Read Spindrift for Free Online Page A

upon his cane, Ramirez had stood at the window for nearly a half hour now, and still he hadn’t spotted any security guards. All he had to do was open the window a little more, then slip his legs over the sill. No more than an eight-foot drop lay between him and the ground below; if he did it right, he might be able to land without breaking a leg. He had little more than the clothes on his back, and it wouldn’t be long before a police alert was put out for him, but nonetheless there was a small chance that he might be able to escape.
    Do it, man , he thought, staring at the half-open window. Now or never. Wait until the conference is over, and they’ll just pack you off to Dolland, and you’ll spend the rest of your life in that hellhole. Go. Get out of here…
    All of a sudden, there was a knock at the door.
    Startled, Ramirez looked around. He started to reach over to shut the window, then resigned himself to his fate. Cursing beneath his breath, he hobbled across the room to the door. No doubt the window was rigged with sensors. And this would be one of the SAS men, politely wondering if he was all right, if there was anything he might need…
    Instead, he found Shillinglaw waiting for him, hands clasped behind his back.
    â€œAh, Jared…good to see you’re still up and about.” Shillinglaw beamed at him, and Ramirez nodded. “Would you be so kind as to join us for a drink downstairs? We’d like to have a chat with you.”
    The library was on the ground floor, a spacious and comfortably furnished room whose oak-paneled walls were lined with shelves stuffed with books and academic journals. Mahogany sculptures of Zeus and Athena stood on either side of a marble hearth in which a holographic fire burned; concealed heaters warmed the men seated in leather armchairs in front of it.
    Sinclair was there, and so was Beck; they smiled as Shillinglaw escorted Ramirez into the room. The third man seated in front of the fireplace, though, he didn’t know; in his midthirties, he guessed, although he somehow seemed younger, with a trim build and an unlined face. He hadn’t been in attendance at the meetings that day, or otherwise Ramirez would’ve recognized him.
    â€œJared! Please, come in. Have a seat.” Beck waved him toward an empty chair. “Can we get you something? Wine, perhaps?” Ramirez had never been much of a drinker, but everyone else either had wine stems in their hands or had parked them on the coffee table between them. He nodded, and Beck made a silent gesture to the waiter hovering nearby. “I hope we haven’t disturbed you, but…”
    â€œQuite all right. I was just…meditating.” Whatever conversation the men had been having had ceased the moment he walked into the room. Unnerved by the sudden attention, Ramirez sat down in the offered seat. “I understand there’s something you wished to discuss with me?”
    â€œWell, yes, but…” Beck smiled. “Relax. You’ve had a long day. And that was quite a presentation you gave this morning. At the very least, it gave everyone much to think about.”
    Shillinglaw chuckled. With all the chairs taken, he leaned against a bookcase beside the hearth. Sinclair’s mouth briefly ticked upward, yet they continued to regard Ramirez as if he was a bug someone had neglected to crush. The young man, though, gazed at him with unabashed curiosity, like a university student coming face-to-face with a notorious figure whom he’d studied in one class or another, but never dreamed of meeting in real life.
    â€œGlad to hear it,” Ramirez said dryly, “but I wasn’t under the impression that ‘thinking about it’ was the prime concern of this conference.” The waiter reappeared, bearing a tray with a glass of wine. “In fact, I’ve begun to wonder why I’m here in the first place,” he added, as the waiter handed his