Search and Destroy by JT Sawyer (top non fiction books of all time .TXT) 📗

end of the house. The cherry-wood bookcases extended from floor to ceiling and were high enough to require a rolling staircase to reach the farthest shelves.

Many of the books were first editions bound in leather. On more than one occasion, Cal took up residence on one of the leather couches, losing himself in the pages of a translated edition of The Aeneid or The Upanishads while enveloped in the solitude of the cathedral-like chamber.

He heard his phone ring, pausing to see Cassie’s face on the screen. He slowed his vehicle, coming to a halt beside a white catering van whose staff were placing their empty trays in the rear. He saw around twenty other familiar vehicles from Burke Corporation parked in the half-moon driveway before the front entrance of the mansion forty yards distant.

“Hey, I just got here, and have your pies in hand.”

“Great. We’re all upstairs in the living room. You know, the second of his three living rooms near the billiards room.”

“Yeah, I’ll grab a map on my way in.”

“Hurry, he’s been waiting for you…wants to make a speech now that everyone’s here.”

Cal exited the jeep. He balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear as he tried to multitask, motioning to Reggie near the door to come help him with the pies.

“Oh, there you are,” she said, waving to him from the second-floor parapet, whose balcony was lined with posies and jasmine flowers.

“God, how did you go from being so beautiful this afternoon to absolutely stunning this evening?”

“There you go again, Mr. Charmer. You clean up pretty nice yourself. Now, get up here.”

Reggie trotted up beside him, a weary expression on his face, and Cal wondered if the man was really that out of shape or just exhausted from another long day of work. “Grab these two and I’ll get the rest,” he said, handing off the boxes to the refrigerator-wide man, who lumbered back up the driveway. He set his phone down, grabbing the bouquet of flowers for Burke’s wife then juggling the pies.

Cal saw the four caterers stow the rest of their belongings then climb into the van. The lanky driver with a tan complexion and goatee walked by him, not making eye contact, while an older man with a similar complexion got into the passenger’s seat. Cal noticed a slight limp on the driver before he got into the van, then saw the hint of the pseudo-flesh color of a prosthetic beneath his left pant leg. On his left forearm was the faded tattoo of a large black ant.

Cal slammed the door of his jeep with his foot as the catering van sped off. He tottered along the drive, keeping his eyes on the alignment of the boxes while clutching the flowers, then suddenly stopped when he heard his phone ring, realizing he’d left it on the passenger’s seat.

Slowly turning, he retraced his steps, opening the door and seeing it was Patterson calling.

Cassie yelled at him from the balcony. “Hey, are you getting cold feet or what?”

He smiled, waving at her again, and a split second later the windows on the north side suddenly erupted, sending thousands of crystalline projectiles across the lawn. The air compressed and flames burst through the windows and doors on each level of the main house, sending tile and wood splinters in every direction. The percussive force of the massive explosion knocked Cal back onto the grass. It felt like a wrecking ball had slammed into his chest, the shockwave rippling through him as if a Predator had just sent its payload into the building.

He yelled for Cassie, but the place where she was just standing was gone. There was nothing but a heap of rubble and shattered wooden beams.

“No!” He fought to stand up, his head throbbing.

Cal started to bolt past his jeep, the windshield shattering from another explosion in the center of the estate, slamming him into the side of his vehicle, his head careening against the edge. He slid to the ground, watching as a truck-sized hole punched through the roof of the building, bellowing out a plume of orange-and-gray smoke as the structure became engulfed with flames.

He reached his hand up towards the balcony where Cassie had called to him moments ago, his vision blurring as he collapsed back onto the pavement.

5

A smooth ceiling of white interspersed with red flashing lights appeared in Cal’s vision, and his eyes struggled to focus as he came to inside an ambulance. His chest felt like a sack of rocks was holding him down, and his breathing was raspy, with a heavy odor of smoke permeating his nose.

“He’s coming around,” said a husky voice to the right.

Cal’s entire body felt like it had been dragged over a jagged cliff as pain shot through his head and limbs. He fluttered his eyes, his vision becoming less blurry as he stared up at a man in a blue jacket with a stethoscope hanging around his neck.

His first thought was to race into the house to look for survivors, bolting up the stairs to the second floor to search for Cassie.

She has to be alive…somehow.

The sinking feeling in his gut told him otherwise. He propped himself up on one elbow, staring out the open back of the ambulance and watching a sea of firefighters near the half-dozen rigs attempting to quell the engulfed estate in the distance.

“Can you tell me your name, sir?”

He shoved the medic’s hand aside, trying to get off the gurney, but the throbbing in his forehead caused him to careen against the handrail.

The paramedic clutched his arm, easing him back down. “Hang tight there, buddy. Our guys on the ground out there are doing what they can, but you need to help me do my job in here, alright.” He moved in closer, glancing back and forth between Cal’s eyes. “Can you tell me your name, sir?”

He sucked in a deep breath, his bruised ribs reminding him to inhale slowly. “Cal…Cal Shepard. I worked with Stephen Burke.”