Taken Read Online Free PDF Page A

Cutter pulling the same bullshit act in a bar in the Philippines. Mindfucking a couple of rowdy jarheads who, had they realized it, could have torn Cutter into small pieces. And yet he had prevailed by convincing the dumb-shit marines he was crazy enough to want to die and take them with him, just for laughs.
    The man was convincing. So convincing that now and then Hinks wondered if it really was an act, but thus far Cutter had always been able to snap back precisely when the situation required. The cap ever got to the point he couldn’t turn it off, they’d probably have to frag him. But that was theoretical—so theoretical he and Wald had never even discussed it—and for the time being Hinks was content with the situation. Working for Cutter was way better than sorting letters for the postal service or sitting on his butt as a security guard. There were risks to Cutter’s method, of course—very serious risks—but the rewards were commensurate with the risks. Cutter’s words. Cutter’s method. For right now, for today, Hinks was in with both feet.
    Wald, not exactly a deep thinker, tended to follow Hinks’s lead. It had been that way since basic, and so far Hinks hadn’t steered his bud wrong.
    “You think he’ll do her?” Wald wants to know. “Kind of hot, for a oldie.”
    “Oldie?” Hinks chuckled. “The Bickford bitch is thirty-four. That’s only a few years older than we are.”
    “Nineteen is my target age. I like ’em fresh. As you well know.”
    “Think of it this way. When you were a freshman she’d have been a senior.”
    “Yup. And I’d have waited a year until she was nineteen. That’s when they’re ripe.”
    Hinks shakes his head. “You’re a wack job, Wald.”
    “I just know what I want.”
    “Total wack job.” It was said with some affection. Wald’s wacky humor made him interesting.
    For instance, this time on a night patrol in Takrit, trying to sort out the Saddam sympathizers from the general malcontents, Hinks had seen Wald suddenly wheel around and shoot an unarmed camel jockey in the head. Guy had been standing there with his hands empty, glowering at the troops but not resisting while the unit conducted a search for concealed weapons. Without warning, Wald dropped the son of a bitch like a side of meat. After which he turned to the rest of the unit and said, “What can I say? I could read his mind. Fucker was thinking evil thoughts.”
    Later it was determined that Wald’s victim had indeed been a former member of Saddam’s Baath party. Even if he hadn’t been carrying grenades at that particular moment, no doubt he really was directing evil thought waves at the American soldiers, just like Wald said.
    “So,” says Wald, “the question remains. Will Cutter do her? He gonna bone the bitch or what?”
    Hinks shrugs. “Doubtful. He never did much fooling around I ever saw, not even in Thailand. Also, it’s not part of the method.”
    “Fuck the method. If she’s in my range, bam .”
    “Not how the captain operates,” says Hinks.
    “So far.”
    Hinks checks his watch. “Twelve minutes, we have to move the vehicle.”
    “I got ten bucks says the captain will have her licking his ice-cream cone by then.”
    “You’re on.”
    Safe bet. Hinks is convinced that Wald is projecting his own adolescent fantasies, what he’d do if he was the one inside the target home. Cutter is different. Cutter will remain in control not only of the target but of himself.
    That’s what Hinks thinks. And so far he’s been right on the money.

6
method man
    T he idea that the man in the mask might want to rape me rattles inside my head, bouncing around like a malevolent pinball. Can’t quite grasp what I will do if he tries. Saving my son remains the primary concern. The only concern, really. My physical well-being doesn’t concern me at the moment. All that matters is getting Tommy back.
    It’s like this: if cutting off my hands would make this man go away and return my son to