Reckoning, A Dirk Cobb Thriller (Book Three): The Dirk Cobb Thrillers, #3

By T.L. Peters

In this third and concluding volume of the Dirk Cobb trilogy of thrillers, Dirk with the aid of his friend Fierce must unlock the key to the Biblical prophecy in order to save the world from imminent nuclear holocaust.

"Suspenseful, well thought out, and filled with loads of action and fun." Theodora

"Peters delivers the goods once again." Damsel

• Language: English
• Publisher: T.L. Peters
• Release date: Apr 25, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476472966

T.L. Peters

"There's no question that Peters is a master wordsmith." Gerry B's Book Reviews About the author: T.L. Peters is an ex-lawyer who enjoys playing the violin and giving his dog long walks in the woods. In between, he writes novels.

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Reckoning, A Dirk Cobb Thriller (Book Three)

By T.L. Peters

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012, T.L. Peters

License Notes

This e book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

To read more about the author and his other books, including his popular Jake Stone series, go to http://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/tlpeters.

First rate entertainment. Peters supplies loads of action and plenty of fun. Damsel

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

July, 2022

CHAPTER 1

Dirk gets played for a sucker, but does it mean the end for him, or just the beginning?

I was sensing more than just a small degree of trepidation as I ventured, after an absence of several weeks, once again into the dreary world of Blunt and Flint. Throughout my entire stay in Bolivia, and despite the many pressures and obstacles I had faced there, I had avoided any communication with my senior partner, Lester Firth, or my principal client, Chad Buxton. And this, even though for most of the trip I had access to some sort of mobile phone, albeit at times a stolen one.

My motives in remaining isolated were two fold. After the massacre near Buxton's nuclear facility near Oruro, I wasn't sure whose side I was really on, and who might be out to kill me, and using a phone offered some possibility that my movements could be traced. But even more important was the slowly dawning recognition that my legal career at Blunt and Flint, which had just recently seemed so promising, was fading as quickly as a candle's flame in a strong wind. I was sure that Buxton and Lester had by then connected me with the now deceased Katie's covert espionage at the uranium enrichment facility. After all, I was there at the same time she was, and a day later I was assaulted and she was killed by the same gang of thugs, professional thugs no doubt, hit men if you will. The close proximity in time of the two disturbing incidents seemed hardly coincidental. So, not wishing to put myself at even further risk, I had decided not to contact them, which in itself could only serve under the circumstances to heighten their suspicions.

Indeed, I was largely reconciled to my fate and had come to terms with being an outcast. Fierce's professed affection for me no doubt helped to assuage any feelings of remorse at the loss of my career. There was also an undeniable excitement to the breathtaking adventures I had experienced recently, which were far removed from the drudgery of my normal professional routine and provided me with a sense of emerging confidence that I was up to the task of negotiating this new and far wilder kind of existence. Maybe life on the edges of Snowflake's crazy brood of Bible thumpers and mystics wouldn't be so impossible after all, especially if Fierce were there to guide me through the tough spots.

Then the hammer had fallen on me once more. Snowflake had ordered me to return to Blunt and Flint on some sort of ill conceived spy mission. She wanted to know who was really behind the nuclear plot. I could have told her and did. It was Chad Buxton. Who else? But Snowflake was so biased in favor of her own gender that she couldn't come to grips with the fact that a mere man, and an old man to boot, could head up such a bold and far reaching conspiracy. There had to be someone else lurking in the shadows, the real power broker.

It was crazy, but what was I to do? Defying a woman as vigorous and powerful, not to mention volatile, as Snowflake hardly seemed like the prudent course. My decision to go along was aided by Fierce's kind and generous offer to assist me in making sure I came out of any encounter with my past employers largely in one piece. But there was so great a risk inherent in such a scheme that I doubted if even someone as capable as Fierce could guarantee a positive outcome.

But what was my alternative? I saw none. I was trapped. I couldn't run away. Snowflake would easily track me down. I couldn't exactly balk at Snowflake's orders, or she would pound me into the ground. I couldn't wriggle out of it with lawyerly deception, because Snowflake was immune to all such legal sophistry from her many years living with her husband Jake. However I tried to squirm out of Snowflake's dictates, she would shut me down in a second. I had to face the music.

So, with Fierce standing right outside my building with her phone in hand and ready to rescue me at the slightest hint of trouble, I marched grimly into the austere offices of Blunt and Flint. I was wearing for the occasion a nicely understated light gray striped suit with a white shirt and a light blue tie. Fierce had selected the outfit and had even paid for it with what she called the company credit card, since she claimed it was a legitimate business expense.

Snowflake had apparently not only incorporated her far flung operations but had elected flow-through S Corporation status for Federal tax purposes. The revelation that Snowflake conformed at least in some respects to standard norms of civilized behavior was mildly comforting, and suggested that with my legal background I might have some future as one of her trusted advisers, even if my physical prowess and abilities were judged as somewhat lacking.

My secretary, Penny Flot, was the first to greet me. She seemed unconcerned that I had spent the last several weeks incommunicado, a clear violation of company policy. She was wearing a sleeveless white blouse and black slacks and looked even prettier than I had remembered.

Long time, no see, she remarked casually, handing me a stack of phone messages and client documents that I needed to review. You look like you've lost a little weight, and I like the tan.

I couldn't eat much in the high altitude, I responded, and the sun is very strong down there.

I awaited some mild admonishment as to why I hadn't kept in touch, but there was none of that as she scurried back to her desk. I lingered at my office door wondering what to say, if anything, when my nemesis Tiffany Sears strolled by. She was looking especially sleek and contemporary in a black two button suit with matching wide leg pants and black pumps.

I expected her to gloat over my presumed demotion, but she was as angry and biting as ever.

You've finally deigned to pay us peasants a visit, she growled. It must be nice being able to galavant around the world doing essentially nothing. But don't get too cocky. I've got plans for you.

Before I had a chance to react, Tiffany had already vanished around the corner. I must have been looking especially puzzled right about then, because even Penny, who had watched the brief encounter from her desk, was moved to comment.

She's just jealous, Penny noted casually. Everybody knows you're going to make partner and not her. If she's so great, why did Mr. Firth send you to Bolivia and not her?

I nodded with a mixture of feigned congeniality and genuine befuddlement, wandered into my office and closed the door. Something wasn't adding up. I had expected to be greeted with disdain, if not disgust. But instead, it was as though I had been away from the office for just a couple of hours. Everything seemed just as I had left it, other than the large backup of work and phone calls, not to mention a long litany of unanswered e mails, the latter of which I soon encountered after logging onto my computer. The last e mail in the list was from my mentor, Lester Firth, asking me to stop by his office when I had the chance.

So, I thought, the moment of reckoning had finally come. Lester was no doubt about to take me to task for not keeping him apprised of what I had been up to in my weeks in Bolivia. Then would come the inevitable interrogation about what I had learned on my trip.

Finally, after I had been thoroughly debriefed, Lester would inform me that I had been fired, at which point I would be led out of the office under the watchful eye of a couple of beefy security guards, who would roughly and with little fanfare deposit me on the street, where I would no doubt soon run up against a few of Buxton's own thugs, whose job it would be to silence me forever. Fierce would come to my rescue, I hoped, whereupon it would be back to the ferocious arms of Snowflake in her rustic rural compound, where I could expect, in one fashion or another, to spend the balance of my life, however short and perilous such a life might prove to be.

I had the whole dreary scene all worked out in my mind. I could see it playing out before me like clock work. After all, I knew how these corporate types thought and behaved. I had spent many years observing their guileful and grim habits. It was a train wreck I was facing, and I saw no way out of it.

It was all such a bleak and gruesome prospect that I decided I would short circuit the process. I would tell Lester that he didn't have to fire me, because I was quitting first. I would tell him that I knew what he and his client were up to, nuclear devastation on a grand scale, and that it was only a matter of time before the whole world knew it too. If I was going down, I would go down with a blaze of glory.

It gave me some pause when I considered that this kind of fiery and controversial exit wasn't what Snowflake had in mind, but she should have realized that spying was not my cup of tea. Why prolong the agony? The thing to do was to get this messy bit of business over with as quickly as possible and then take it from there. At least Fierce would be there to jump to my rescue and support me in any future encounters with Snowflake, or so I hoped.

But this half baked strategy of mine did not go even remotely as I had feared or planned. Instead, when I strode into Lester's spacious office, Lester, who was on the phone, busily waved me to take a seat. I plunked down onto the hard chair in front of his desk with a thin coating of sweat already building up under my shirt collar and my heart racing. Lester chatted on for some minutes as I continued to stew and fret. Finally he put down the phone, and before I had a chance to vent my spleen and soul, he offered me a rosy and brisk greeting.

Nice to see you back, Dirk. I heard you did a good job down there. Nasty business that security breakdown at the gate. Too bad it happened while you were there. I hope it didn't spoil your trip. I'm sorry I didn't keep in touch with you. I was awfully busy here. Buxton is loading us up with all kinds of work. He'll be a great client for you, Dirk. When you have a chance, you should give him a call. He's anxious to talk with you. Well, I've got a meeting to go to. Thanks for stopping by, and keep up the good work.

And with those bouncy words of gratitude and encouragement, Lester donned his light tan sports jacket and hurriedly made for the door. Afer he was gone I sat there in a state of complete stupefaction, with my jaw no doubt sagging badly. How could this be? Everybody was treating me as though nothing of significance had happened in the intervening weeks, as though I had just been at some routine client meeting. It was preposterous. Yet everyone's reactions, even Tiffany's, were consistent with one overall theme—I was still, apparently, a rising star at Blunt and Flint and well on my way to making partner.

What was the explanation for this bizarre turn of events? Was I hallucinating? Had my brain scrambling experiences of recent weeks and months finally caught up to me? I was still at a complete loss when a few minutes later I stumbled out of Lester's office. Even his old hag of a secretary didn't give me her customary cold shoulder and instead shot me a grudging smile.

When I got back to my office I closed the door behind me and gave Fierce a call, quickly describing the strange and unexpected occurrences of that morning.

See, I told you, she said. You're just a big worrywart. I guess it's a mixture of natural temperament and your legal training that makes you think the worst is just around the corner. Well, my mother called and told me to return to the compound right away. Snowflake is just like you in many ways, always fretting about this and that, always nervous that the roof is about to cave in. My phone is buzzing again. It's probably Snowflake. I've got to go. I'll talk to you later, Dirk.

She hung up, and I was left to contemplate whether I had completely misjudged my situation, or whether something else was at work beneath the surface, something even more sinister than I could have imagined. During my rumination, another e mail came in. This one was from Liza Buxton, and in it she informed me that she was eager to see me again, that very afternoon if possible. I was not eager to see her and her boisterous, compact and rather violent Amazonian muscles, but it seemed as though, since I was apparently still her husband's favorite young lawyer, I had little choice but to pay her a visit.

I told Penny that I would be out for the afternoon and strolled to the elevators, wondering what further surprises soon awaited me.

Chapter 2

The Buxton mansion loomed with its imposing grandeur just beyond the lush tree line. I considered even at this late moment backing out, but the tug of curiosity and personal ambition propelled me forward.

I pulled up to the front door, took a deep breath to fortify myself and climbed out of the car cautiously, a number of fresh fears rippling through me. Surely Chad Buxton would not have me killed at his lovely estate. Of course, his thugs could always kidnap me and remove me to some isolated location for permanent disposal. Nonetheless, I consoled myself with the near certain knowledge that if this titan of the energy industry wanted me dead, I would either be in that condition already, or I would be running for my life, hopefully under the constant