Crossing Savage Read Free Page A

the first to present his results, he walked to the front of the meeting room and introduced himself to the man who, he guessed, was the session chair.
    â€œHi, I’m Jeremy Hitchcock.”
    â€œPleased to meet you. I’m Bill Shell.”
    As they shook hands Jeremy glanced at his name badge. William Shell, Group Leader, Excelon Petroleum.
    â€œI’ll queue up your first slide after I introduce you to the audience.” Pointing to a small remote controller with two buttons, Bill continued, “Press this button to advance the slide and this button if you want to go back.”
    â€œGot it,” Jeremy confirmed.
    â€œYou’ll have no more than 25 minutes for your presentation, and I’ll stop you if you go over. There will be five minutes for questions. Be sure to repeat the question so everyone hears it. I think that’s it.”
    Jeremy nodded his head. “Should be fine, thanks.”
    Bill clipped a small microphone to the lapel of Jeremy’s suit and showed him how to switch on the transmitter, a box the size of a pack of cards connected by a slim wire to the microphone. Bill clipped the transmitter to Jeremy’s belt.
    By now the room was beginning to fill up. Forty to 50 people had already arrived and taken seats. Many were sipping coffee from paper cups. Several groups of two or three people each were talking quietly—probably colleagues catching up on the latest gossip.
    After introducing himself to the other speakers, Jeremy sat at his place at the table along with the second and third scheduled presenters. Bill took the podium and addressed the audience to signal the start of the session.
    â€œGood morning! Welcome to this special session on abiogenic oil formation.”
    The security guard at the back of the room closed the double doors as everyone became quiet and looked towards the front.
    â€œI’m sure you’ll agree we have an interesting program this morning, one that is certain to stimulate a lot of lively discussion. Our first speaker is Dr. Jeremy Hitchcock. Dr. Hitchcock has been with British Energy for nine years, where he leads a group—”
    Suddenly the double doors at the back of the meeting room burst open and five men stormed into the room. They were dressed in loose-fitting black robes with wide sashes tied around their waists. Their heads were covered in scarves so that only their eyes, noses, and mouths were visible. From where Jeremy was sitting, he could see that the men had dark complexions.
    â€œWhat the heck?” Jeremy thought he mouthed the words, but it must have been audible because the lady sitting next to him answered “I don’t know,” as she shook her head.
    The lead man abruptly turned to his right, facing the security guard who had a startled look on his face. In one fluid motion the robed man pulled a pistol that had been hidden beneath his sash and shot the guard in the head, killing him instantly.
    A scream emanated from somewhere in the back of the room, and immediately men and women jumped from their chairs, moving away from the robed intruders like a wave pulsating away from a rock thrown into a pond. The scream was soon replaced by a din of shouts and clattering of chairs knocked over by the human surge seeking distance from the murderous men. But this sound, too, soon died down and was replaced by an eerie stillness.
    The other robed men closed the doors and then moved out around the periphery of the room. The man with the pistol strode confidently down the center aisle, pistol still clutched in his hand; the stunned audience stared at him. No one dared to make a sound. He stepped in front of the podium and nodded to his comrades. They all opened their robes to reveal short automatic rifles.
    At the sight of the weapons, the woman next to Jeremy began to whimper softly. Her mewling sounded mournful, and in the absence of any other sounds a dozen pairs of eyes looked at her curiously.
    Jeremy