Saint Read Online Free PDF Page A

coming here? If you’re with the CIA, why the guard outside?”
    Joseph studied him for several seconds, then sighed and sat back down. “Have a seat, Peter.” He indicated a third chair.
    Confusion swarmed Carl, but he refused to let the light at the end of the tunnel wink out. His palms had gone sweaty and his tongue was dry and his heart was pounding, but he forced his mind to the point.
    The hour was expiring. Even if he left now, he would have trouble returning to the compound in time.
    â€œFine, stand. But lower the weapon. Really, Peter.”
    Send the bullet. Send it now .
    â€œWe’ve been closing in on a highly specialized underground operation known only as the X Group, which was founded by a man named Laszlo Kalman,” the man said. “They have been known to kidnap government operatives, agents, even military regulars who fit a certain profile, strip their minds of memories and identities, and then retrain them as assassins. You were sighted six days ago after a two-year absence, which explains the tape recording.”
    Carl hit a wall. He knew he was faced with a decision that couldn’t wait more than a few seconds. Either the woman who’d been strapped down beside him had been lying and wasn’t his wife, or the man before him was lying.
    â€œWe know everything, Peter. We know you were sent to kill us, and we let you come because we know something that neither you nor Kalman could possibly—”
    Carl shot the man in the chest.
    Joseph Fabin grunted and grabbed at a red hole in his shirt. Carl swiveled the gun to the woman. His slug knocked her clean off her chair, like a mule kick to the gut. They both hit the ground at the same time, only because the man’s fall had been stalled by his chair.
    The sound of his gunshots lingered, chased by a high-pitched whine in his ears.
    He didn’t know who Joseph and Mary Fabin were, but he knew they were lying. Not because they’d slipped up, but because he knew that the woman who’d looked into his soul while they were strapped to a bed back at the compound was the woman he loved.
    He’d come to save Kelly and Matthew, and their lives depended on his ability to kill these two and return within the hour. Carl hurried to the couch, slipped into Joseph Fabin’s jacket, and headed out.
    The killing had been a strangely emotionless affair. That was the last analytical thought that Carl allowed himself before running from the room. He stopped long enough outside the door to return the guards’ guns and pull the Makarov from his thigh.
    No sign that anyone had heard the shots. He sprinted to the stairs and descended quickly, shoving the Makarov into the waistband at his back.
    Carl exited the stairwell and walked directly toward the kitchen, nodding once to a maid who watched him casually. Still no pursuit.
    Shoes. He needed his shoes for the run. He snatched them from behind the laundry bin and stepped out into the sunshine.
    A thin layer of sweat coated his body, and the base of his skull throbbed with pain. These he could deal with easily enough. But he required more than mental strength to reach the compound in time to save Kelly.
    He shrugged out of the jacket and donned his shoes. For a moment he felt panic edge into his nerves. He wasn’t going to make it, was he? And what if the man I just killed was speaking the truth? The thought fueled his panic, but just as he had done a dozen times in the last hour, he shut the emotion out.
    When Carl stood from tying his shoes, his hands were shaking. He could actually see them quivering in the afternoon light, as if connected to a circuit that had been thrown. The sight didn’t correlate with his thin reality. There was more, so much more to what was happening to him than this mission revealed. Somewhere deep below his consciousness, the voice protested.
    Carl clenched his hands to still the tremor, turned north, and ran toward the light at the