Iron Triangle: A Jackson Pike Novel (Book One of The Iron Triangle Series) Read Online Free PDF

SEALs had
been subjected. He reflected on the long days and nights that the men had been
submerged and partially submerged while forced to perform challenging tasks
blindfolded, disoriented and half drown.
    Thanks to this training, Jackson was able to maintain
orientation and situational awareness in the water. But he had a limited amount
of time. Although he could hold his breath for an impressive three minutes, he
needed to act quickly.
    Not only was the man in the black Mercedes undoubtedly
searching the banks and surface of the river for Jackson, but Jackson could
feel his own mental clarity rapidly deteriorating thanks to an acute lack of
oxygen and the softly aching dizziness of his injured head.
    Jackson knew he needed to remain submerged and hidden from
sight, leaving him with only one escape option. He'd have to swim to freedom.
    Jackson's hands thrust forward in the green water and
propelled his body through the murk as he sought the cold currents of the
river's depths. He swam towards the center of the lazy river, his hands hugging
the softness of the river's bottom as he allowed the downstream current to put
distance between himself and the murderous stranger above.
    As he swam, Jackson knew that the farther he could get
down-stream, the less likely the man would be able to see him through the thick
wooded glade of American chestnut trees that lined the river's north shore.
    He pushed himself beyond all physical limitations as he frog
kicked through the murky water and let the cool current of the river's depths
propel him further downstream.
    Jackson's record for holding his breath during SEAL training
had been three minutes.
    He was certain that much time had elapsed. His lungs
screamed for air, and he began to gag involuntarily, his body aching for oxygen
as he pled for his arms and legs to propel him through the water for just one
more stroke.
    After what felt like an eternity, but was closer to four
minutes, Jackson's head emerged from the water of the lazy river and he gasped
for air as his eyes immediately searched his surroundings for his assailant.
    The man, his vehicle, and the bridge leading to the chemical
storage facility were nowhere in sight.
    As Jackson had hoped, he had made it around the nearest
river bend and the thick green foliage masked him from sight. He turned his
gaze to the south, grateful to find the interstate highway just across an open
field.
    A soaking wet Jackson stepped from the shallow and murky
water of the river's edge and walked unsteadily up the south bank of the Sumner
River towards the interstate ahead.
    As his steps fell on the grass of the overgrown field that separated
the river from the interstate, the sound of passing vehicles reminded Jackson
of the roar of the ocean during a gale. He smiled unevenly at this thought as
he stumbled forward.
    His steps became progressively more staggered as he walked
towards the four lane highway. He became aware of a warm fluid dripping from
his forehead and down the side of his face.
    Jackson's hand unconsciously wiped the fluid from his face
and came away stained with a thick red fluid. Apparently he was injured worse
than he had thought.
    He stared at the bloody hand before his eyes, confused as
his peripheral vision darkened and he stumbled forward. He was only around
fifteen yards from the interstate when his vision darkened completely and the he
collapsed.
    As he lay prostrate in the grassy field, Jackson's blood
stained the cool earth while he slept peacefully for the first time in years.

 

Chapter 7:
    10:35 PM- Friday,
September 8 th
    Sumner, VA
    Mohammed Fatal cleared his throat as he pulled the Mercedes-Benz
SLK to a slow stop outside of the small gated apartment community that sat at
the address listed on Mr. Pike's paycheck.
    He switched off the halogen headlights of the luxury car as
he shifted the vehicle into park and surveyed the apartment complex.
    He had to admit, 2100 Marywood Circle had a quaint feel to
it.
    The