The Shadow Protocol Read Online Free PDF Page B

the corner at a slightly more controlled rate. The new street was even narrower, workshops interspersed among the housing. “Okay, we’re almost there! Last turn!”
    The final corner was much tighter. The front bumper scraped against concrete in his haste. But he made it through, giving the Mercedes one last burst of speed before skidding to a halt in a small muddy square.
    The rear doors burst open, Syed’s limp form carried by three of the men as they hustled out. Baxter followed, looking down the street leading from the square’s far side.
    Adam hared around its corner, coat flapping.
    “Move, move!” Baxter snapped. A door in the building beside the van opened. Tony hurriedly waved the group inside. Syed was bundled through, Baxter squeezing past the mission leader in the tight hallway.
    Adam reached the square proper. Smoke wafted from the van’s open window as Lak hurriedly lit a cigarette and took several drags on it.
    Adam shot through the haze, shoes slithering on the dirt as he reached the opening and darted inside. Tony shut the door—
    Khattak ran around the corner.
    Panting, he rushed into the little square—then stopped in angry confusion. He had been at most twenty seconds behind the other man, but now there was no sign of him,and there was no way he could have reached the square’s only other exit already. He surveyed his surroundings. Light industrial buildings, all closed. A grubby white Ford van was parked in a corner of the square behind him, another vehicle ahead. A man was reading a newspaper in the cab, but he wasn’t Toradze.
    There was no obvious escape route the arms dealer could have taken. Khattak checked behind the white van. Nobody there, or inside it. Frustrated, he hurried toward the Mercedes.
    “He’s coming toward me,” Lak reported quietly. He pretended not to have registered the other man’s approach until Khattak rapped on the van’s side. “What?”
    “Did a man just run past you? A foreigner?”
    Lak took the cigarette from his mouth. “Yes. I didn’t see where he went, though—I wasn’t really looking. That way, I think.” He gestured vaguely over one shoulder.
    Khattak scowled, then peered past him to check that his quarry was not hiding in the back of the van before jogging away. Lak watched him in the wing mirror. The terrorist crossed to the other side of the square to investigate the concrete stairs leading up the side of one building, but found the metal gate at their bottom locked. He spun in sheer exasperation, then took out his phone and continued down the narrow street.
    “He’s left the square,” said Lak. “But I don’t think he’s going far.”
    “Watch him,” Tony ordered. “If everything works here, we’ll be ready to move Syed in a few minutes. We can’t let this guy see us.”
    “Roger.” Lak sat back, eyes still fixed on Khattak’s image in the mirror as the terrorist made a call.

Adam and Tony followed Baxter’s team into the makeshift operations center, the high-tech equipment incongruous against the peeling paint of what had once been the owner’s office. The former marine clicked his fingers, and Syed was dumped on the floor.
    “Careful,” chided Albion. “We can’t let him get
too
banged up.”
    “The cover story’ll explain away a few bruises,” said Tony with dark humor. “Are you ready?”
    Albion nodded toward two metal cases, one large, one small. “I need to calculate the dose.” He took out a notebook bound in black leather. “Mr. Baxter, can you and your men help me weigh our friend, please?”
    There was an electronic scale on the floor beside the cases. Baxter’s men hauled Syed to his feet—producing a groggy moan. Holly Jo gave him a worried look. “He’s waking up.”
    “Thought he’d be out for longer,” said Tony.
    Albion shook his head. “It won’t make any difference.” Syed was maneuvered onto the scale. He mumbled something, trying to move, only to find his limbs restrained. “Okay,