Rain on the Dead Read Online Free PDF

drawn in. After all, it was the ruthless actions of al-Qaeda in Lebanon, saving many lives, including her own, which had made it possible for the most important relationship of her life to take place. And when that had ended, the telephone call from the Master to commiserate, had opened a door into what followed. When General Ali ben Levi had been killed, she had not wondered why the Master’s voice had suddenly become different, for it was her place to serve without question.
    But what had taken place here in Nantucket was like a bad dream that wouldn’t go away and not like anything that hadhappened before. Not even like Lebanon and the massacre and the intervention of al-Qaeda, which had saved so many lives.
    She glanced at her watch and saw the time. If she was going to catch the ferry, she’d have to run. She slung her beach bag over her shoulder and started to do just that.



The helicopter was comfortable enough, three tables with bench seats around the windows and a room in the back for privacy, into which Cazalet and Ferguson vanished on boarding. A young man and woman were in attendance, wearing identical dark blue suits and ties, and they ushered Dillon and Sara to one of the tables, belted themselves up for takeoff, and afterward indicated that coffee or tea and a selection of sandwiches were available.
    “Would there be anything stronger?” Dillon asked the woman, her colleague having gone off to serve the back room. “Like Bushmills, or would that be too much to ask?”
    “Of course not, sir, we keep a full range of spirits. And you, Captain?”
    “You must forgive my friend being so particular, but he’s Irish and not as other men. I’m probably being just as awkward by asking if you have any English breakfast tea.”
    There was the ghost of a smile as the woman said, “Of course, Captain, I think I can manage that.”
    She returned with their drinks on a tray and served them, and Sara thanked her. There were three double miniatures on Dillon’s small tray, a glass, but no water. “That should make you happy,” Sara said as she poured her tea. “It’s almost as if she knows you.”
    Dillon had opened his first miniature as she spoke, poured it, and tossed it down. “Maybe she does,” he said as he opened another.
    “I don’t understand you, Sean,” Sara said. “You were fine earlier when you came to tell me you’d had a word with Roper and so on, but now you’re in another place.” She drank some of her tea. “You seemed okay when you went off to have a walk on the beach, but since then, not even a smile. What’s wrong? Are you upset about something?”
    “You mean like shooting a guy three times in the head last night? Why should I let a little thing like that bother me? You, on the other hand, the sword of the Lord and of Gideon.” He picked up the third miniature, started to open it, and slammed it down.
    Sara reached over and put her hand on his. “What is it, love? This isn’t you. Just tell me. It’s what friends are for.”
    “Damn you, Sara, for being so bloody nice. I’m truly sorry, but let’s leave it. If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to the restroom.”
    She sat there thinking about it, thoroughly worried, then he returned fifteen minutes later, a fresh face on him, hair combed. He smiled. “If I do that again, punch me in the mouth. I don’t usually stress up that easily, but I seem to have done so this trip.”
    Not that she believed him, but she couldn’t take the matter any further when the young man appeared from the back room and told them that Cazalet wanted to see them.
    It was comfortably furnished, some chairs clamped to the floor, a desk, a large television screen, a computer. Cazalet sat behind the desk, Ferguson to one side. Ferguson said, “We’ll be in New York pretty soon, so this is the last chance for the four of us to discuss what’s happening. Sit down.”
    Which they did, and Cazalet said, “The President has decided to be guided by