Chaos in Kabul Read Free Page B

restraint. Grasping his cock firmly, he set it against the tight opening and shoved.
    Alexandra gave a hoarse growl as he sank deep inside her. Then her hips began to sway while Malko pounded as hard as he knew how.
    When he came, his yell seemed to shake the falling snowflakes. Good thing the library door was closed …
    The two of them stayed that way for a long time, feeling dazed. Then Alexandra turned to him.
    “I think you should apologize for your roughness now. She may never have been taken this way before. Kiss her hand and get her a glass of champagne. She deserves it.”
    Malko eased out of her.
    They quickly straightened their clothes and left the library hand in hand.
    Malko’s old butler, Elko Krisantem, saw them entering the ballroom and came over with some glasses of champagne on a tray.
    Alexandra drank hers down and gave Malko a sly look.
    “Thank you for that pleasant interlude, sir. I must go join my husband now.”
    She moved away toward a group of their guests.
    Malko was putting his glass down when his cell phone beeped. A text message appeared on-screen:
    I need to see you in Washington asap. JM.
    He put the phone in his pocket. “JM” was John Mulligan, the White House national security advisor. He called Malko only for extremely delicate missions.
    And extremely dangerous ones.

The weather in Washington was no better than it had been in Austria. Snow silently swirled along Sixteenth Street to a White House no doubt busy preparing for Barack Obama’s second inauguration.
    Malko released the window drapes in his room at the Hay-Adams and looked at his watch: exactly 1:00 p.m. It wouldn’t do to keep John Mulligan waiting. The national security advisor was a powerful figure in the White House. He was the man who knew the deepest secrets, who directed the United States’
real
policy, and who helped the president make decisions that weren’t always endorsed in the sainted halls of Congress.
    Malko had flown from Vienna to New York on Austrian Airlines, then taken the train to Union Station. His reservation at the Hay-Adams, the fanciest and most expensive hotel in town, turned out to be an elegant suite. That meant the Americans would be asking him to do something very difficult. Along the Potomac, they didn’t throw money out the window.
    Malko took the elevator downstairs to the hotel dining room, whose maître d’ approached with an ingratiating smile. Just then, the door curtains parted, admitting a very tall, white-haired man wearing a black down coat. When he spotted Malko, he strode over, smiling.
    “Malko Linge?”
    “Yes.”
    “I’m Clayton Luger, deputy director. I work with Ted Boteler. He was supposed to come today, but he has the flu. Follow me!”
    Boteler, whom Malko knew well, ran the CIA special operations group, in charge of undercover missions.
    Luger led him to a booth at the very back of the room.
    “I’m sorry. I should have been here to meet you, but traffic was bad. John should be here any moment. Care for a drink?”
    Malko was served a glass of Stolichnaya but barely had time for a toast when a tall, redheaded man crossed the room to their booth, moving like a charging elephant. The national security advisor.
    Mulligan and Malko exchanged a long handshake.
    “It’s nice to see you back in Washington,” said Mulligan, sitting down.
    After some small talk, they ordered: New York steaks for the two Americans, rack of lamb for Malko.
    It wasn’t until they’d finished their salads that Mulligan turned to Malko and asked, “Does anyone know about your trip?”
    “Your immigration officers certainly do,” said Malko. “They questioned me quite carefully, probably because of the upcoming inauguration. Why do you ask?”
    “This meeting must remain absolutely secret. I didn’t even enter it in my appointment book. It concerns an extremely sensitive subject.”
    Because of the time difference, Malko was starving, and he was afraid Mulligan might tackle his