Under Siege Read Online Free PDF Page A

as his chauffeur was fat. He looked over the house and grounds with a deadpan expression and made himself comfortable on the porch. “Awful quiet out here,” he observed.
    Charon nodded to be sociable. He scanned the hillsides slowly, carefully.
    “I hear you got a talent.” Charon again examined the draw where the ranch road went down to the paved road. He shrugged. Tassone had his feet on the rail.
    “A man with talent can make a good living,” Tassone said. When Charon made no reply, he added, “If he stays alive.”
    Charon seated himself on the porch rail, one leg up, his hands on his leg. He turned his gaze to Tassone.
    “If he’s smart enough,” the man in the chair said.
    Charon stared at the visitor for a moment, as if he were sizing him up. Then he said, “Why don’t you take the pistol out of that holster under your jacket and put it on the floor.”
    “And if I don’t?”
    Charon uncoiled explosively. He drew the hunting knife from his boot with his right hand and launched himself at the man in the chair, all in the same motion. Before Tasson could move, the knife was at his throat and Charon’s face was inches from his.
    “if you don’t, I’ll bury you out here.”
    “What about Sweet?” Sweet was the Texas savings-and loan man. “He knows I’m here.”
    “Sweet will go in the same hole. He’ll be easy to find. He just drove about a mile down the road and stopped. He’s sitting down there now, waiting for you.”
    “Reach under my coat and help yourself to the gun.” Charon did so, then moved back to the rail. The pistol was a small automatic, a Walther, in .380 caliber. He thumbed the cartridges from the clip, jacked the shell from the chamber, then tossed the weapon back to Tasson.
    with his eyes on Charon, Tasson holstered the gun. “How’d you know Sweet didn’t leave?”
    “The road goes down that draw over there.” Charon jerked his head a half inch. “I was watching for dust. There wasn’t any. There’s a wide place under a cottonwood where the creek still has water in it this time of year. He’s sitting there in the shade waiting for you.”
    “Maybe he’s circling around on foot to get a shot at you. Maybe he thinks you’ve outlived your usefulness.”
    “Sweet isn’t stupid. I took him hunting. He knows he wouldn’t have a chance in a hundred to kill me at my game, on my own ground. Now you may have dropped off someone on your way up here, someone who’s a lot better than Sweet. So I’ve been looking. Those cattle out there on that hillside in front of the house are three-quarters wild, and they’re not edgy. Behind the house-that’s a possibility, but there’s a flock of pheasants up there. Saw “em fly in before you drove up.”
    Tasson looked carefully around him, perhaps really seeing the setting for the first time. In a moment he said, “Cities aren’t like this. Ain’t no spooky cows or cowshit or pheasants. Think you can handle that?”
    “The principles are the same.”
    The visitor crossed his legs and settled back into his chair. He took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. “Got a little business proposition for you.” An hour later he walked down the road toward the car where Sweet was waiting.
    That was the last time Charon saw Sweet, the savings-and loan man. Three years had passed since then, busy years.
    This afternoon, when the plane landed, Henry Charon joined the throng in the aisle and eased his one soft bag from the overhead bin. As usual, the stewardess at the door of the plane gave him her mindless thank-you while her eyes automatically shifted to the person behind him. Anonymous as always, Henry Charon followed the striding lawyer into the National Airport concourse. Taking his time, his eyes in constant motion, Charon moved with the crowd, not too fast, not too slow. He avoided the cab stand in front of the terminal and started for the buses, only to change his mind when he glimpsed the train at the Metro station a hundred