Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7) by Anthony Strong (ebooks that read to you .TXT) 📕

“Eleven o’clock. I’m booked on a commercial flight out of Portland International. There’s a helicopter standing by to take me there just as soon as I finish breakfast.”

“Going anywhere nice?” Decker asked, then held up a hand to stop the almost certain protest. “Yeah, I know you can’t tell me the specifics, but at least tell me that Hunt has you going somewhere pleasant.”

“You’re right, I can’t tell you specifics.” Colum had just about finished his breakfast. He popped the last piece of bacon in his mouth and chewed before talking again. “But I’ll give you a clue since you asked, I’m off to Eastern Europe. I’d love to tell you which country…”

“But then you’d have to kill me?”

“See, now you’re getting it. We’ll turn you into a shady government spook yet.”

“And thus, my childhood dream will finally be realized,” Decker said, chuckling. He cut into his ham steak and started to eat. He had only taken a couple of bites, however, when Colum nodded toward the cafeteria entrance.

“U-oh. Here comes the boss, and he’s looking at you.”

Decker twisted to see Adam Hunt striding across the room. And Colum was right. He was heading directly for them, gaze fixed firmly upon Decker.

He didn’t look happy.

“What did you do?” Colum asked, mopping up bacon grease from his plate with a slice of bread.

“Nothing.” Decker shook his head. “I haven’t been here long enough to get into any trouble.”

“Well, something has pissed him off. I’m sure glad he’s not looking at me.”

Decker would have replied, but at that moment Hunt reached the table.

“Good, you’ve had breakfast already,” he said to Decker. “That will save some time.”

Decker glanced down at his plate of food, barely touched. “Actually, I’ve only just—”

Hunt cut him off with a wave of one hand. “I got a call this morning requesting our assistance for an unusual situation out west. To be precise, I didn’t actually get the call. That honor went to someone higher up the chain, and they bumped it on down to me.”

“A call from who?” Colum asked, his interest piqued. “I thought we operate autonomously.”

“We do.” Hunt looked like he’d been sucking on a lemon. “But the nature of our business requires that we form relationships with other agencies, both domestic and foreign. It’s the only way to obtain much of the information we rely upon. Most of the time that works in our favor…”

“But sometimes they want to collect on the favor, instead?” Colum said.

“Exactly.”

“So, who came knocking?” Decker asked.

“The FBI, after someone came knocking on their door. The Las Vegas Metropolitan Police Department, to be precise.”

“Sweet,” Colum said, grinning at Decker. “Looks like you snagged an all-expenses-paid trip to Sin City.” He settled back in his chair and looked up at Hunt. “Any chance he needs a sidekick? I’d be up for a trip to the bright lights.”

“Not going to happen,” Hunt replied. “You have your own mission in Europe.”

“Yeah. Eastern Europe.”

“Still counts.”

“Barely.” Colum looked disappointed.

“What’s the problem out in Vegas?” Decker asked.

“I don’t want to discuss that here.” Hunt glanced around the room. “I’ll brief you in private once you’ve packed your bags. For now, all I’ll say is they have a need for a monster hunter.”

“On second thought,” Colum said. “Eastern Europe sounds fine. I’ve had enough of monsters for a while.”

“Indeed.” Hunt glanced at his watch, then turned his attention to Decker. “I’ll see you in my office in forty-five minutes. Don’t be late. You’ll be sharing the helicopter ride with Colum and we can’t afford any delays. We have a private jet waiting for you at Portsmouth International.”

“Lucky you. Riding in style,” Colum said. “All I get is a coach class ticket and no legroom. Still, on the bright side, the only monsters I’ll be chasing are human.”

“Which doesn’t make them any less deadly,” Hunt replied. He tapped his fingers on the table and focused on Decker. “I’ve had the concierge transfer everything you’ll need to your room.”

“What might I need?” Decker asked.

“A sturdy pair of boots for a start. You’ll be out in the desert. We don’t want you getting your ankle bitten by a rattlesnake.”

“Concierge,” Colum said with a snort. “When I was in the army, we called them quartermasters.”

“You’re not in the army now,” Hunt replied. He nodded toward Decker. “Eat up. Time’s wasting.”

Then he turned and strode back in the direction from which he’d come.

Chapter Fourteen

Harlan Biggs, Jr., who liked to think of himself as one of Las Vegas’s great hoteliers, rose early, as was his custom, and headed down from his penthouse suite atop the Prospectors Paradise Hotel and Casino, to the small gymnasium on the second floor. The penthouse was in reality no such thing, except in Harlan’s own head. It was really just two hotel rooms knocked into one on the sixth floor at the back of the aging building, overlooking an alleyway stuffed with dumpsters and trash cans. On a good day there was only the faintest whiff of garbage seeping in through the gaps around the window mounted air conditioner unit. On a bad day, in the height of summer when it was a hundred and ten degrees in the shade, he could smell the collective trash of the surrounding buildings slowly roasting inside the plastic refuse containers.

He rode the elevator, noting how it clanged and creaked its way to the second floor. That would soon be addressed. The hotel was in the middle of a much-needed renovation, its last facelift having occurred when Sinatra was still living it up at The Golden Nugget over on Fremont.

Harlan’s own hotel and casino, the gambling equivalent of an off-off-Broadway show, sat nowhere near either Downtown or the Strip. Instead, it was located over a mile east and was more of a hangout for locals than tourists. After its three-million-dollar spruce up, he hoped that would change. This figure was still frugal compared to the amount spent on most such endeavors, especially in a place like Sin City, but it was all