Hard Fall Read Online Free PDF Page A

envelope, punched the seat belt release button, popped the door open, and got one leg out, only to find himself still strapped in the seat. Kort placed a firm hand on the man’s left forearm and now looked over at him, waiting for eye contact. Ward continued to wrestle with the seat belt. “Close the door,” the captor said sternly. Ward wheezed in defeat and obeyed. Then he looked into Kort’s unflinching eyes.
    Kort said with deliberate calmness, “We should talk for a minute before you go running off.” The light changed, Kort accelerated strongly and threw Ward’s head back. Disorientation was equally effective. “If you run out on me, I won’t have any choice but to go to your wife, will I? And how would your supervisor over at Duhning feel about you snaking your assistant? Mm? My experience is that they tend to frown on affairs within the company. Mm? In a perfect world they’d let us snake whomever we damn well pleased, wouldn’t they, Roger?” He waited a second and then added, “Mind if I call you Roger?”
    Ward tentatively slipped the black-and-white photo out of the envelope. The shot wouldn’t win any prizes for lighting or composition, but the two lovers had been caught in perfect profile in a particularly frantic moment: Sarah Pritchet’s back arched, legs spread across him as Ward sat submissively in the chair. Their faces clear as day. “Picked that out myself,” Kort said. “You can keep it if you like.”
    Ward breathed heavily as if about to cry. He asked, “Are you working for Karen?”
    â€œNot working for anyone,” Kort replied. “I need access to the 959-600 simulator. Thirty or forty minutes is all. I need you to put it through a few moves. Forty-eight hours from now you’ll have the negatives.”
    â€œThe simulator?” Ward asked, as if to say, “That’s all?”
    â€œThirty minutes. The 959-600. I need you to run a few tests.”
    â€œIndustrial espionage? You’re blackmailing me?”
    Kort hesitated a moment. He couldn’t be certain how Ward would feel about industrial espionage, but he thought he could predict the reaction to blackmail, and so he said, “Yes, I am.” When Ward failed to say anything, he added, “I’m interested in you putting the 959 through a few takeoffs, that’s all.” He paused to give Ward a chance to think. He knew what happened to people in these situations: Their minds ran out of control; all the compartments popped open at once and the bottlenecked information tended to shut the system down; the ability to think slowed to a crawl. He thought Ward was probably lost back in that black-and-white photograph of him and Pritchet in the chair. Besides, he wanted Ward to understand the depth of his preparation; the more overwhelmed he could make the man feel, the higher his chance of success. After the pause he said, “We’ll take your Taurus, because of the parking sticker. If we make good time, we may get you back for that drink at the Kingdome.” With that he punched the radio’s volume knob and the game came on. They listened while Ward collected his astonishment and repaved his face to a smoother surface. “Still the top of the eighth,” Kort noted with the lilt of optimism in his voice. “Let’s hope they make a game of it.”
    He gloated privately at Ward’s reaction. Complete submission. Like a child with a parent. No objection. No questioning. One-on-one and he was outnumbered. Kort had written the script, and without the gift of improvisation, Ward found himself betrayed by his own inabilities. He turned to face Kort twice, as if about to say something, but apparently reconsidered or experienced a failed synapse, settling back in the seat with a dulled expression. Kort had to smile.
    â€œThis is a beautiful city,” Kort said, admiring the lush vegetation in the headlights,