The 14th Colony: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

point man.
    “Just don’t get made,” the president said to him . “Stay with her. Wherever she goes. Can you handle that?”
    Their relationship was testy at best, but he had to admit his uncle did know how to run things. The country would miss him, as Luke would miss his former job. He wasn’t looking forward to the Defense Intelligence Agency. After graduating high school, avoiding college, and enlisting in the army, he’d finally found a home at the Billet.
    Unfortunately, that was now gone.
    He was a mile behind his target, providing a wide berth since there were few cars on the interstate, the winter night clear and calm. Half an hour ago he’d been watching the motel when Anya, carrying an ax, suddenly emerged and left, driving west into Virginia. They were now near Manassas and she was signaling for an exit. He followed suit, coming to the ramp’s end after she turned south on a two-laned, rural highway. He’d have to allow a greater gap to open between them here as there were nowhere near the distractions an interstate highway offered.
    Where was she headed in the middle of the friggin’ night?
    With an ax?
    He thought about calling Uncle Danny and waking him up. He’d been provided with a direct phone number and ordered to report anything immediately, but all they’d done so far was take a ride out in the country.
    Anya, half a mile ahead, turned again.
    No cars were coming in either direction, the landscape pitch-black for as far as he could see, so he doused his headlights and approached the point where the car had veered from the highway.
    He was behind the wheel of his pride and joy. A 1967 silver Mustang, a gift to himself while still in the army. He kept it tucked away inside a garage adjacent to his DC apartment, one of the few possessions he truly cherished. He liked to drive it during the downtime Stephanie Nelle required all Magellan Billet agents to take every four weeks. He paid nearly $25,000 for it from a guy desperate for cash, a bargain considering what the open market charged. It had come in mint condition with a four-speed manual transmission and a souped-up 320hp V-8. Not the best on fuel, but this thing had been built to enjoy when gas was twenty-five cents a gallon.
    He saw a driveway, framed on either side by heavy stone pillars, capped with a wrought-iron archway. An iron gate hung askew, the path beyond paved and leading into dark trees. No way he could drive in, since he had no idea how far the path extended or what awaited. The better tack was to use his feet, so he turned onto the drive, passed through the entrance, and parked off into the trees never switching on his headlights. He slipped from the Mustang and quietly closed the door. The night was cold but not bone chilling. The mid-Atlantic states had been enjoying a uncharacteristically mild winter, the heavy snows of recent years bypassing them so far. He wore thick cord trousers and a sweater, along with an insulated jacket and gloves, his Magellan Billet–issued Beretta tucked into a shoulder holster. He didn’t have a flashlight, but he did carry a cell phone that could do in a pinch. He made sure the phone, though, was on silent.
    He trotted ahead.
    The run was only a couple hundred yards, leading to the black hulk of a rambling two-story house with wings, annexes, and outbuildings. To his left stretched a grassy field stiff under a dusting of frost. Movement caught his attention and he followed the shape of an owl winging out over the field. He remembered those all too clearly from his days growing up in rural Tennessee. Stars sharp as needles dotted a black velvet sky, only a quarter moon animating the heavens. He spotted a car parked in front of the house, a flashlight beam near the front door. He wondered who lived here as there’d been no name, mailbox, or anything identifying the address.
    He kept to the trees and snaked a path clear of the snatching brambles. Cold worked its way toward his skin, but the burst