"Jeanie London - Retrieval" - читать интересную книгу автора (London Jeanie)

RETRIEVAL
BY
JEANIE LONDON

PRAYER TO ST. MICHAEL

St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in the day of Battle. Be our safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the Devil. May God rebuke Him, we humbly pray, and do Thou, O Prince of the Heavenly Host, by the power of God, cast into Hell, Satan and all the other evil spirits who prowl through the world, seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.

-Pope Leo XIII


PROLOGUE

SHOTS rang out in simultaneous succession. Not the staccato rounds of automatic gunfire, but the precision blasts of high-powered sniper rifles.
One, two, three.
Separate shots from rifles trained on individual targets in an area so heavily populated by Secret Service that no sniper should have penetrated the perimeter.
Let alone three.
The blasts shocked the otherwise normal sounds of a busy Washington, D.C., afternoon. Roman Barrymore reacted instantly, as did the two protection operatives flanking him. Standard protocol. Assassination attempts were part of their jobs; evasive maneuvers were carried out by rote.
But the white heat scalding flesh and everything vital in his chest proved the effort was too little, too late.
The protection operatives on both sides of the limo door collapsed almost in unison. Secret Service


2 JEANIE LONDON

RETRIEVAL

3

swarmed like bees shocked from a hive, attempting to contain damage that had already been done. As Roman sank to his knees, he could almost hear the newscaster's soundbite.
"Breaking news. . . High-ranking government official assassinated on the White House lawn. . ."
Then his life flashed before his eyes, frame by frame, glutted with a meaning he only now identified, the significance of choices he'd made over a lifetime that had brought him to the moment of his death-choices that would either bring him to salvation or condemn him in the upcoming battle for his soul. . .
Father Leo inside his office at the school, a place as old and revered as the priest himself, a man who could encourage with a smile or shame with a glance. "You know you shouldn't fight, Roman."
"They ganged up on John."
"You could have gone inside and told Sister Gemma."
"They were hurting him." Roman had no other explanation, no second choice.
Father Leo's gaze seemed to burn through him, making it hard for Roman to breathe as those dark eyes sought, found.
"Then you did what you had to do," Father Leo finally said. "You stood up for your classmate and helped him when he needed your help."
"Greater love than this no man has, that a man lays down his life for his friend."
Standing between his parents' caskets in the funeral home. People filing through in a bizarre conga line to offer condolences, their voices blurring together into a drone he only caught fragments of.
"Such a tragic acddent"
"Far too young."

"At least they were together."
"What will you do now, Roman? Will you change your plans for college?"
He didn't know. College was still five months away and he couldn't even answer the questions the funeral director had been throwing at him ever since this whole nightmare began.
How the hell was he supposed to know how thick his parents wanted the concrete vault around their caskets? If they'd had a choice that really mattered, they wouldn't be dead right now.
"You're not alone, never alone. Don't give into despair."
Roman's surprise at the springy give to his target's skin beneath the pistol. The feel of the trigger under his finger. The blind recognition in the man's eyes at facing death, at facing Roman. If he pulled the trigger, he would be death. There would be no turning back. Never any turning back. Not for his target, or for himself.
There were so many other careers that didn't involve killing.
Yes, there were, but. . . .