Shattered Bone Read Free

Russian would be followed. He knew their lives were in great danger.
    The Horse held his gloved hand over the Russian’s mouth. The Russian didn’t move. His eyes were closed. Even through his gloves, the Horse could feel the man’s pulse pounding in his neck. The Russian held perfectly still.
    The Horse watched the forest for at least 60 seconds before leaning forward and speaking into his mike. “Trojans in,” he said in the tiniest voice, his breath hot against the Russian’s face.
    The agent turned to the Russian and planted his mouth next to his ear. “Do you have it?” he whispered.
    â€œHe’s going to kill me!” the Russian sobbed. “Please, he’s gone crazy. He’s already ... my wife ... two of my children ... please.” The Horse covered the Russian’s mouth and pressed down once again. “Mr. Secretary, I will protect you. A helicopter is on its way. It is only minutes out. But I have to know! Do you have the document!?”
    â€œHe will kill me,” the man sobbed. “He will kill us all. A million people are going to die! The Duma is gone. I saw the soldiers myself. They were everywhere. The constitutional court. The parliament. Everything. All of it gone.”
    â€œQuiet! Yes, we know!” the Horse hissed. “We know. I will help you. Now, Mr. Secretary, I will ask you for the last time. Do you have the document? Is it in your possession?”
    The Secretary shuddered and nodded his head. Freeing his arm, he reached into the crotch of his pants and pulled out a single piece of paper.
    Handing the paper to the agent, the Secretary lay back in exhaustion and dropped his head to the ground. He stared blankly into the darkness, eyes unfocused, his lips tightly drawn.
    â€œHe’s already killed Komisarenko,” he whispered, more to himself than the Horse. “Komisarenko was my friend. And General Azov. Both of them dead.” He paused to swallow, forcing the bile down his throat. “Now you’ve got to get me out. Please, I’ve done my part!”
    The sound of approaching rotors beat through the air, steadily growing. The Ukrainian grabbed the paper and held it up to his face, looking for the signature at the bottom of the page. The dull whoop of the blades cut ever closer. In seconds, the helicopter would be overhead. After studying the paper, the Ukrainian broke into a quick smile. Then without hesitation, he lifted his gun and shot the Russian square in the head.
    The small chopper appeared over the trees, already stabilized in a twenty-foot hover. A harness and rope dropped from the left side of the chopper. The Horse broke from the bush in a run. Grabbing the harness, he slipped it over his shoulders and cinched it around his chest even as the helicopter climbed into the air.
    KIEV, UKRAINE
    Yevgeni Oskol Golubev, the Ukrainian Prime Minister, sat back in his chair and pushed his fingers through his thick, bristled hair. Andrei Liski, the Director of Ukrainian Border Security, dropped the analysis on the desk and stared the Prime Minister straight in the eye. A bony man with limp shoulders, thin neck, and delicate fingers, it was hard to imagine the cold and cunning heart that beat in his chest.
    Leaning toward the hapless Golubev, Liski lowered his voice and got right to the point.
    â€œMr. Prime Minister, it is just as I said. He has already made great preparations. Last night’s document only proves what I have already told you. Now, clearly we have to do something. If we sit on this information and pretend the threat doesn’t exist, then, when the time comes and we are caught unprepared, we both will then deserve to die.”

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BOOK ONE

The central question is no longer how to avoid a nuclear exchange, but rather, how to predict one. It