Night Moves Read Online Free PDF

and pregnancies are like that, Julio." "I do get to pick the best man, though. You interested in the job?" Howard nodded.
"Are you kidding? I wouldn't miss watching the infamous Sergeant Julio Femandez tie the knot for all the tea in India. Got a sex on the baby yet?" "A boy." He grinned.
"Picked out a name yet?"
"Five of them: Julio Garcia Edmund Howard Femandez." Howard stopped walking and looked at his friend. "I'm honored."
"Not my idea, blame it on Joanna. Got a couple of grandfathers in there, too. Me, I'd have named him Bud and let it go at that. You get to be a godfather, too-another of her crazy ideas." Howard smiled. He was going to be best man at his best friend's wedding, godfather to a boy wearing one of his names, and promoted to a general in the Net Force version of the army-You didn't get many days like this one.
"I hate to spoil the moment, but how about our fugitive?" "No spoilers there, sir. He lives in a trailer out in the middle of nowhere, all by himself, doesn't even have a dog. Most ambitious thing he seems to do is building a rock wall along one edge of his property. He keeps a zero profile, doesn't socialize, doesn't talk to anybody, far as we can tell. Just piles up local rocks. Hard to believe this is an ex-Spetsnaz wet work specialist with forty-four confirmed deletions to his credit."

"Well, if Vladimir Plekhanov can be believed--and the interrogation shrinks assure me that he can--the
man who calls himself Mikhayl Ruzhyo is somebody whose skills are not limited to stacking rocks in the desert. We want to do this by the numbers, nice and clean, and gather him up gently enough so he's alive to answer some questions."
"No problem, piece of cake. Though I thought the Russians were our friends these days." "I believe that is a facetious comment. Sergeant. You know as well as I do that the more we know about our friends, the better off we are." "Amen."
"All right. Let's see what Big Squint has for us." "Command post is in the coolest corner I could find, General." "Let's wait on that promotion until I see it in writing, Sergeant." He grinned. "Something funny, sir?"
"I was just picturing you as a lieutenant." "You wouldn't!"
"If I was a general, they'd have to listen ..." The worried look on Femandez's face was priceless. Saturday, April 2ndThe Yews, Sussex, England Major Terrance Arthur Peel--Tap to his mates--stood next to Lord Goswell's greenhouse, behind the main house, watching as the beat-up black Volvo arrived. The groundskeeper's trio of dogs--a pair of border collies and an Alsatian--set to barking. Peel liked dogs. He'd rather have one of those in a tent with him in the bush than the most sophisticated alarm made. A dog would let you know when you had company, and a well-trained dog could tell the difference between your friends and your enemies. And he would rip the enemy's throat out if you set him to it, too. Unlike people, good dogs were loyal. The Volvo pulled to a halt, and the door squeaked open on the right side, disgorging a tall, spindly man of fifty, hair gone gray, with more ethnicity than perhaps his name would imply: Peter Bascomb-Coombs had a bit of the hooknose in him. Peel knew. He had done the background check himself. Bascomb-Coombs wore an expensive, if ill-fitting, ice cream suit, a yellow silk shirt and blue tie, and handmade, pale gray Italian leather shoes. Certainly none of his ensemble was cheap. The shoes alone had to set him back three, four hundred quid. His lordship did not stint on what he paid his favored employees, and Bascombcoombs was favored, Jewish roots or not. Not that the scientist's ethnic background mattered. It didn't affect the man's brain a whit, and whatever else he was, Bascomb-Coombs was as bright and shiny a penny as they came. Brilliant, a certified genius, so far ahead of the rest of his field that he was like an Einstein or a Hawking--in a class by himself--except that he couldn't keep track of a sodding social calendar. He was supposed to