Read Final Storm for Free Online Page B

Canal.
    During the time her father was building the deactivator and the United Americans were preparing to invade the canal, Hunter had volunteered to rescue Elizabeth from the same Canal Nazis who had kidnapped her with the intention of having her lead them to a vast fortune in hidden Mayan gold.
    But even though the whole affair eventually had a successful outcome—the Nazis were soundly beaten, the mines rendered inoperable and the canal saved—the adventure had left Hunter unsettled. He was the first to admit to himself that he had become enamored with the whole idea of his playing the hero, rescuing the fair maiden from the clutches of the dastardly Nazis. And during his search for her, he had become infatuated with her—sight unseen except for a grainy photo her father had provided. This romanticizing reached the point where Hunter actually fantasized—not entirely subconsciously—that when he rescued her, they might actually … well, walk off into the sunset together.
    But that storybook ending was a far cry from what actually happened.
    She didn’t melt into his arms when he first found her, despite the fact that he plucked her just in time from a band of extra-vicious Canal Nazi Skinheads. And the tearful reunion he imagined would take place when she saw her father again in actuality resulted in little more than her giving him a peck on the cheek before noisily demanding to be fed.
    And the fairy tale ending he had conjured up about them actually being bonded together in eternal bliss was deflated when she sent him a rather crude, pornographic photo of herself along with a cryptic message stating that he should “surprise” her sometime. Then she had disappeared.
    Until now …
    He put her into the car he had been using to tool around Washington—an all-white, souped-up 1983 Pontiac Firebird. Climbing in behind the steering wheel, he turned to her and said: “ What the hell are you doing? ”
    She laughed— that laugh—and lit a cigarette.
    “I’m just trying to earn a living,” she said, blowing a stream of smoke into his face.
    Hunter couldn’t remember feeling so befuddled.
    “Not a month ago you were on the verge of being killed by Nazis and I fly all over half of Central America to save you,” he said sternly. “And now you’re running around Washington dressed like a cheap hooker …”
    “That’s because I am a cheap hooker,” she replied. “You just bought me, remember? And for what? Two bags of silver?”
    “One bag,” he said, shaking his head.
    She laughed again—the laugh that was tinged with no small amount of madness. “All right!” she exclaimed. “So that’s what I’m worth. The cheaper the better.”
    With that she shifted in the car’s bucket seat, intentionally letting her skirt hike up around her upper thighs. For the quickest of moments, Hunter’s eyes zeroed in on the lovely form of her legs, wrapped as they were in alluring dark nylon stockings.
    “For Christ’s sake, you’re a scientist,” he said, frustration and anger rising equally in his voice. “You’re probably the foremost archaeologist left in this country. Probably in the entire world.”
    She crushed out her cigarette and immediately lit another one. “Is this your car?” she asked.
    Hunter was reaching his boiling point. He had barely settled down from the mind-blowing hypnotic tell-all testimony session. And now, in the one night he thought he could actually cool out, he runs into this.
    “Look, forget about the Goddamn car,” he said. “Just tell me what the hell is going on …”
    She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a bright crimson lip print.
    “You’re always so full of questions,” she said. “Let me ask one: after this, are we going to go somewhere and screw our brains out?”
    Hunter was so stunned by the question, he was speechless.
    “That’s what you bought me for, isn’t it?” she asked, moving her hand to his upper thigh.
    He took a deep breath and