The Naked Edge Read Online Free PDF

JFK assassination?” the sniper asked.
    “How the hell old do you think I am?”
    “One bullet boomeranged all over the place, in several impossible directions, hitting Kennedy and Governor Connally.”
    “Yeah, the magic, slip-sliding bullet—if somebody's dumb enough to believe Oswald was the only shooter.”
    “What I'm saying is, I can hit her square in the neck on an angle that I think will go down and out the soft tissue and into his chest. But that bullet might just as easily hit the top of her spine and shatter or change angle, blast along a rib, and slam into the post beside her.”
    “So you can't guarantee a kill.”
    “Not even if the bullet does go through her neck and into his chest.”
    “But he'd be down, and you've got other ammunition in that rifle. How fast can you chamber a fresh round?”
    “A lot faster than that dick Oswald. Wait. She's stepping out of the way. I've got a shot. This'll be just like that time in Rome.”
    “Beta,” the spotter said into the radio. “Cut the phone line.”
    16

    In the office, William pressed buttons on his cell phone, waited, but didn't get a response. Impatient, he stood, left the office, and crossed the communal room to enter the kitchen.
    Mrs. Patterson was removing the pie from the oven. Angelo watched her.
    “Smells like Thanksgiving,” Angelo said.
    The phone rang.
    William, who disliked pumpkin pie, glanced around at the stainless steel appliances in the otherwise rustic kitchen.
    “Get your business done?” Mrs. Patterson asked.
    “They're discussing it.” William turned his attention to the security monitors on the counter next to him.
    The phone rang a second time.
    Mrs. Patterson went to the wall next to the refrigerator and lifted the phone off its mount. “Hello? . . . Hi, Tina. How's little Brian's cold? I've been worried it'll turn into . . . Hello? . . . Tina?”
    “Problem?” Angelo asked.
    “The line went dead.”
    “Are these men supposed to be on the property?” William inquired.
    “ What men?” Angelo turned.
    “The ones on this television monitor.”
    17

    Three shots made Cavanaugh flinch. From behind him. From the opposite end of the porch. From the kitchen was all he had time to think as his startle reflex engaged. Even the most seasoned operators, accustomed to bullets being fired near them, couldn't control that reflex. He grabbed Jamie and lunged sideways, seeking the only available cover: the lodge's wall. Simultaneously, he felt something snap past him and wallop onto the porch's floor, tearing up splinters.
    Two shooters. One in the kitchen. One on the ridge.
    He kept lunging, holding Jamie tightly, turning so his back led the way as they crashed through the screen that covered his office window. The window was raised. His head grazed past the wooden frame. He fell, holding Jamie, banging onto the floor.
    “Cavanaugh!” Angelo yelled. Then William and Mrs. Patterson also shouted his name. He heard footsteps rushing toward the office.
    But all he cared about was Jamie. “ Are you all right? ”
    She didn't answer.
    “Jamie!”
    “I'm okay. Got the wind knocked out of me.”
    Cavanaugh rolled from under her, scanning her body, looking for blood.
    “What happened?” she wanted to know.
    Angelo and the others charged into the office. “Cavanaugh?”
    He drew his pistol from under his shirt. “The kitchen? Who shot—”
    “ I did. Three bullets into the wall.” Angelo's pistol was in his hand. “Men on the grounds. The phone line's been cut. I didn't know how else to warn you in time.”
    “The eastern slope. Sniper,” Cavanaugh said.
    “I didn't hear any shots from up there.”
    “He must be using a sound suppressor. William, I hope you know how to handle a gun.”
    “Not even in my worst nightmares.”
    “You're about to learn.”
    18

    “You dumb bastard. After all your bragging, you missed!” the spotter said.
    “Hey, it wasn't my fault! How was I to know somebody'd start shooting down there?