Read Online Counterspy by Matthew Dunn - Free Book Online

and seven years has been worked by three generations of the Macquarie family. For the majority of that time, the farm has produced very sizeable yields of corn. But the last owners were childless, and they recently died of old age. It’s been empty and for sale for the last three years.”
    I got out of the car, my gun in one hand, the other holding my cell against my ear.
    “Did I tell you to get out of the car?”
    “No.” I looked around, desperately trying to get my eyes to adjust to the dark. It was nearly a full moon, so I was confident I would be able to discern some features within minutes. Providing I wasn’t shot before that happened. I spotted what looked like a pinhead of light in the distance.
    “Have you seen it yet?”
    I didn’t respond.
    “If you have,” Trapper laughed, “then you’ve seen the light.” His tone turned cold as he said, “Walk toward it, but stop when I tell you to.”
    I jammed my cell between ear and shoulder, and held my gun in two hands as I moved slowly ahead. I was in a field, one that previously would have produced hundreds of bales of corn per season. But now it seemed barren. I moved my eyes in a figure eight around the pinhead of light, trying to get night vision. If Trapper had me in the crosshairs of a sniper rifle, I’d be dead by now. Either he didn’t have such a gun and needed me to get within range of whatever weapon he was carrying, or he wanted me to get closer so that he could attack me with something that would ensure my death would be slow and painful. I kept walking.
    After approximately two hundred yards, the circle of light was a fraction bigger. As my eyes adjusted, I could see there was something in the distance beyond the light. It was on the horizon; maybe it was a solitary tree, or a building—I couldn’t tell.
    “Keep walking.”
    I did as I was told. The rain had abated, to be replaced by a fine drizzle; the air smelled of rotting grass. I asked Trapper again, “Why do you want me dead?”
    Trapper hesitated before saying, “I suppose you deserve to know the truth. You killed my father.”
    “Your father? He was a Taliban leader?”
    “No, he wasn’t! He was an Indian man of impeccable standing in a community of fellow Muslims, but also Hindus and Christians. They loved him because he was a businessman who created jobs, a philanthropist, and a kind soul. You shot him in the head.”
    “I . . .”
    “Shut up and keep moving.”
    Trapper’s slow breathing was audible as I walked for another five minutes.
    “Stop.”
    I did, and realized that my vision had fully adjusted to the night. Ahead of me, about fifty yards away, an oil lamp sat in the center of the field. Next to it was a trunk the size of a coffin. At the far end of the field was an old cylindrical wooden water tower, on top of a single thick stilt that was given further support by two diagonal ladders. A fenced walkway ran around the entire perimeter of the base of the tank. It was approximately three hundred yards beyond the lamp and trunk, and was an excellent place for Trapper to hide in while watching me through high-powered binoculars or something far worse.
    The oil lamp was casting a golden glow over part of the trunk.
    Trapper asked, “What do you think is inside the box?”
    I pointed my gun at the tower. “Maybe nothing.”
    “Nothing?”
    “Yes. Perhaps you want to put me in there. Suffocate me.”
    “Clever, Mr. Cochrane. I know what it’s like to suffocate. It’s the worst death. You deserve that. But let’s presuppose that there might be something else in the box that’s relevant to our . . . situation . What could that be?”
    The lack of light made it impossible for me to see anyone on the tower. “Explosives,” a thought occurred to me, “or bait.”
    “Bait. Excellent. What kind?”
    “The human kind.”
    “Well done, sir. A radio mic is attached to the bait; I have the receiver. If I hold my cell close to the receiver, we can all communicate