The Executioner's Game Read Online Free PDF

moved down the hallway to a bank of elevators. He got on one of them and pressed the button for level six. The elevator went down. In any other agency, the boss would reside on the top floor, not the lowest one. Luther often wondered what it meant that the agency liked to house itself underground. He knew that this structure had a reinforced skeleton that acted as a second roof. If the building toppled, you could survive for weeks under the wreckage.
    Luther got off on level six, which they called “Deep Six,” and headed for the director’s office. He passed through double glass doors into E-1’s operations room. It was a busy bullpen, with state-of-the-art informational equipment.
    The twenty or so workers here all kept track of the fifty-three E-1 agents all around the globe. Luther scanned the big world map on the far wall and saw the glittery gold buttons that represented the agents. A button locked in to his exact position in Virginia. That was him, he thought, reduced to a little golden speck.
    Luther was greeted by Thomas, a thin man of about thirty. He was Kilmer Gray’s personal assistant, and if you left it to him, he would tell you that he was running the shop.
    â€œLuther, you’re right on time,” said Thomas happily. “Director Gray is just finishing up.”
    â€œGood. Thank you, Thomas,” said Luther.
    Luther tried not to frown. He didn’t make small talk with Thomas. Luther didn’t like to hear him go on and on about his closeness to his powerful boss, so he just smiled and sat down. Thomas was a pain, although he was known to be quite proficient in several areas of training.
    Thomas looked at him a little too long, and Luther felt that sense again that he’d been discussed before his arrival. Thomas smiled, trying to cover his obvious expression, and then walked away to his station.
    Luther sat in the plush leather chair against the wall and waited. He didn’t have to wait long. Director Gray’s office door opened, and just then on the map, two agents’ gold specks sprouted red lines that stopped in Jerusalem.
    Kilmer Gray ambled out of his office. He was a smallish man who tended to stoop at the shoulders. He had a tangle of salt-and-pepper hair and sharp dark eyes under lids that always seemed half closed.
    Kilmer surveyed the situation room, and to Luther he looked like a hawk surveying his domain. His face was stony and expressionless, the face of a man who never wanted you to know what he was thinking. He turned slightly, making sure the agents had been relocated on the map. Then his eyes came to rest on Luther.
    Kilmer’s expression didn’t change. He walked over to Luther, extending his hand. “Luther. Good to see you.”
    â€œYou, too, sir,” said Luther.
    Luther stood, and the two men shook hands. Kilmer’s was cool, and this had always bothered Luther for some reason. His grip was firm, but it was an icy thing, and Luther was always a little happier when Kilmer released him. The men walked into Kilmer’s office.
    Director Gray’s office was an expansive place filled with ornate furniture made of rich wood. The walls were covered with paintings done by the director himself. Lighthouses and dark cottages were his favorite subjects. Luther had forgotten that Kilmer was so talented. You might have thought you were in a professor’s study until you saw that on the wall behind his long desk was a smaller version of the map in the situation room.
    Kilmer Gray had been in government service all his adult life. He was drafted out of West Point and shocked his family by joining the Green Berets. He served with distinction in Vietnam, accumulating quite a kill record. Kilmer left the service and joined the FBI briefly but soon reenlisted in the army and advanced to the rank of general.
    He proved to be a ruthless adversary, and his intellect helped the country win many a day overseas. When a suicide bomber