Deadly Undertaking - Allen Gregory (short story to read txt) 📗
- Author: Allen Gregory
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Malloy nodded. “Perhaps Providential intervention played a role as well, Flint. Let’s not discount that.”
Through chattering teeth, CJ agreed. “I’m never missing church again. I thought we were all dead. And I mean all of us.”
“Me too,” Flint replied. “’I’ll never bitch about cell phone dead spots again.”
“Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good, Mr. Stryker.”
“I guess so, Doc. I . . .”
Flint felt a series of quick pokes on his left shoulder. He turned to see a short elderly woman with a walker jabbing him persistently. He turned to face her and saw the quintessential grandmother, her wrinkled face framed by bluish-tinged white curls in a tight perm. Cloudy blue eyes sparkled behind trifocals, and her dark blue dress, accented by a single strand of pearls, indicated she was wearing her Sunday best.
“Yes ma’am?” Flint said pleasantly, stooping slightly to get closer to her level.
“Sonny. I don’t know what all happened here, but I heard it was something about a bomb, and you kept us all from gettin’ blown to Kingdom Come.”
Flint reddened. “No need to thank me, ma’am. I was just doing my—”
“Thank you? Hell, I’m not thanking you, boy. I just wanted to know, does this mean we’re not getting any money?”
Flint stood gaping at her until a Linchpin operative hustled her away. He turned to see CJ and Dr. Malloy trying to suppress grins as they watched her being led off.
“Come on, CJ, Doctor Malloy. Let’s see if we can find somewhere in this town I can buy both of you a drink.”
Thirty minutes later, the three of them were safely seated at Cooter’s Grille, a small, dimly-lit bar with $1 bills stapled on every conceivable inch of wall space.
“What do you think? How much money is taped to the walls in here?” Flint asked, arching his neck to survey the legal tender posted everywhere he looked.
Malloy replied, “Actually, it would be fairly simple to calculate the amount, Mr. Stryker. A $1 bill is a little over two-and-a-half inches deep and just a bit over six inches long. And then you take the square footage of each room, and . . .”
Flint’s mobile buzzed. The screen displayed UNKNOWN.
Who could that be, calling me on my Linchpin line? Especially an UNKNOWN number?
He tapped the answer button. “Stryker.”
A syrupy Southern voice he didn’t recognize said, “Hello, Mr. Stryker.”
“Who is this?” Dr. Malloy and CJ perked up, puzzled looks on their faces.
“You don’t know me, Mr. Stryker, but now I know you.” The voice paused, silent on the line.
“What do you want?” To CJ he mouthed, “Get Sherman to trace the call.”
As if he’d read Flint’s mind, the caller said, “Don’t bother trying to trace my call, Mr. Stryker. We won’t be talking long enough for that. My advice would be for you to listen carefully.”
“Go ahead. I’m listening.”
“Good.” The voice paused sighing loudly. “You know, it was very rude of you to interrupt Mr. Cone’s funeral. Mr. Cone was a lovely man, who had such a heart for helping others. He should have been honored as he desired.”
“A lovely man?” Flint scoffed. “Cone was going to be the biggest mass murder in the history of the world! Genocide on a global scale! There was nothing lovely about him!”
The voice hissed, “You shut up, you idiot! You’re not even worthy to speak his name!” A long pause, and then the voice continued, “At any rate, you have caused an unfortunate delay in our plans, but rest assured, we will move forward, albeit at a more measured pace.”
His face twisted in fury, Flint shouted into the phone, “You crazy bastard! We won’t rest until we find you and the rest of your lunatic cult! You’d better sleep lightly because . . . I. Will. Find. You.”
Another long silence, and then the voice purred, “Oh, you won’t have to find me, Mr. Stryker. When the time is right, I’ll find you.”
The call disconnected.
Flint pulled the phone away from his ear, staring blankly at the now-black screen. He turned to see CJ and Dr. Malloy staring at him impatiently.
“Well?” CJ spread her hands in exasperation, “What was that about?”
He took a long swig on his Stella Artois and looked at CJ and Dr. Malloy.
“Seriously. How did that automotive recall center in India get my number?”
Dear Reader:
I hope you enjoyed Deadly Undertaking, thanks for taking the time to read it. The Flint Stryker Thriller Series currently has six books planned for the initial story arc featuring the adventures of Flint Stryker and his cohorts from Linchpin.
There will also be a 3-book series featuring the Linchpin leadership trifecta – Seven, Serafina, and Doctor Malloy. You won’t want to miss those. I love my man Flint, but these guys come at the job from a totally different perspective than Flint does. You’ll also get a deeper understanding of their relationship with Flint and each other.
Following is a brief teaser from Book 1 in the Flint Stryker series, Lessons Learned. Enjoy the preview and then head on over to Amazon and get yourself a copy. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave a review as well. Reviews are important to authors and your comments and insights help me to write the kind of books that you enjoy.
Best wishes,
A.G.
Murder, kidnapping, and involvement with a secretive organization that deals with unusual domestic terrorism sounds like an interesting career choice, right?
But suppose you want nothing to do with it?
Soon-to-be (and long-overdue) college graduate Flint Stryker discovers that life after college would be like nothing he ever imagined. Gifted with a unique special ability that puts him on the radar of two mysterious organizations, Flint had no idea a hard-partying slacker would be in such demand.
It all happens in one strange day, a day filled with opportunities, dangerous deceptions, secrets revealed, a painful choice, and an unexpected outcome, that puts Flint Stryker on a collision path with danger, death, and ultimately - retribution.
Since when did choosing a career become a life or death decision?
Garrett Riggs gasped uncontrollably for breath. His body’s reaction to near-drowning was overwhelming panic. Coughing and retching, he expelled more water than his lungs were meant to accommodate. So, this was what waterboarding was really like – it was more terrifying than he could ever have imagined.
Spluttering, he begged, “Please… no more,” before spasming into another helpless coughing fit.
His tormentor only snatched him again by his hair, yanking his ashen face towards him to meet his stare. “Perhaps you can end all of this, Mr. Riggs, by telling me and Mr. Sebastian here about the conversation you overheard when you were so ungraciously snooping on us earlier. Hmmm?”
His hands duct-taped behind him, tied to a chair, Riggs could do nothing but gape at Professor Alastor Huxley and his graduate
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