Read The Rainy Day Man: Contemporary Romance (Suspense and Political Mystery Book 1) for Free Online Page B

provide an opportunity.
                  I went back into the building.  From the kitchen came the smells of dinner.  In the dining room Scheckler waved to me from a table close to the kitchen.  The way he gestured to the chair beside him hinted, like everything he said or did, at a possible profit.
                  "This is the new Intelligence man," he announced.  A few of the people sitting with him nodded while continuing to chew. 
                  The garage supervisor, a man with gray hair and a faded face, smiled and said, "Nice to meet you."
                  In the middle of the table, in a space clear of plates, some telexes were piled.  Scheckler read through them as he spooned up his soup.  His eyes flickered rapidly from the paper to the face of the garage head and back.  He spat out details about spare parts that had been removed from stock and vehicles due to arrive for repairs.  For a moment I envied him for the simple, accessible materials of which his life consisted.
                  "Here," he said, as if reading my mind.  "One for you."
                  I smoothed the edge of the paper with two fingers, wondering how the details of the mission had been concealed and whether they had left me enough time to prepare the explosive before I had to act.  But the cable was not even coded and merely instructed me openly and drily to trace someone by the name of Anton Khamis who lived in the area and transfer him immediately to a detention camp.
                  It was a mistake, a foul-up.  Nowhere had it been said that I would serve as village policeman.  I read the cable again.  I identified the code of the unit which had sent it and the counter-code of the man who had replaced me in the mail room.  Scheckler's eyes were fixed on me in curiosity. 
                  "Something wrong?"
                  "Do you know him?" I showed him the piece of paper.
                  "He's a doctor or something like that.  Lives up there, on the mountain."  Before I could say anything he got up.  "We'll soon deal with it," he said and disappeared somewhere off in the building.  When he returned his undershirt was covered by a shirt bearing the insignia of a staff sergeant.  "I need eight guys," he called into the mechanics' recreation room, "from the midday shift."
                  "Will eight be enough?" I asked apprehensively.
                  "He's a quiet man."
                  "In that case," I assayed, "maybe you could deal with it yourself?"
                  His willingness disappeared suddenly.  There was a sour look on his lips. 
                  "I don't want you to get the wrong idea about me.  If I help here and there and I'm prepared to lend a hand, that doesn't mean you can dump all the dirty work on me..."
                  He waited, annoyed, while I extricated myself from the narrow gap between the bench and the table.  Then he followed me, keeping very close, along the corridors.  Outside, for some reason, only six soldiers were waiting, in addition to the driver.  They were dressed sloppily, like a gang setting out to go hunting or rob a store.  When they got in behind us, on the two benches which ran along the open command car, their faces evinced displeasure; the shady awnings of the garage were a better place to spend the hot afternoon hours.
                  Beyond the chain at the entrance, bare roads led to the edge of the village, from where a rocky road climbed the mountain.  We passed rusty signs pointing back where we came from:  "Villa Athenaeum.  Spacious rooms.  Restaurant."  We stopped for a flock of sheep and a battered green Morris in which a tall man was sitting stiffly, his head touching the roof. 
                  "That's the priest," Scheckler said as if he were a