Killer Thrillers Box Set: 3 Techno-Thriller, Action/Adventure Science Fiction Thrillers Read Online Free PDF

normal assault rifle, the thump hung in the air — a pulsating, rhythmic zzzzz . The sound resembled an electric discharge, but deeper.

CHAPTER 5

    COLE COULDN’T HEAR ANY FOOTSTEPS, and he was just beginning to wonder what was going on behind him.
    Then the shockwave hit him.  
    His body convulsed with tremors for a split second. He felt everything go weak. He tried to force his legs to keep moving, but a loud, pulsating hum overtook his thoughts and filled his brain. His entire body felt tingly, like a limb fallen asleep. He was completely paralyzed.
    Still conscious yet unable to look around or even blink, Cole had a sudden sense of vertigo — it seemed the road beneath his feet was slowly receding.  

CHAPTER 6

    FORCING HIS EYES OPEN, HE tried to blink back the fuzziness in his vision and look around. Bryce couldn’t believe he was alive.  
    He also couldn’t believe how much pain he was in. The bullet wounds — two of them — felt tight, like someone was pushing down on them. A quick glance down revealed that they had been cleaned, wrapped, and bandaged, but he felt like other areas of his body had been under attack as well. His head felt swollen; under pressure. His legs were weak; it was almost impossible to shift his body to the side to see his visitor.  
    His visitor.  
    Who was that? The fogginess in his eyes cleared, but his mind seemed reluctant to operate fully. He squinted, trying to see who was sitting next to his bed. A man, he could tell from the wide shoulders and lanky frame. He was older, maybe mid-fifties, and his thinning salt-and-pepper hair sat in a small swirly wisp on his head.  
    “Ah, Captain, it’s good to see you awake,” the man said.  
    “Who — who are you?” Bryce asked, still groggy.
    “My name is James Whittenfield, Jr. My company, Whittenfield Research, is one of the leading philanthropic environmental organizations in the world. I’d offer to shake your hand, but considering — “
    “It’s ok. What exactly can I do for you, Mr. Whittenfield?“ As he let the man continue his introduction, Bryce got a look around. He was in a hospital, and from its dingy appearance it seemed it was a small and all but forgotten one at that.  
    “Call me James. Well Bryce, I’m interested in you. Your performance last week in Samarra was quite impressive. I heard about it from Major Dwight Maynes — “
    “Maynes? He wasn’t there,” Bryce said, confused.  
    “Actually, he was there just in time to snatch you right out from under the grasp of the Iraqi Republican Guard. He flew in; his chopper team gunned down five or six Iraqis just outside their camp, and saw you on the ground. Good thing, too — you weren’t in such great shape. A few more minutes down there and you’d have bled to death.”
    “Yeah, well, I’m starting to think maybe that would have been better,” Bryce said, trying to stretch out his tight muscles.  
    “I’m not so sure about that,” Whittenfield said, reaching for something in his coat pocket. As he did, Bryce noticed the man’s attire for the first time. A pressed suit, Brooks Brothers or another high-end tailored variety, with a fitted white Oxford shirt. Conservative, yet contemporary. His left hand was inside the coat, and the man’s wrist and watch was exposed. A Cartier Chronograph, 1953 edition. Bryce knew it was worth upwards of $20,000. So this guy really does have some money . He also didn’t fit in with the hospital, either. The walls behind the man were dusty, and Bryce could smell the faint hint of the dry sandiness of the desert. They were still in Iraq, or at least somewhere in the Middle East. Maybe in a civilian hospital, though it was hard to tell.  
    He looked back to the man at the side of his bed. This guy, James Whittenfield, was American, judging by his accent. Possibly from the northeast — Philadelphia, or Boston.
    Whittenfield retracted his hand from his coat pocket, holding the notebook.  
    Bryce’s eyes