Measure of Darkness Read Online Free PDF Page A

Darkness being no barrier with the right equipment. He stops struggling and waits, knowing they will come, eventually, and that he must prepare himself.
    The rest of forever goes by. As more memories surface he replays recent conversations, examines decisions, finds himself wanting. How could he have been so wrong?
    At last, from deep inside the darkness, a voice. “Joseph Keener.”
    Behind him somewhere, and then closer, much closer. Close enough to feel the air move in a reedy whisper. “Professor Joseph Keener. What did he know?”
    Shane attempts to speak, discovers that his tongue will not respond.
    Louder. “What did Joe know?”
    Eventually it becomes a kind of chant.

Chapter Five
Free Thought Radicals
    A t 6:00 p.m. precisely we convene in the library for the first case briefing, which is always a big deal. Naomi is a stickler for being on time, so the protocol is to show up a minute or two early, take your seat and try to sit up straight. Boss lady is never there to begin with; she always makes an entrance, and this evening is no exception. The other notable entrance of the evening belongs to Dane Porter, our attorney. Dane is five foot nothing, but feisty, and has a legal mind that’s the antidote to every blond joke. How many blond lawyers does it take to keep Naomi Nantz and her team out of jail when they overstep the bounds? Exactly one.
    â€œSorry I missed all the excitement,” Dane says, sauntering in on spike heels that should be registered as weapons. She’s wearing a hand-tailored power suit—wide pinstripes on a dark blue background, trim lapels, a tight-vested waist—and a custom-made handbag given to her by a female hip-hop artist (a famous one, who shall remain nameless here because she likes handguns) who happens to dance to the same music as the lovely lawyer.
    â€œWas it really a helicopter attack? Men on ropes?” she asks Jack, who is busy examining his well-buffed nails.
    â€œThat’s affirmative,” he says.
    â€œAlice?” Dane says, flashing me a radiant smile. “Tell me lover boy is joking.”
    â€œNever saw the helicopter,” I say, “but there were definitely men on ropes. With guns.”
    â€œHow exciting!”
    â€œGood evening, Counselor,” says Naomi, entering with laptop in hand. She takes the temporary command seat, directly across the table from me.
    As usual it will be my job to take meticulous notes in my personal shorthand, in a form known only to myself, and to keep a precise chronology of the ongoing investigation, updated on a daily and sometimes hourly basis. The active case briefings are never, ever electronically recorded for a variety of reasons, legal and otherwise. The idea is to prevent criminals we might be investigating—or interested law enforcement agencies—from hacking into our system and determining what we know at any given moment. It’s not paranoia, because it actually happened on an earlier case, hence the precautions.
    â€œWe convene this evening in extraordinary circumstances,” Naomi begins. “A man was kidnapped from this premises by agents unknown, possibly for the purposes of enhanced interrogation. We have as yet no clue as to his whereabouts, his state of health or who, exactly, is holding him. This is intolerable, and tonight we begin the process of finding out what happened and why. Teddy, you’ll present first. Start with the murder victim.”
    Teddy’s hands shake slightly as he presses a key on his laptop. An image lights up the screen. “Joseph Vincent Keener,” he announces, gathering confidence. “Age forty-two. Born, Hanover, New Hampshire.”
    We’re looking at a head shot of Joseph Keener, wearing an ill-fitting suit and tie. A round, unremarkable face.Heavy black-rimmed glasses and just a hint of jowls, despite a scrawny neck that doesn’t quite fill his shirt collar. High forehead with the beginnings