Pieces of the Puzzle Read Online Free PDF Page A

got to his feet, John tackled him again.
    “Who gave the order?” John shouted, his fists doing a one-two number on Glen’s ribs.
    Glen blocked but didn’t go on the offensive. He’d been through worse. “It came from the top, John. It’s only personal because
     of Janet. You should’ve been more careful and made more friends than enemies.”
    John didn’t let up, his fists flying fast and frantic. “When I leave this room, I’m going to become a ghost.”
    “You’re already walking dead. You just don’t know it.”
    “Look who’s talking.” John grabbed Glen by the throat. “Very dramatic, I particularly liked the envelope. Tell me, what’s
     in it?”
    Glen choked out the words. “Yesterday’s paper. I figured at least one in four of you had to be dirty.”
    “It’s time to make amends, Glen. You ready to meet God?”
    “God’s already here with me. You just don’t know he’s on my side and not yours.”
    John shook his head and laughed. He held Glen with one hand while he untied and unlaced his boots with the other. Glen squirmed,
     tried to break free but couldn’t. “Had these made special,” he said as he bound Glen’s wrists and ankles. “Struggle and you’ll
     release the cyanide straight into your bloodstream. Don’t struggle and your sweat will do the same in a few hours. Night,
     night.”
    Glen smiled. “Don’t ever close your eyes, John. When you do, I’ll be there. You can count on it.”
    Glen was about to say something else but everything became dark when John’s fist connected with his skull. When he awoke sometime
     later with a pounding headache, he knew talk of cyanide was a bluff. He struggled then, squirming on the floor, knocking over
     a chair as he went. He was angry when he found he couldn’t break free but he didn’t give up.
    There was a phone on the conference table. He grabbed the phone cord in his mouth and rolled until he heard the phone fall
     onto the floor. He rolled over to the phone; the receiver was off the hook. He looked for a way to dial.
    He didn’t see anything at first, but as he turned his head, he saw the pointer Sarah had used during the presentation. He
     struggled to get over to it, picked it up with his teeth, rolled back over to the phone.
    Holding the pointer in his mouth, he used it to dial security, shouting into the mouthpiece, “Red alert, agents down, shots
     fired! Conference Room 18-C. Hurry, this is not a drill!” Then he waited, satisfied, knowing things had turned out better
     than he had expected. John Tippton had done what he had hoped, and now he had his patsy. He’d get even in time, but for now
     he had other things to worry about.

Chapter 3
    Baltimore, Maryland Wednesday,
    29 December
    A ten-foot security wall surrounded the twelve-bedroom home that had been a wedding gift from Cynthia’s father. Eighteen cameras
     scoured the yard from the oval driveway to the iron gates to the line of elms in the backyard. The household staff was small
     for the neighborhood—a chef, a butler who doubled as the chauffeur, and a maid. Scott was parked half a block away, his rental
     hidden in the shadows of an alleyway. If he leaned forward in the driver’s seat, he could see the east wall of the house and
     in the opposite direction clear to the corner. His plan was simple. He’d wait until the night had gathered full. Sneak into
     the house so that no one saw him. He’d see, but not talk to, Cynthia for what could be the last time, and then drive to the
     airport.
    Inside the house, Cynthia was slowly coming down the long spiral stairs from the second floor. She made her way to the den
     despite herself. Soon she imagined she could hear her voice reading the headlines from the Washington Post . Scott always used her voice to read the Post . If it were a Sunday he’d still be scanning the papers. “Catching up with the world,” he called it. She called it a contemptible
     habit.
    She’d bought him the computer last