Killing Time td-50 Read online

Page 11


  "Beautiful People," Burdich sang in a thin, shaky voice to the tune of "Beautiful Dreamer." "Wake unto me. . . ."

  Had to stay awake. He was in the middle of nowhere and (something) sat crouched and waiting. But it

  128

  wouldn't touch him. He was the Beautiful Dreamer. Weave a circle 'round him thrice, and touch his eyes . . .

  His eyes were sealing shut. The icicle eyelashes, the swollen frostbite on his eyelids, the terrible, aching desire for sleep made him close them, and it didn't matter, he was still on his feet, he would just rest his eyes (touch his eyes with holy dread) for a moment and keep on walking, the important thing was to keep on walking, go ahead, you're not going to meet any­body along this road, Beautiful Dreamer.

  "For he on honeydew has fed," Burdich shouted into the night, his voice a rasp that the wind caught and smashed almost before the words were out of his mouth. Keep walking. You're not going to meet any­body.

  But he did.

  With an effort, he opened his frozen eyes and saw that he had wandered into a cluster of trees on the edge of a deep pine forest. Where was the road? He was hip-deep in snow, leaning against the trunk of a sturdy blue spruce. And there he saw him, Him, in the same cluster of trees. Crouching. Waiting.

  "You've been looking for me all along, haven't you?" Burdich said in a low whisper that hurt his lungs.

  He sat down in the snow. It felt so good. Eyes so tired (touch his eyes with holy dread). And as Death wove its circle around him, Burdich smiled, his lips barely moving as he repeated the last lines of the poem. "For he on honeydew has fed ..." It was going to be all right now. Death wouldn't stay long here. St had another appointment, up the road, with a houseful of people who expected him.

  "And drunk the milk of Paradise," he whispered.

  129

  He didn't have the strength to close his eyes, so the snow swirled in and filled in the open slots and blan­keted him in brilliant white. And then Death went on up the road.

  Chapter Twelve

  In Washington, D.C., some 280 miles due southeast of the cluster of pines where Seymour Burdich's corpse lay blanketed with snow, Secretary of the Army Clive R. Dobbins sat in the back seat of his dark blue Lincoln Mark V, surreptitiously peering at his wrist-watch as his wife prattled on with a thousand com­plaints.

  "Really, Clive, I can't see why we had to leave so early. It was a simply fabulous party. Nancy even gave me her recipe for that scrumptious Charlotte Russe she makes. And Henry was in marvelous spirits."

  "The snow," Dobbins said lamely. Washington hadn't been hit very hard by the snowstorm that was sweeping the country, but the weather made a better story than the truth.

  "What?" Mrs. Dobbins registered a surprise greater than any she could have felt, but exaggeration was part of her personality, so Dobbins let her go on. "There aren't two inches of snow on the ground, dear. And Forsythe is an utterly splendid driver. Aren't you, Forsythe?"

  "Yes, ma'am," the driver agreed from the front seat.

  131

  132

  "I've got to make a meeting," Dobbins muttered. Which was true. The meeting was with a twenty-four-year-old public relations girl with the State Depart­ment. Rhonda had the brains of a duck, but a rack on her that could halt an ICBM coming out of its silo.

  Dobbins had told her he'd meet her at one A.M. on the nose, and he was twenty minutes late already. It would take another half-hour or so to get from George­town to Rhonda's section of Sixteenth Avenue. She was never much good if he dropped by while she was sleeping. The girl slept like a rock. Fooling around with Rhonda after waking her up was like diddling a mummy.

  "Step on it, Forsythe," he said.

  Out of the rear window he could see the headlights of the green Ford belonging to the Secret Service. They followed him everywhere like shadows. Dobbins had objected to their presence ever since the boys had first started to trail him around, but the order was from the president himself, and you didn't buck orders like that.

  So he had put up with their bothersome lurking and checking, even though it made him feel like a pansy. He'd commanded men in three wars, damn it, and now a bunch of civies who looked like college frat men were fluttering around him like butterflies in order to "protect" him.

  Protect! Hah! He'd like to see the son of a bitch who popped off Watson and Ives. He'd like to see the whites of that pud-puller's eyes as he tried to attack him, a retired four-star general of the United States Army, because if he did attack him, Dobbins's clenched fist going smack into that yellow-bellied turd-eater's nose would be the last sight the so-called as­sassin was ever going to see.

  133

  The big car rambled into Georgetown, passing by the elegant houses with their covered pools and their steaming greenhouses. Behind it, the green Ford fol­lowed doggedly.

  "Punks," Dobbins muttered.

  "What, dear?" Mrs. Dobbins said, her false eye­lashes batting so fast she looked about to lift off. "Now you know how I feel about your getting overexcited, Clive. You know, I've always held that you play much too much golf."

  "I don't golf in the winter, Hilda."

  "Don't you?" Again the look of unbridled amaze­ment. "Well, work then. You spend altogether too much of your time working. All these meetings." She clucked disapprovingly.

  "I'm the Secretary of the Army," Dobbins said mildiy.

  "But it's past midnight. Surely the Russians wouldn't be so uncivilized as to attack us before breakfast."

  Dobbins sighed and tuned out the rest of Hilda's monologue. At least Rhonda limited her talking to smut. He liked that in a woman. No wasted words. Hilda was still jabbering when the Lincoln pulled up in front of the three-story Tudor with "Dobbins" printed over the bell. She hardly seemed to notice when Dob­bins led her out of the car and into the house; the ver­bal river that flowed from her lips never ceased. She was still talking when he closed the door behind her and headed back out to the car.

  "Get out, Forsythe," he snapped.

  "Sir?"

  "Quick, before the Secret Service boys get here." They were undoubtedly nearby, cooling their well-bred heels inconspicuously somewhere near the en-

  134

  trance to Dobbins's driveway, butit was worth a shot. "Give me your hat."

  The driver, clearly put out, climbed reluctantly out of the car. "Sir, I was given instructions-"

  "Damn it, I'm your employer, and I give the instruc­tions around here!"

  "Yes, sir." He handed Dobbins the navy blue chauffeur's cap he wore. Dobbins grunted in acknowl­edgment and squeezed in behind the wheel. "You go home now, hear?"

  "Yes, sir," Forsythe said dejectedly.

  Dobbins pulled out of the driveway slowly, then laid rubber heading for 34th Avenue. Headlights were be­hind him. Oh, the boys are on their toes tonight, he thought. But not for long. He jumped one red light, gassed the car hard, and sped up Wisconsin Avenue. The lights were still tailing him.

  "Here we go, kids. Earn your pay," he said out loud, grinning as he pushed the Lincoln as fast as it would go up onto the ramp leading to Connecticut Avenue and along the Potomac.

  No peach-fuzzed protectors were going to hang around spying on Clive R. Dobbins, he thought trium­phantly as he gunned along the snow-slicked highway toward Bethesda. His personal life was his own, and if he was going to bang Rhonda behind his wife's back, nobody was getting in on that action except for him and for Rhonda, if she was awake, and the souls on Judgment Day. Certainly no flab-headed civilians in a Ford.

  The river sped by alongside, the cold moonlight glinting off the water and bringing up the dull-white shapes of the ice floes that regularly dammed up the river at this time of year. There was some traffic, not much. What there was, was inching along at a snail's

  135

  pace, while Dobbins sped past them like a black bul­let. He was ahead of all of them.

  He checked his rear-view. Not all of them. There was one pair of headlights behind him, going at his pace, no
slower, no faster.

  Dobbins cursed under his breath. Those Fords had to be built with Maserati engines in them. Well, it was going to take more than a hot engine and a car full of youngsters just barely off the tit to catch him.

  "Try and follow this, you suckers!" he shouted as he spun into the inside lane. With one momentous burst of power, he jumped the median strip and headed full speed in the other direction.

  "A trick, boys," he roared, coughing with laughter. They must have been asses to think he was going to Bethesda in the first place, Dobbins thought. Who screws in Bethesda, anyway?

  Out of his rear-view he watched the green Ford skid and spin out into an uncontrollable donut across four lanes of traffic. It hit two vehicles superficially while siting toward the far side of Connecticut Avenue. Several cars braked behind it, sending them into her­ringbone patterns along the roadway. The green Ford crashed into a guardrail and at last lay still.

  Dobbins hooted with delight. It was clear sailing now. He put the car on cruise control at 60 and glided down Connecticut Avenue back toward the city. His thoughts filled with Rhonda. Rhonda, in a transparent pink negligee, with maybe the black garter belt he'd given her for Valentine's Day underneath. Rhonda of the deliciously foul mouth who knew just how to bring his wildest fantasies to life. Rhonda... if Rhonda was awake. Otherwise, he might as well be at home with Hilda. He cut the cruise control and gunned the pedal.

  Back in the city, he made his way toward the north-

  136

  east section of town. Traffic was light and he made good time. He didn't notice until he'd reached Six­teenth Avenue that the same headlights had been be­hind him since the crackup on the highway.

  Damn it, if it wasn't the Secret Service boys, it was the turd-eating reporters. Although no official word about the assassinations of the secretaries of the Air Force and the Navy had been given, the press boys had noticed the added security around Dobbins and took every opportunity to grili him about it. Ever since the advent of the Secret Service guards, he'd denied all press interviews and eschewed them with a hurried "No comment" when they ran up to him on the street.

  Oh, that's all I need, Dobbins thought as he checked the rear-view again. It certainly looked like a tail. The crud-mongers. He could just see the head­lines now: "ARMY HEAD ELUDES SECURITY TO RENDEZVOUS WITH WASHINGTON MISTRESS." And there would be a picture next to it of Rhonda in her flamingo-pink negligee with the black garter belt underneath. Read all about it in the Pentagon Report. Details in Clive R. Dobbins's dishonorable discharge papers.

  "Get off my ass, you wang-wavers!" he shouted as he turned into a narrow sidestreet. He slowed down at the entrance to an alley. If it wasn't a tail, the car that had been driving behind him for the past twenty min­utes would pass by harmlessly.

  But it didn't. It turned into the same side street with a deliberation that sent a sudden involuntary chill down Dobbins's spine. He entered the alleyway, roll­ing slowly to avoid the stacks of piled-up garbage on either side. Then he turned onto another side street. And after that, another alley.

  137

  The car was still behind him.

  Rhonda's plush apartment building was less than two blocks away. If he was going to get his portrait snapped, it sure as hell wasn't going to be in front of that building. He ground the Lincoln to a halt.

  Fine. Snap away, boys. Think you're so damned smart. The only picture you're getting of me is going to be right here in this alley, while I give you the news that my lawyer's going to slap a harassment suit against your muckraking paper.

  Stick that in your turd-eating notepads.

  He got out slowly and walked toward the car behind him with kingly grandeur. They were going to see who's boss around here, by God. The car was a non­descript Chevy, as battered and dented as every other car in Washington. Something was poking out of the driver's window. In the darkness of the alley, Dobbins guessed it was the ubiquitous press credentials, which reporters seemed to think gave them access to every skeleton-filled closet in America. Well, he'd show them where they could stow their toe-sucking press cards.

  Only it wasn't a press card. And the boys inside weren't jumping out like hyenas with their questions and their flashbulbs. Dobbins frowned as he moved closer, hearing nothing but the gritty sound of his own footfalls on the dirt and snow-covered brick of the alleyway. They certainly didn't act like any Washing­ton reporters he ever saw.

  Rookies, probably. Independents. Trying to get their first big public expose, and not knowing a don­key's fart about how to get it. Well, here's your scoop, boys. And the subpoena will come in the morning to verify it. He pulled himself up to full height. He jutted

  138

  an accusing finger at the car to throw a little scare into them. He put on his most authoritative general's voice. "What the hell are-"

  The words choked off as the dark object poking through the driver's window lengthened and another, just like it, elongated sleekly out the rear window. And then he knew what they were as the men in the car- what were they wearing?-raised them to their shoul­ders and sighted through them and then the things bellowed bright fireworks in a deafening crash that sent brick flying off the walls behind Dobbins, and the general gasped once in red bubbles of blood, and his feet splayed out beneath him and the car was gone.

  As he lay in the alleyway, riddled with what would later be determined as more than 100 wounds deliv­ered from a Chinese copy of a Soviet AK-47 subma­chine gun at point-blank range, Clive R. Dobbins's last thought was that the Secret Service boys could never have stopped the men in that car. The president him­self couldn't have stopped them, just as the president wouldn't be able to stop them the next time.

  And the next time was going to be worse. Much worse.

  Chapter Thirteen

  DESTINATION 2ADNIA.

  The Folcroft computers spewed out another piece to the puzzle of Felix Foxx. Dawn was peeking in through the Venetian blinds of Smith's office, and the light stung his eyes. He'd stayed awake in his office for two nights now, trying to sort out the tangled mess the computers had brought to him.

  it was all there, he knew. Somewhere. During the past 48 hours the Folcroft Four had given him a million pieces of information. In Smith's weary brain, he be­gan to see the trusted computers as four diabolically wise beings from some unearthly plane, who gave him ail the parts to a machine and then said with a wink, "Okay, Smitty. Now you make it run."

  But he hadn't been able to make it run. A hundred times over Smith had written down the salient points of the case. The overflowing wastebasket full of scraps of paper were testimony to his efforts. But nothing had jelled. The parts of the machine were as disparate as oranges and apples. With a sigh, he drew out another sheet of notepaper and began again.

  First, there were the murders of the Secretary of the Air Force, Homer Watson, and the Secretary of the

  139

  140

  Navy, Thornton Ives, both killed in strange ways that reflected combat conditions. Every branch of the mili­tary had launched full-scale investigations on their own, without turning up so much as the smell of a lead. CURE'S own man, Remo, had come up almost as empty-handed. The only thing Remo had locked onto was some middle-aged diet doctor named Foxx who, for some unknown reason, the computers had decreed to be a ninety-four-year-old man named Vaux who was last heard from some fifty years before in connection with a scandal involving the youth-re­storing properties of a drug called procaine.

  "2," Smith wrote neatly. Point Two was that Foxx/ Vaux had last been seen in the company of a woman who was found-murdered, her body drained of what might have been an unusually high level of procaine. The New York police were after Foxx on that one, but they were looking in the wrong places. Foxx was at a so-called aging clinic in Pennsylvania called Shangri-la with Remo, and Smith wasn't about to turn the information over to standard law enforcement agencies until Remo had found what he had gone after.

  Shangri-la was Point Three. Appare
ntly this was no ordinary massage-and-mud-bath resort. Remo had re­ported guests to the clinic, who were in their seven­ties, even though they looked barely old enough to buy a drink. The procaine connection. Large amounts of the drug might keep them young. At least that was the theory advanced by Vaux in the thirties before he disappeared off the face of the earth. That would ex­plain Foxx/Vaux's advanced age, but little more. So far, there was nothing to connect the strange goings on with the two military murders.

  Secret Service guards had been posted around

  141

  Clive R. Dobbins, the secretary of the Army, since he was the next logical choice for an assassination team bent on eliminating the country's military leaders, but if the hit team got through the Secret Service to Dob­bins, who would be next? The Folcroft Four had an­swered with chilling efficiency, flashing the names of the next three possible victims: the secretary of De­fense, the Secretary of State, and the president of the United States.

  Time was running out. It was still eminently possible that Felix Foxx, for all the interesting revelations about him, had nothing to do with any murders except for that of the gir! in New York City, and even that lead was circumstantial at best. Remo might have been on the wrong track all along. In the interests of time, Smith was on the verge of pulling Remo out of Shang­ri-la and having him start over.

  And then, at 4:51 A.M., Smith wheedled Point Four out of the computers. Point Four was DESTINATION ZADNIA, and the words were printed on the console screen four times. Foxx, under the name of Felix Vaux, had traveled to Zadnia three times during the past year, and purchased an open ticket to the same place two months before.

  That was the stickler. Why would a nationally cele­brated diet doctor want to make four unpublicized vis­its to an unstable country in the north of Africa? Zad­nia had nothing-no technology, no arable land, not even enough overweight people to fill one of Foxx's lectures. All Zadnia possessed was a power-mad dic­tator named Ruomid Halaffa who would buy arms and secrets from any source at any time in order to fuel, in­discriminately, the terrorist forces of the world. That and just enough oil to buy Halaffa's weapons from the lowest bidder.

 

    Acid Rock Read onlineAcid RockKill or Cure Read onlineKill or CureDeath Therapy Read onlineDeath TherapyChinese Puzzle Read onlineChinese PuzzleMafia Fix Read onlineMafia FixMurder Ward Read onlineMurder WardBrain Drain Read onlineBrain DrainSweet Dreams Read onlineSweet DreamsKing's Curse Read onlineKing's CurseSlave Safari Read onlineSlave SafariOil Slick Read onlineOil SlickUnion Bust Read onlineUnion BustDeadly Seeds Read onlineDeadly SeedsHoly Terror Read onlineHoly TerrorMurder's Shield Read onlineMurder's ShieldSummit Chase Read onlineSummit ChaseThe End of the Game td-60 Read onlineThe End of the Game td-60Death Check Read onlineDeath CheckDeadly Seeds td-21 Read onlineDeadly Seeds td-21Union Bust td-7 Read onlineUnion Bust td-7Shock Value td-51 Read onlineShock Value td-51Ghost in the Machine td-90 Read onlineGhost in the Machine td-90Date with Death td-57 Read onlineDate with Death td-57Fool's Flight (Digger) Read onlineFool's Flight (Digger)Infernal Revenue td-96 Read onlineInfernal Revenue td-96Brain Storm Read onlineBrain StormCoin of the Realm td-77 Read onlineCoin of the Realm td-77The Empire Dreams td-113 Read onlineThe Empire Dreams td-113Walking Wounded td-74 Read onlineWalking Wounded td-74Blood Lust td-85 Read onlineBlood Lust td-85Fool's Gold Read onlineFool's GoldMarket Force td-127 Read onlineMarket Force td-127Lucifer's Weekend (Digger) Read onlineLucifer's Weekend (Digger)Firing Line td-41 Read onlineFiring Line td-41Blood Ties td-69 Read onlineBlood Ties td-69Time Trial td-53 Read onlineTime Trial td-53Next Of Kin td-46 Read onlineNext Of Kin td-46When Elephants Forget (Trace 3) Read onlineWhen Elephants Forget (Trace 3)Feeding Frenzy td-94 Read onlineFeeding Frenzy td-94Holy Terror td-19 Read onlineHoly Terror td-19Power Play td-36 Read onlinePower Play td-36The Wrong Stuff td-125 Read onlineThe Wrong Stuff td-125Spoils Of War td-45 Read onlineSpoils Of War td-45Timber Line td-42 Read onlineTimber Line td-42Lost Yesterday td-65 Read onlineLost Yesterday td-65By Eminent Domain td-124 Read onlineBy Eminent Domain td-124The Ultimate Death td-88 Read onlineThe Ultimate Death td-88A Pound of Prevention td-121 Read onlineA Pound of Prevention td-121Dead Letter (Digger) Read onlineDead Letter (Digger)Terror Squad Read onlineTerror SquadBottom Line td-37 Read onlineBottom Line td-37Created, the Destroyer td-1 Read onlineCreated, the Destroyer td-1Ground Zero td-84 Read onlineGround Zero td-84Murder's Shield td-9 Read onlineMurder's Shield td-9Encounter Group td-56 Read onlineEncounter Group td-56The Last Alchemist td-64 Read onlineThe Last Alchemist td-64Shooting Schedule td-79 Read onlineShooting Schedule td-79Troubled Waters td-133 Read onlineTroubled Waters td-133Voodoo Die td-33 Read onlineVoodoo Die td-33Killing Time td-50 Read onlineKilling Time td-50Kill Or Cure td-11 Read onlineKill Or Cure td-11Profit Motive td-48 Read onlineProfit Motive td-48Fade to Black td-119 Read onlineFade to Black td-119Disloyal Opposition td-123 Read onlineDisloyal Opposition td-123Oil Slick td-16 Read onlineOil Slick td-16Look Into My Eyes td-67 Read onlineLook Into My Eyes td-67Last Call td-35 Read onlineLast Call td-35High Priestess td-95 Read onlineHigh Priestess td-95Death Sentence td-80 Read onlineDeath Sentence td-80Brain Drain td-22 Read onlineBrain Drain td-22Child's Play td-23 Read onlineChild's Play td-23An Old Fashioned War td-68 Read onlineAn Old Fashioned War td-68Wolf's Bane td-132 Read onlineWolf's Bane td-132Smoked Out (Digger) Read onlineSmoked Out (Digger)Acid Rock td-13 Read onlineAcid Rock td-13Ship Of Death td-28 Read onlineShip Of Death td-28Mugger Blood td-30 Read onlineMugger Blood td-30Sue Me td-66 Read onlineSue Me td-66Rain of Terror td-75 Read onlineRain of Terror td-75Cold Warrior td-91 Read onlineCold Warrior td-91Syndication Rites td-122 Read onlineSyndication Rites td-122Mob Psychology td-87 Read onlineMob Psychology td-87Bloody Tourists td-134 Read onlineBloody Tourists td-134Death Therapy td-6 Read onlineDeath Therapy td-6Mafia Fix td-4 Read onlineMafia Fix td-4Hostile Takeover td-81 Read onlineHostile Takeover td-81Killer Chromosomes td-32 Read onlineKiller Chromosomes td-32King's Curse td-24 Read onlineKing's Curse td-24Last Rites td-100 Read onlineLast Rites td-100Bidding War td-101 Read onlineBidding War td-101Angry White Mailmen td-104 Read onlineAngry White Mailmen td-104The Head Men td-31 Read onlineThe Head Men td-31Political Pressure td-135 Read onlinePolitical Pressure td-135Once a Mutt (Trace 5) Read onlineOnce a Mutt (Trace 5)In Enemy Hands td-26 Read onlineIn Enemy Hands td-26Remo The Adventure Begins Read onlineRemo The Adventure BeginsLast War Dance td-17 Read onlineLast War Dance td-17Misfortune Teller td-115 Read onlineMisfortune Teller td-115Skin Deep td-49 Read onlineSkin Deep td-49Unite and Conquer td-102 Read onlineUnite and Conquer td-102Murder Ward td-15 Read onlineMurder Ward td-15Dangerous Games td-40 Read onlineDangerous Games td-40Created, the Destroyer Read onlineCreated, the DestroyerThe Final Crusade td-76 Read onlineThe Final Crusade td-76Summit Chase td-8 Read onlineSummit Chase td-8The Final Reel td-116 Read onlineThe Final Reel td-116Dying Space td-47 Read onlineDying Space td-47Assassins Play Off td-20 Read onlineAssassins Play Off td-20Pigs Get Fat (Trace 4) Read onlinePigs Get Fat (Trace 4)And 47 Miles of Rope (Trace 2) Read onlineAnd 47 Miles of Rope (Trace 2)Bloodline: A Novel Read onlineBloodline: A NovelUnnatural Selection td-131 Read onlineUnnatural Selection td-131Judgment Day td-14 Read onlineJudgment Day td-14Line of Succession td-73 Read onlineLine of Succession td-73Midnight Man td-43 Read onlineMidnight Man td-43The Last Dragon td-92 Read onlineThe Last Dragon td-92Total Recall td-58 Read onlineTotal Recall td-58Balance Of Power td-44 Read onlineBalance Of Power td-44Sole Survivor td-72 Read onlineSole Survivor td-72The Sky is Falling td-63 Read onlineThe Sky is Falling td-63Survival Course td-82 Read onlineSurvival Course td-82Death Check td-2 Read onlineDeath Check td-2The Seventh Stone td-62 Read onlineThe Seventh Stone td-62Deadly Genes td-117 Read onlineDeadly Genes td-117American Obsession td-109 Read onlineAmerican Obsession td-109Slave Safari td-12 Read onlineSlave Safari td-12Bay City Blast td-38 Read onlineBay City Blast td-38Sweet Dreams td-25 Read onlineSweet Dreams td-25Feast or Famine td-107 Read onlineFeast or Famine td-107Chinese Puzzle td-3 Read onlineChinese Puzzle td-3Chained Reaction td-34 Read onlineChained Reaction td-34The Final Death td-29 Read onlineThe Final Death td-29Brain Storm td-112 Read onlineBrain Storm td-112Getting Up With Fleas (Trace 7) Read onlineGetting Up With Fleas (Trace 7)Father to Son td-129 Read onlineFather to Son td-129Dr Quake td-5 Read onlineDr Quake td-5Lords of the Earth td-61 Read onlineLords of the Earth td-61Trace (Trace 1) Read onlineTrace (Trace 1)The Color of Fear td-99 Read onlineThe Color of Fear td-99The Last Monarch td-120 Read onlineThe Last Monarch td-120The Eleventh Hour td-70 Read onlineThe Eleventh Hour td-70Engines of Destruction td-103 Read onlineEngines of Destruction td-103The Arms of Kali td-59 Read onlineThe Arms of Kali td-59Killer Watts td-118 Read onlineKiller Watts td-118Terror Squad td-10 Read onlineTerror Squad td-10Target of Opportunity td-98 Read onlineTarget of Opportunity td-98Arabian Nightmare td-86 Read onlineArabian Nightmare td-86Waste Not, Want Not td-130 Read onlineWaste Not, Want Not td-130White Water td-106 Read onlineWhite Water td-106Dark Horse td-89 Read onlineDark Horse td-89Return Engagement td-71 Read onlineReturn Engagement td-71Last Drop td-54 Read onlineLast Drop td-54Prophet Of Doom td-111 Read onlineProphet Of Doom td-111Blue Smoke and Mirrors td-78 Read onlineBlue Smoke and Mirrors td-78Air Raid td-126 Read onlineAir Raid td-126Failing Marks td-114 Read onlineFailing Marks td-114Bamboo Dragon td-108 Read onlineBamboo Dragon td-108Terminal Transmission td-93 Read onlineTerminal Transmission td-93The Last Temple td-27 Read onlineThe Last Temple td-27Identity Crisis td-97 Read onlineIdentity Crisis td-97Funny Money td-18 Read onlineFunny Money td-18Master's Challenge td-55 Read onlineMaster's Challenge td-55