Read Kill Zone: A Sniper Novel for Free Online

shots of whiskey did he call the busy al Jazeera newsroom in Doha, Qatar. It was two o’clock, plenty of time for the evening newscast, but he knew they would not hold the story until then. It was too important.
    When it was broadcast, the sedated General Middleton was finishing a smooth hop aboard a twin-engine Cessna 421 into Syria. A Land Rover hauled him on the last leg of his journey, and he slept for fourteen hours.

CHAPTER 7
    GOOD DAY, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN. I have to brief the President in a few minutes, so let us get right to it. What’s happening with this kidnapped general?” National Security Advisor Gerald Buchanan swept his gray eyes around the White House Situation Room at nine o’clock in the morning. Every chair was occupied and staff members hovered nearby. “CIA. You start.”
    John Mueller, the deputy director of operations for the Central Intelligence Agency, flipped open a folder branded with a diagonal Top Secret red stripe, hunched forward in his chair, and read the cover sheet that distilled the basics. “General Bradley Middleton of the Marine Corps was abducted just outside of Dhahran, Saudi Arabia, about 0300 hours this morning, Washington time. His two Marine bodyguards, his aide, and the Saudi security team were all either killed in the explosion of the roadside bomb or executed during a follow-up attack. Witnesses saw two men take the general away over a ridge beside the highway. Tire tracks led to a nearby paved road, where they could have gone either way. Al Jazeera was broadcasting the story only a few hours later. An anonymous caller to al Jazeera, after the broadcast, claimed credit in behalf of the Holy Scimitar of Allah. The Holy Scimitar, of course, is the name of the militia of the Rebel Sheikh in Iraq. The caller said the kidnappers would cut off the general’s head unless all U.S., British, and NATO troops and citizens leave the Arabian Peninsula.” The CIA man closed the folder and pushed it away. “The demand is obviously ridiculous, so we conclude there must be some other reason or reasons.” Mueller quit speaking and crossed his arms on the big table. He had learned to keep his mouth shut when he didn’t know anything.
    Buchanan glared at him and swore. “Holy Jesus Christ! I heard the same thing on CNN and Fox before I came in here. Does anyone have something that hasn’t been on live television? FBI? Talk to me.”
    “We have a team working with the Saudis on forensics. Nothing conclusive yet. It’s just too early.” The FBI director also knew not to go too far with Buchanan. Answer the question and shut the hell up.
    The National Security Advisor ran a palm across his neatly trimmed hair and sighed. Then he removed his rimless glasses and wiped them with a handkerchief. He wanted these people to stew for a while.
    “Anybody?” Buchanan snapped. “How about you, Homeland Security? NSA? DIA? Pentagon? State Department? Anything other than what al Jazeera has been showing to more than fifty million people in their part of the world? The domestic networks and cable over here are going to run it forever.”
    No one wanted to challenge him. Gerald Buchanan would end a career without a second thought if he detected weakness or a lack of political loyalty, and the fuse was burning on his infamous Irish temper. He unscrewed a fountain pen with a gold nib and scribbled a note to himself, closed the pen, and folded the piece of paper. Everyone wondered if their name was on it. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am not pleased. The President will not be pleased, and our countrymen will not be pleased that after spending billions of dollars to build a global intelligence apparatus, you have once again failed. I would strongly suggest that when we gather again later today, you have some facts for me. Is that clear?”
    “Excuse me, Mr. Buchanan. May I?” General Henry Turner, the four-star Marine general who was chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, was not afraid of