Game Changer Read Online Free PDF

one’s luck could be this good.
    But even as he thought this he knew he was wrong. Adolf Hitler
had survived some fourteen assassination attempts over eleven years, as lucky
as he was evil.
    Perhaps the most evil men in the world truly had made a pact
with the Devil. How else to explain it?
    Quinn rushed closer to his target and maneuvered until he
found a gap in the human fence surrounding the president, giving him a narrow
but clear line of sight to both Davinroy and his wife. Everything seemed to
move in slow motion now as a dozen thoughts and calculations rushed across his
mind at once.
    The First Lady was innocent. He couldn’t just let her die.
And if she did, the Secret Service would seal up the house, and he would be the
chief suspect. Even if he was not found responsible he would never be fully trusted
again, ensuring he would never get a second chance. Davinroy would remain
unscathed.
    Quinn drew his weapon even before he knew he had come to a
definitive decision, now only ten feet away from the first couple and their
sycophants, and shot the drink from Anne Davinroy’s hand just as she was
raising it to her lips.  
    Quinn’s shot was perfect .
The sound of the gun being fired, of shattered glass, and of several screams
seemed to all occur at the same instant. A shard of glass drove into the First
Lady’s hand, causing bright red fingers of blood to emerge, but Quinn didn’t
pause long enough to see it. The instant the glass shattered he changed his aim
and fired once more, this time at the president, but after the first shot the
president had jerked backwards, and the round barely grazed his arm.
    Secret Service agents materialized from out of nowhere and
tackled Davinroy like he was an NFL running back just inches from the end zone,
covering him with their bodies. The First Lady received the same treatment
beside him.
    Quinn cursed loudly, knowing that a second shot would be
useless. Moving like a predatory cat he snatched a woman nearby. In one smooth
motion he spun her in front of him so she became a human shield and held his gun
to her head.
    The room burst into total bedlam.
    Quinn backed up hurriedly into a nearby wall so he could
only be approached from one direction, dragging his newfound friend with him. He
had spent many years thinking on his feet, becoming expert at the tactical evaluation
of rooms, people, and situations after a single glance, instantly assessing threats,
weaknesses, and opportunities.  
    “Stop or she dies!” shouted Quinn at the top of his lungs, reacting
from pure instinct, only aware of what he had said after hearing these words
and discovering, to his surprise, that they had come from his own mouth.
    Suddenly everyone in the room seemed to freeze, as though
they had all stopped screaming, or calling out, or even breathing, and all eyes
turned to him. Several of his fellow special agents had their weapons drawn and
pointed at him, and had it not been for the helpless woman he now held hostage
he would be dead already.
    “I have no interest in harming this woman,” yelled Quinn.
“Or anyone else.”
    Still holding the gun with his right hand, he removed a cell
phone from his pocket with his left, and held it out so it was easily seen.
“I’m going to release this woman now,” he said. “But know that I’m not wearing
my bulletproof vest. Instead, I’m wearing a vest made of shaped C4. Enough to
vaporize this house twice over. This phone triggers it to blow, and I’ve set up
a dead man’s switch,” he explained, displaying improvisational skills that were
surpassing even his own high expectations of himself. “This phone contains
motion sensors. If it falls from my hand, the sensors will know it, and the
explosives will be triggered automatically.”
    The Special Agent in Charge of the Presidential
Protection   Division, Cris Coffey, had
been one of the agents who had tackled Davinroy, and now stood facing Quinn,
with the president still on the ground and