Redemption Protocol (Contact) Read Online Free PDF Page A

throat to avoid coughing. The Professor sighed.
    “What does it mean, John, this revenge?”
    “Killing your demons, Professor.”
    “Hasn't there been enough killing?”
    An obvious reference to the genocidal war crime in question. Havoc gritted his teeth. But the old man wasn’t judging. He sounded genuine.
    “Nearly.”
    “Does it help?”
    “Yes.”
    An honest answer.
    “Revenge is a confession of pain.”
    Havoc thought about it.
    “True.”
    The Professor's hand relaxed in his.
    “Such a waste.”
    The Professor's voice was quieter now – he was letting go of life. Havoc didn’t want him to go out thinking about genocide.
    “What was your daughter's name, Professor?”
    “Evie.”
    “Tell me about her.”
    The Professor's eyes were almost closed.
    “We did proofs together. We went walking together.”
    “Go on.”
    “She always wanted a dog, a golden lab.”
    Havoc waited. The Professor's voice was little more than a whisper now.
    “Tell my daughter I love her.”
    “I will.”
    “I don't want to die, John.”
    Havoc squeezed the Professor's hand.
    “Don't worry. I'm here.”
    There was silence. A minute passed. Some incoherent muttering emerged from the Professor, then his voice strengthened a little.
    “Come on, Evie, let's go for a walk.”
    Havoc waited.
    “Bring your gloves, darling, you’ll be cold.”
    Havoc held the Professor's hand, letting it happen.
    “I love you honey.”
    Havoc squeezed the Professor's hand.
    “She loves you too.”
    The Professor's eyes opened at the stimulus.
    “It's beautiful here.”
    Havoc looked up the valley.
    “Yes, it is. It is beautiful.”
    The Professor's hand gently released in his.
    He was dead.
    Havoc was surprised by how upset he felt. Exposed and vulnerable. When was the last time he’d spoken to someone who wasn’t out to take him for all they could get? He hoped the Professor had felt comfortable, and comforted, at the end.
    One of them down. One to go.
    He was in agony, streaks of pain like molten wires piercing his body. He concentrated on managing his pain. He knew what was coming. A terrible death. He grunted involuntarily; a tough man not used to showing weakness. Fleeting thoughts flickered through his mind.
    Live a life based on love.
    Unbearable pain ravaged him like a drill thrust in a broken tooth. So much hurt. He lay there, panting, his breathing fast and shallow. It hurt so much to breathe but the coughing was worse. Hallucinating. What does it all mean? Revenge. All or nothing.
    All for nothing.
    Utterly betrayed. Forge's face right in his own and full of his macho bullshit. 'Conflict makes men, Son', 'Never fight fair with a stranger, Son.' Havoc felt his frustration rise up and choke him. 'Better to be foul and conquer, Son, than to be fair and fail.'
    He was racked by coughing. He spasmed in torment like a broken animal in a trap. He wasn't complaining – that wasn't his way – he just couldn't stand the pain; it was intolerable.
    You're going to get out of this , he told himself, trying to focus. You're not finished . He didn’t believe it, not for a second. So unlike him.
    Don’t you give up on me, Havoc. Don’t you give up on me.
    So much hurt, everywhere. No escape and no respite. He couldn't cough up enough liquid to clear his throat and it filled again, choking him and causing him to cough more. He knew the moment of greatest resistance comes just before capitulation, so where was it, his resistance?
    He had nothing left to give.
    He felt cold inside, despite the warmth of the sun on his body. He wasn't getting enough oxygen; his blood pressure dropping as he exsanguinated, his bodily fluids leaking into, and out of, all the wrong places. His head slumped forward and liquid dribbled out of his mouth.
    Fragmented images of his wife and kids flickered on the water as his agony receded. He felt numb. He welcomed it. His awareness narrowed. The Professor’s hand in his. Love. Hate. His world darkened and then