Wall of Night Read Free Page B

so toxic it could kill a theaterful of people. He idly wondered what they (whoever “they” were) wanted it for, but quickly pushed the question from his mind. Not his business.
    His client appeared on the patio and walked to Dhar’s table. “Welcome,” Dhar said with a smile. “Sit down. Can I order you some tea, something stronger, perhaps?”
    â€œNo. Do you have an answer for me?”
    Dhar nodded. “What you want will cost a lot of money, but it is obtainable.”
    â€œHow much?”
    â€œSeven hundred thousand, U.S.”
    â€œThat’s outrageous!”
    â€œA bargain, I promise you. The product we’re talking about is well guarded. We’re talking about Russia, you realize. There are bribes, special transport requirements. … ”
    The client hesitated for a moment. “Yes, I can see that. But you can get it? You’re certain.”
    â€œIf I weren’t, I wouldn’t have brought you here. In my line of work, customer satisfaction is a matter of survival. So, what is your answer?”
    â€œGo ahead. We will pay you.”
    Dhar slid a piece of paper across the table. “My bank and account number. Once you have deposited half my fee, I will start. I will call you in sixty days with an update. Only one thing remains. Where do you wish to take delivery?”
    The man’s answer was immediate. “Russia, the port of Nakhodka-Vostochny.”
    Dhar nodded. “Very well. I’ll begin.”
    The man stood up and walked away.
    Curious choice, Nakhodka, Dhar thought. So much easier to take it out via truck or plane. Why choose a harbor ?

1
    Washington, D.C.
    Tonight was to be Jerome Morris’s first solo duty shiftin Rock Creek Park, and before it was over he would find himself questioning his decision to trade his post at Shenandoah National Forest for the urban sprawl of the capital’s largest park.
    A backwoods boy and third-generation cop from rural Georgia, Morris found the best of both worlds with the USPP: Not only did you get to catch bad guys, but you got to do it in some of the most beautiful places in the country.
    Tonight, Morris was part of a two-officer team patrolling the West D-3 Station, which included the 1800 acres of Rock Creek, plus Meridian Hill, Fort Totten, and portions of the C&O Canal.
    Morris’s radio cracked to life. “Station to Three-One.”
    Morris keyed the handset. “Three-One.”
    â€œHead on over to Pierce Mill, will ya? Got a report of a car in the parking lot.”
    Probably kids making out, Morris thought. There were plenty of entrances and exits to the park and amorous teenagers rarely paid attention to signs. He’d give them a lecture and send them packing. “On my way.”
    It took him ten minutes to get there; the Suburban handled the park’s occasionally rough roads well enough, but Morris was still unfamiliar with much of the terrain, so he took it slow. An accident on his first night wouldn’t do much to impress his supervisor.
    He swung into the mill’s parking lot and his headlights immediately picked out a red Lumina sitting beside the waterwheel. Morris stopped, turned on his spotlight, and shined it on the car, expecting to see a pair of heads pop up from the backseat. Nothing happened.
    Morris honked his horn. Still nothing.
    â€œThree-One to Station, I’m ten-ninety-seven at the mill. I’m getting out to check.”
    â€œRoger.”
    Morris climbed out, clicked on his flashlight and undipped his holster strap. He didn’t like walking up on cars at night. No cop did. Too many things could go wrong—too easy to get ambushed.
    Walking along the car’s rear panel, he shined his beam over the interior. Nothing in the backseat … There was a figure in the driver’s seat, though: a male, with his head resting on the headrest. He extended his flashlight away from himself to misdirect a gunshot should it come,