Kill on Command Read Online Free Page A

him a chill.  Water ran off of his body and onto the floor.  His phone rang.  He picked it up.
     
    “Ty Cobb is the Georgia Peach,” the voice said.
     
    “Go on,” he said, listened for fifteen seconds, hung up and lay down in the bed. 
     
    He went to sleep.
     
     
     

 
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
    BOOK I
     
     
     
     
    Accept everything about yourself – I mean everything, you are you and that is the beginning and the end – no apologies, no regrets.
    - Henry A. Kissinger

 
    I
    Sean Garrison
    September 2012
    Pittsburgh - Friday Night
     
     
    Sean Garrison stretched his legs and looked out the window at the late afternoon image of downtown Pittsburgh a couple thousand feet below his first class seat.   He heard the landing gear of the plane descend.
     
    “Mr. Garrison, here’s your jacket. Thank you for flying with us.  I know you are glad to be home.”
     
    “No. Thank you, Jennifer.  Remember, if you have a couple free nights in Pittsburgh you really need to check out Shadyside,” Sean smiled at the flight attendant.   Jennifer was easily 5’10”.  Most of it legs.  The dark blue USAir uniform looked great on her.  Her long black hair was in a pony tail that rested just so on her shoulder.  Her brown eyes had energy behind them.  Her olive skin looked so soft.  So inviting. . . .   “I think she likes me,” Sean thought to himself. 
     
    There was definitely a difference between the back and the front of a plane and Sean was thankful every time he stepped on a flight.  Food, drinks, movies and a big, lay-flat seat.  His new job was treating him well.  They flew him all over the world first class, put him up in great hotels, all to do marketing research.  It sure as hell beat working for a sweatshop-advertising agency run by narcissistic tyrants.
     
    Twenty-eight years old and already on top of the world.
     
    The pilot slammed the plane down on to the runway.   It jolted Sean.  “At least we are on the ground,” he thought to himself.
     
    “That’s a military pilot up there,” the old guy to his left said.  It was the first time the man had spoken in eight hours.  He was wearing a grey suit and a crisp white shirt.   He exuded confidence.  However, his most notable feature was a full head of thick, shocking white hair.  A pair of round glasses rested atop the biography of Teddy Roosevelt on his lap.
     
    “How can you tell?”  Sean asked.
     
    “They all think they are still landing on aircraft carriers,” he said, folding the glasses and placing them in an ancient case.
     
    “Hmmm.  That’s interesting,” Sean said.  How do you really respond to that?  You want to be polite, but not so polite that the guy keeps talking which could make the short trip to the terminal seem like a second trans-Atlantic flight.
     
    “I heard you describing Pittsburgh to the flight attendant.  What’s her name?  Jennifer?  Anyway, I think you are spot on.  It’s one of my favorite cities,” he said looking at Sean.
     
    “You live in Pittsburgh?”  Sean asked while powering on his iPhone.
     
    “No.  I live in D.C.  I am just visiting a couple colleagues tonight and driving home in the morning.”
     
    “D.C. is a fun city.  What do you do there?”
     
    “I’m a student of history.  I read.  I analyze.  I advise,” he said lightly.
     
    “I like that,” Sean replied, thinking that a gig like that is not half bad. He nodded towards the biography on the man’s lap.  “Edmond Morris right? Teddy is my favorite president.”
     
    “Really?  Why is that?”
     
    “I suppose it was his quest for knowledge, his desire to experience life,” Sean replied.  The man nodded in agreement.
     
    “Plus, he’s a guy I’d like to have a drink with,” Sean said with an easy smile.
     
    “I second that,” the old guy said.  The man looked carefully at Sean and noticed a small scar on his neck.
     
    “How did you get that?” 
     
    Sean