Read A Devil Is Waiting for Free Online Page A

the hole in his shirt and the wound itself. She compressed her headcloth and held it firmly in place. As he opened his eyes, she reached for his hand.
     
    His eyes flickered open, and she said, “Can you hear me?” He nodded dimly. “Press hard until help comes.”
     
    She scrambled up behind the machine gun, gripped the handles, and started to fire in short bursts at the advancing figures. The gun faltered, the magazine box empty. There weren’t as many out there now, but they were still coming. Very slowly, and in great pain, she took off the empty cartridge box and replaced it with the spare. There was blood in her eye, and she was more tired than she had ever been in her life.
     
    She stood there, somehow indomitable in the light of the fires, with her red hair, and the blood on her face, and glanced down at Frank.
     
    “Are you still with me?” He nodded slightly. “Good man.”
     
    She reached for the machine gun again and was hit somewhere in the right leg so that she had to grab the handles to keep from falling over. There was no particular pain, which was common with gunshot wounds—the pain would come later. She heaved herself up.
     
    A final group of Taliban was moving forward, and shestarted firing again, methodically sweeping away a whole line of them. Suddenly, they were all gone, fading into the darkness. She stood there, her leg starting to hurt.
     
    There was a sound of helicopters approaching fast, the crackle of flames, the smell of battle, the cries of soldiers calling to one another as they came down the line of trucks. She was still gripping the handles of the machine gun, holding herself upright, but now she let go, wiped her bloody face with the back of her hand, and leaned down.
     
    “It’s over, Frank. Are you all right?”
     
    He looked up at her, still clutching her headcloth to his body. “My God, I wouldn’t like to get on the wrong side of you, ma’am,” he croaked.
     
    She reached down, grabbing his other hand, filled with profound relief, and then she became aware of the worst pain she had ever experienced in her life, cried out, and, at that instant, found herself back in her seat on the plane to New York.
     

 

THREE
     
    T he flight attendant was leaning over her anxiously. “Are you okay? You called out.”
    “Fine, just fine. A bad dream. I’ve been under a lot of stress lately. I think I’ll go to the restroom and freshen up.”
     
    She moved along the aisle, limping slightly, a permanent fixture now, although it didn’t bother her unless she got overtired. She stood at the mirror, ran a comb through her hair, touched up what little makeup she wore, and smiled at herself.
     
    “No sad songs, Sara Gideon,” she said. “We’ll go now and have a delicious martini, then think about tonight’s reception at the Pierre.”
     
    A t Kennedy, her diplomatic status passed her straight through, and she was at the Plaza just after five o’clock. The duty manager escorted her personally to her suite.
    “Would you have any news on General Ferguson’s time of arrival?” she inquired.
     
    “Eight o’clock, but I believe that’s open, ma’am.”
     
    “And his two associates, Mr. Dillon and Mr. Holley?”
     
    “They booked into the hotel yesterday, but I think they’re out. I could check.”
     
    “No, leave it. I think I’ll rest. Would you be kind enough to see that no calls are put through, unless it’s the general?”
     
    “I’ll see to it, ma’am. Your suitcase was delivered this morning. You’ll find it in the bedroom. If you need any assistance, the housekeeper will be happy to oblige.”
     
    He withdrew, and she didn’t bother to unpack. Instead of lying down, though, she put her laptop on the desk in the sitting room and sat there going over all the material sent to her by Major Giles Roper, whose burned and ravaged face had become as familiar to her as her own, this man who had once been one of the greatest bomb-disposal experts in