 May (6:30 a.m. CST – Chicago)
     
    William Thompson glanced back just as the hooded figure turned the corner a block behind him. His nose burned from breathing the exhaust of the morning traffic for two hours.
    Convinced the man was following him, Will climbed the three concrete steps to his right, and moved out of the cold Chicago air and into the busy café. The thick aroma of freshly ground coffee filled his nostrils, and voices and espresso machines produced a drone that gave him a sense of anonymity.
    His eyes adjusted to the dim lighting as he crossed a line of people placing orders. He spotted a sign for the restrooms and headed toward the rear of the establishment. He weaved around a cart with a tub of bussed dishes, and entered a narrow hallway. He passed the restrooms on his left and a door labeled “utilities” on the right. The hallway then turned 90° to the left and terminated at a large metal door. He extended his hand to actuate the press-bar handle but stopped an instant before he made contact; at eye level was a red sign that read “Emergency Exit Only – Alarm Will Sound.”
    Damn . He had a minute at most. His pursuer had been only 100 yards behind him and would have picked up pace as soon as Will entered the café. He concentrated on what he’d learned during the past weeks. Every operation had elements of improvisation. His attention turned to the smell of food.
    He took off his jacket and retraced his path past the utility closet and restrooms. He picked up a half-full cup of cold coffee from the tub of dishes on the cart at the mouth of the hallway and poured it on his left arm, soaking his left sleeve. He walked into the main room and approached the end of the drinks counter, near a set of double doors that led to the kitchen. He caught the eye of one of the baristas and waved her over.
    The young woman approached and looked at his coffee stained sleeve with an expression of concern.
    “I think I burned myself,” Will said, wincing. He cradled his left arm. “Someone’s in the restroom; can I get a wet towel from the back – maybe with some ice?” He nodded towards the kitchen.
    The woman seemed to read the desperation in his face, nodded, and walked into the kitchen. She didn’t object when he followed.
    She led him past two women in white aprons preparing food to a stainless steel utility sink against the far wall. He rolled up his sleeve and rinsed his arm with cold water as the barista disappeared into a nearby room. He heard her scoop ice, and a few seconds later she emerged with a plastic cup and a thin towel. She placed the towel over the mouth of the cup and turned it upside down,