The Dolomite Solution Read Online Free PDF Page A

how you had gotten there. Then the clicking back through time in your memory, trying desperately to determine if you are dreaming or if you had actually meant to be in that bed. Jake’s mind blurred with these thoughts, conceding, at least, that he wasn’t in bed with a strange woman who had looked good in the dark. Not that that had ever happened to him before. He did wonder what had happened to the blonde he had left at his apartment. Unfortunately, he had not even gotten her number.
    She was the least of his worries as he tried to focus on things in the room that might explain where he was. His vision was a blurry mess of uncoordinated synapses.
    He tried to sit up, but something kept him from moving forward on the bed more than an inch. The room was dark, with dim lights lining the top of one wall, shining up toward a featureless ceiling. He tried to turn his head, but the pain streaked through his skull from back to front, as if a knife were about to poke his eyeballs out from his brain. He tried to move his arms. It was useless. He was strapped down with leather restraints. He wasn’t sure if the pain was completely a result of the crushing ache in the back of his head, or if the alcohol had finally started to wane, and he was experiencing a tremendous hangover.
    The door opened and a man walked in. Jake kept a wary eye on him. The man was in his late forties. Thin, dark hair. A moustache that extended down under a strong chin. He was wearing a long coat unbuttoned in the front. Under that was a gray wool suit with a blood red tie. Under that, Jake guessed, was a sinewy physique. His face had a grave expression. A normal feature, Jake was certain, since he had no lines at the sides of his dark eyes or on his forehead. Perhaps he had found little to laugh at so far in life.
    Considering what Jake could remember about the alley behind the restaurant, he decided to keep his mouth shut. Besides, much of what he could remember seemed like a bad dream anyway.
    Finally, the man came up to the bed and said, “I see you’re back with us, Mr. Adams.” His English was perfect, though with a British accent.
    Jake tried to feel his wallet against his right butt cheek, but it wasn’t there. “I’d shake your hand, and all that shit, but as you can see...” Jake tried to nod his head toward the leather straps.
    The man gave him a serious glare. “You killed a man a few hours ago, and now you make jokes?” He clenched his jaw like he had something caught in his molars.
    â€œI didn’t kill anyone,” Jake said, trying hard not to raise his voice and lose control, but failing miserably.
    â€œTests will prove you did.” The man paused for a moment, looking at a little flip notebook he had pulled from his inside coat pocket. “You are a security consultant, Mr. Adams.”
    They stared at each other uncomfortably.
    â€œIs that a question?” Jake asked.
    â€œIt’s a fact. I ran your passport and other credentials through American authorities and Interpol.” He tried a slight smile, as if any more would shatter his face. When Jake didn’t say anything, the man continued. “You were with Air Force intelligence in Germany for three years, and after that with the old Agency working various locations in Europe. Mostly computer expertise, I understand. Although you have handled some interesting cases since going private. The computer technology case in Bonn a few years back, and most recently the incident in Kurdistan. Very impressive. It makes me wonder if your company isn’t another elaborate front for the Central Intelligence Agency. I guess the new CIA is no better than the old CIA.”
    Jake wondered where this was heading. Everything the man said was true, yet he wasn’t sure who would have told him all that. He was nearly certain that most of his records had been destroyed in the fires at CIA headquarters in Langley years ago, and the new