Final Crossing: A Novel of Suspense Read Online Free PDF Page B

like looking through a piece of rippled glass. There were days of boredom. There were days of humanitarian assistance. There were days of bullshit administrative duties.
    And then there were days in the shit. The kind you trained for, days and weeks on end, just so you could convince yourself not to run in abject terror.
    Jonas remembered most of it. Most he had seen though the clear part of the glass. But then something happened. Something very bad. Jonas only remembered streaks of it. He viewed the last days of his tour through the rippled part of the glass, the images vague and unreliable.
    He’d shoved those images so far inside his head they hadn’t come within a stone’s throw of his consciousness in a long time. Until he was hit by a car, that is.
    Since the accident, Jonas had started seeing again. Seeing flashes—clear flashes—from nearly two decades ago. They only came in short bursts, mere fragments, but they were real enough to have happened yesterday.
    The flashes were during the time of the really bad shit. What he saw scared the hell out of him.
    It also excited him.

7
    THERE WAS more press at the funeral than Jonas had wanted, but they had been limited to outside the church and were not allowed into the service. Michael Calloway had been more than just an important man. He was the victim of
    a gruesome killing. Crucifixion . Nasty, brutal, symbolic, personal death.
    Jonas sat in the second pew during the service, watching those around him without turning his head. Every pew was full and those not able to sit stood in the back of the church. Despite strict instructions by Calloway’s family, Jonas counted four people who surreptitiously took pictures at various points during the service. Three were men, and Jonas guessed they were all reporters who’d been able to sneak inside. When they weren’t taking pictures they were taking notes, or otherwise looking bored.
    The fourth was a woman sitting across the aisle from him. A black woman who Jonas guessed was about his own age, maybe a couple of years younger. A long black dress spilled over shapely legs. She sat erect, as if trying to get the best view without standing up. Every now and then she would close her eyes, but not out of boredom. Out of concentration, Jonas thought, as if she might have to recite the words at a later point.
    Jonas soon began to focus on her, because it was better than focusing on the headache slowly creeping up on him. He wondered who she was and what she was doing here.
    He only had seconds to think about it before it was his turn to speak. Jonas wasn’t introduced, but his name was in the program, which meant the Senator had confirmed he would be speaking and that actually asking Jonas to do it was just a formality. Jonas smiled. Bastard.
    As he rose, the woman in the black dress turned and looked at him, and for a moment the two of them locked gazes. There was a mutual curiosity and interest, Jonas thought.
    You wondering about me, too?
    His knee had been tight and stiff since the car accident and Jonas limped as he walked toward the sanctuary of the church. The congregation was silent save the occasional stifled cough.
    Jonas stood behind the pulpit and looked before him. He felt a tinge of nervousness, but was comforted by an ego that assured him he would be fine.
    “Senator Sidams was a lifelong friend of Michael Calloway, and he regrets dearly that he couldn’t be here himself today.” Jonas was already comfortable in front of the church full of strangers. “I’m sure Michael would have appreciated the Senator staying in Washington for a vote, doing his job for the people of Pennsylvania.” He paused and scanned the crowd, then passed his gaze over the woman in the second pew. She had her full attention on him. “I only met Michael once,” he continued, “so I can’t say I’m the most qualified person to be standing here in front of you. But my one meeting with him was memorable.” Weird, he thought.