Deadly Intent: An Action Thriller (Adrian Hell Series Book 4) by James P. Sumner Page A

seven hundred and twenty meters per second. To be honest, it’s probably overkill for any confrontations I’m likely to have, but everyone knows I do enjoy making a statement.
    I set the bag aside and boot up the laptop Josh gave me, looking briefly at the information on this Armageddon Initiative. There’s not really much to go on, apart from a brief dossier on confirmed and suspected members, as well as a bunch of educated guesses about what they want. I quickly tire of reading it, and load up the Internet to look at the recent news. I tend to avoid looking at what’s happening in the real world—content with my own little existence in Devil’s Spring. With Tori.
    God, I miss her. I’ve only been gone a few hours—Christ!
    I find an article online about the president’s most recent cabinet reshuffle, and it makes me think of Schultz. When I first met the guy, he was secretary of defense. He’d served the country well in that role, and was a distinguished soldier in his day. Within his first two months of office, Cunningham had asked for Schultz’s resignation. It was a minor story at the time, as it’s not uncommon for new presidents to appoint their own people to such positions. But I’m reading a blog online here that’s detailing all the changes made by Cunningham since he was sworn in, and people seem to be noticing he’s almost wiped the entire slate clean, starting over with handpicked people of his choosing—some of whom seem to be questionable at best in terms of suitability and experience.
    But as I’ve said, because of everything he’s done for the country, he can pretty much do whatever he wants, and no one will question him. Besides, all is right with the world nowadays, so who cares who sits in the room when the president makes up some more rules?
     
    22:51 EDT
    The flight passes quickly enough, and we’re soon preparing to touch down at JFK. I get my things ready. I’ve never been a big fan of flying, but the takeoff and landing have always been more worrying for me than the flight itself. I’m fine once I’m up there; it’s just the getting up and down bit I don’t like.
    We land without incident and taxi to a stop a few minutes later. I look out the window at the illuminated skyline of New York City. I let out a sigh. It’s been a while since I did this kind of work. I’m worried I’m out of practice.
    The kind stewardess opens the door for me, and I thank her for her hospitality as I exit the plane. I step out onto the staircase carrying the black holdall and my own shoulder bag, and take a quick look around.
    We’re close to the small hangars at the back of one of the runways, set further away from the main hub and the commercial flights. There’s light airport security around, which is standard nowadays, I guess. But it’s reasonably quiet—presumably, because of who owns the plane, and the fact everything had been cleared prior to takeoff.
    I make my way down the staircase toward the black Ford MPV that’s waiting for me. The windows are tinted, but as I approach, the side door slides open and Robert Clark steps out.
    He smiles as he walks over to me, extending his hand, which I happily shake.
    “Adrian, glad to have you with us on this,” he says. “How’ve you been?”
    “Good to see you again, Bob,” I say. “I’m here to help in any way I can. I just want these bastards to leave me alone.”
    He gestures me into the vehicle and I oblige, sitting down on the leather seat, facing forward. He climbs in after me, sitting opposite me, with his back to the driver. There’s a partition separating the front seats from the back, and Clark taps on it twice as he slides the door closed. We set off.
    He looks well, if a little tired. His dark hair still has its side parting, but there are flecks of gray showing around his temples and above his ears now.
    “Good trip?” he asks.
    I shrug. “It was what it was,” I reply. “The plane was nice.”
    He smiles. “A handy