The Undead World (Book 1): The Apocalypse Read Free Page B

but out dated as only foreigners seemed to wear them. He and Ram locked eyes and the DEA agent knew this was his man. Unfortunately the man realized this as well, and without hesitation, he broke for the door in his stockinged feet.
    Ram was right behind him, at first, however the man was fleet of foot, while Ram , though tall was more of a bulldog in form and in style. Still he ran as hard as he could with his shoeless feet slapping on the pavement as he yanked out his two-way.
    “ Suspect running north…on ninth…in pursuit,” he yelled this between gasping breaths. And then the middle-easterner sprinted up the first street he came to and this was lucky because down it the van roared and out jumped two of the DEA agents.
    The man turned first one way, and then the other but by then it was too late. “One move, dip-shit and I'll drop you,” Ram threatened as he came up with his gun drawn and the trigger half pulled.
    “ You have got the wrong man,” the middle easterner said in a thick accent. There was fear in his face, but anger as well.
    The senior agent frisked him from behind and pulled a gun out of his jacket pocket. “My ass we do,” Fillmore said, holding it up. In a second Shelton cuffed the man and hustled him into the back of the van.
    “ I'm glad that we won't have to worry about a translator,” Fillmore said, with an evil glint to his eye as the van took off in a screech of tires. “Or about rendition either. There'll be no playing around this time. No lawyers, no judges, none of that crap. You understand what I'm saying?”
    “ Like I said you've got the wrong man. Check my pocket! I'm Iranian not a Saudi!”
    “ Oh, you're Iranian? Well Mr. Iranian, do you care to explain what you're doing here in the states?” Fillmore asked, searching the man's pockets and finding a number of photographs. “Meeting some friends? Who are they?”
    He held the pictures up to the Iranian 's face and Ram caught sight of them—two looked very familiar. Way too familiar. Ram dug out the four photographs that he was carrying and stared with a growing realization.
    “ My name is Sayyid Nosair and I'm doing the same as you,” the Iranian answered. “Trying to stop the world from ending. We're after the same people and you just ruined any chance that I could've had to stop them!”
    “ He may not be lying,” Ram said, holding up the matching pictures side by side. His insides felt greasy.
    Back at the mosque a man slipped from the prayer line and hurried outside to intercept another two men before they could come in. With quick steps they walked to a late model BMW and drove away, losing themselves in the night.
     

Chapter 5
Neil
Montclair, New Jersey
     
    The train into Manhattan was right on time—according to Neil Martin's watch, and his watch was an Omega; a point of pride. He slid his newspaper into the briefcase he always carried and then commenced to bob up and down on his toes as the train slid by, going ever slower. The door, his door as he thought it, stopped precisely in front of him.
    Neil was always precise; another point of pride.
    He stood exactly three feet back from the door. It was plenty of room for anyone departing to walk around him, either left or right, and just close enough so that another passenger looking to board would have to wait behind him.
    Unless they were rude, that is. The doors opened and with no one exiting, Neil started forward, only to be jostled aside by a rather average man pushing past him.
    “ Excuse me!” Neil said in anger.
    With a snide look to his blonde features, the man turned on the top step of the train and stared down. “Yeah? You got something to say?” he asked. His Jersey was thick and menacing on his tongue.
    “ I was just here first,” Neil said in a softer tone. The man might have been average in size, however Neil wasn't. Even with the inch tall heels on his loafers, they barely boosted him to five-foot-five. And no amount of eating seemed to ever