The Adamas Blueprint

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Kevin, no time for details. The same men who killed Stein are after me.

Michael Ward’s fingers trembled as he lifted his hands from the keyboard. He’d tried calling Kevin three times, but Ward kept getting the damned answering machine, and leaving a message was out of the question.

He needed a cigarette badly. His hand fumbled through his shirt pocket and removed the pack of Benson and Hedges. Only one left. He’d have to get another pack before they left for the airport.

He lit the cigarette despite the shaking and took a deep drag, trying to pull every milligram of precious nicotine into his system. He felt the smoke fill his lungs, and the trembling subsided. His attention returned to the words on the screen. He almost laughed at their absurdity, but he was afraid if he started he wouldn’t be able to stop.

A wave of nausea hit him. Ward shook off the feeling. There wasn’t much left in his stomach anyway, just half a bottle of Pepto Bismol he’d drained when he got home. He’d been spending the Friday in his South Texas University office working and listening to the radio when he’d heard the news of Herbert Stein’s death. The story had been short, but it was enough. An execution-style shooting, the body thrown in a dumpster. Ward got sick twice, once in his office trash can and again before climbing into his Mercedes. Even now, he still didn’t feel like a man who was about retire to the Bahamas with $10 million.

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