Ice Storm Read Online Free PDF Page A

was there, and followed the pitifully thin figure down the deserted streets. Killian ought to pay his stooges better, she thought, deliberately distancing herself. The child was skin and bones, held together by dirt. It was a wonder he could even lug that machine gun around with him.
    They walked past crumbling buildings, some without roofs, the ubiquitous blue paint on the few remaining doors faded by the bright desert sun. She’d heard somewhere that blue deterred mosquitoes. Fortunately, there didn’t seem to be any around. She hated bugs of any sort. Just one of the many reasons she lived in
England
.
    The sun was a shrinking orange glow on the horizon, and already, in the east, a few stars were visible. She’d left her flashlight in the car—probably not a smart idea, but she’d wanted her hands free. She still wasn’t quite sure for what. The child came to a stop outside one of the larger houses. No windows looked onto the street, so there must be a courtyard within. The door was hanging on one hinge, and everything was silent.
The boy pointed with his gun, an unnerving gesture. “You go, lady.”
    Isobel looked at him for a long, contemplative moment, then did the only thing she could do. She went. A man stood at the far end of the courtyard, a silhouette against the darkening sky. Isobel moved forward, keeping to the shadows, letting the cold settle within her. Since her first moment of shocked recognition she’d felt nothing, nothing at all. Now she was ice.
    “Where’s Bastien Toussaint?” His voice was that of a stranger—a mixture of ethnicities, a bit of Australian and South African, a touch of Spanish. Nothing like Killian’s smooth, deep voice. “He’s retired” she said, skirting the open courtyard. “I’m here in his place.”
    “And who sent you?”
    “I sent myself. I’m Isobel Lambert, head of the Committee.”
    “Madame Lambert herself? You must really want me.” His tone was mocking, and her certainty was wavering. Had she been wrong? Even cleaned up, the grainy footage had been unreliable. Maybe it was a wild hallucination on her part; Peter had told her she was working too hard, burning out as everyone did, eventually. They burned out or were killed.
What she truly looking at a dead man? Or had the stress of her life finally caught up with her, making her see things that weren’t real?
    Her voice gave nothing away. “You have valuable information, Mr. Serafin, and you know it. You’re bartering that information for your life. If it was worthless I wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of you.”
    “How ruthless.” The comment was light, mocking. Nothing like Killian.
    “I thought the days of Harry Thomason were long gone. No more random terminations.”
“Most death sentences are the result of careful deliberation and examining all the options. You, Mr. Serafin, are a no-brainer. Blink, and I’ll shoot you.”
    “I promise not to blink. Are you pointing a gun at me, Madame Lambert? You’re skulking in the shadows. Maybe you’ve already made up your mind that what I have to offer isn’t worth the price of letting me live’
    “I’ll be keeping an open mind. Why don’t you show yourself first?”
“Certainly.” He stepped out, away from the wall, but it had grown too dark to see clearly. And suddenly the uncertainty was cracking the icy shell surrounding her.
“Do you have a light?” she asked.
      “Why? Do you want a cigarette?”
    She would have killed for a cigarette. Quite literally. “I’d like to take a good look at you before I come any closer.”
    “A wise precaution.” he said. “After all, I’m considered to be the most dangerous man in the world. Didn’t Time call me that?”
    “You shouldn’t believe your own press clippings.”
    “Mahmoud!” He raised his voice, and the small child appeared, carrying a lantern. The man took it, raising it with one hand and holding out his other. “Satisfied, Madame? I’m unarmed. Harmless.”
    She stared at