J.A. Konrath / Jack Kilborn Trilogy - Three Scary Thriller Novels (Origin, The List, Haunted House) Read Free

Humvee stopped abruptly and Andy lurched in his seat.
    “We’re here,” the driver said.
    Andy craned his neck and looked around. Three hundred and sixty degrees of desert, not a building nor a soul in sight.
    “You’re kidding.”
    “Please get out of the Humvee, sir. I’m supposed to leave you here.”
    “Leave me here? In the desert?”
    “Those are my orders.”
    Andy squinted. There was nothing but sand and rock for miles and miles.
    “This is ridiculous. I’ll die out here.”
    “Sir, please get out of the Humvee.”
    “You can’t leave me in the middle of the desert. It’s insane.”
    The driver drew his pistol.
    “Jesus!”
    “These are my orders, sir. If you don’t get out of the Humvee, I’ve been instructed to shoot you in the leg and drag you out. One…”
    “I don’t believe this.”
    “Two…”
    “This is murder. You’re murdering me here.”
    “Three.”
    The driver cocked the gun and aimed it at Andy’s leg. Andy threw up his hands. “Fine! I’m out!”
    Andy stepped out of the Humvee. He could feel the heat of the sand through the soles of his shoes.
    The driver holstered his weapon, hit the gas, and swung the Humvee around. It sped off in the direction it had come. Andy watched until it shrank down to nothing.
    He turned in a complete circle, feeling the knot growing in his belly. The only thing around him was scrub brush and cacti.
    “This is not happening.”
    Andy searched the sky for any helicopters that might be flying in to pick him up. The sky was empty, except for a fat desert sun that hurt his eyes. Andy couldn’t be sure, but the air seemed to be getting hotter. By noon it would be scorching.
    He looked at his watch and wondered how long he could go without water. The very idea of it made his tongue feel thick. A day, maybe two at most. It would take at least two days to walk back to the airport. He decided to follow the truck tracks.
    “Andrew Dennison?”
    Andy spun around, startled. Standing twenty yards away was a man. He wore loose fitting jeans and a blue polo shirt, and he approached Andy in an unhurried gait. As the figure came into sharper focus, Andy noticed several things at once. The man was old, maybe seventy, with age spots dotting his bald dome and deep wrinkles set in a square face. But he carried himself like a much younger man, and though his broad shoulders were stooped with age, he projected an apparent strength.
Military,
Andy guessed, and upper echelon as well.
    Andy walked to meet the figure, trying not to appear surprised that he’d just materialized out of nowhere. The thoughts of vultures and thirst were replaced by several dozen questions.
    “I’m General Regis Murdoch. Call me Race. Welcome to Project Samhain.”
    Race offered a thick and hairy hand, which Andy nervously shook. It felt like shaking a two-by-four.
    “General Race, I appreciate the welcome, but I think I’ve been left out of the loop. I don’t know…”
    “All in good time. The President wants to fill you in, and you’re to meet the group.”
    “Where?” Andy asked, looking around.
    The General beamed. “Almost a hundred years old, and still the best hidden secret in the United States. Right this way.”
    Andy followed Race up to a pile of rocks next to a bush. Close inspection revealed that they’d been glued, or maybe soldered, to a large metal plate which spun on a hinge. The plate swivelled open, revealing a murky stairwell leading into the earth.
    “Cutting edge stuff in 1906, now kind of dated.” Race smiled. “But sometimes the old tricks are still the best.”
    Race prompted Andy down the sandy iron staircase and followed after closing the lid above them. The walls were concrete, old and crumbling. Light came from bare bulbs hanging overhead every fifteen steps.
    Only a few hours ago I was asleep in my bed
, Andy thought.
    “Don’t worry,” Race said. “It gets better.”
    After almost two hundred steps down they came to a large metal door with a