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of her, and then shutter down. He trusted their
professionalism, knew that, technically, Suzanne would
not only be safe with them, but would be safe from
them.
That didn t mean they weren t men. They d have to be
without a pulse not to react to her.
She wasn t as polished-looking as when he d first met
her. Her clothes were rumpled and her makeup was
gone. Her hair needed combing. But she was a heart-
stopper, a potent mix of class and sex. A magnet for the
male eye.
The instant they got a close look at her, they d know. It
wasn t just the bee-stung lips or love-bite he d just
given her. It was the way she walked, moved. She was
a well-loved woman who d just had sex and it showed.
Bud came forward. He put his arm around her and bent
down to talk to her. She nodded at his words.
John couldn t hear what Bud was saying but it didn t
matter. It would be some bullshit meant to reassure her
that everything would be all right.
It wouldn t.
Okay, one of the feebs said, let s go.
Suzanne turned back to him, eyes glistening. She was
ready to break and run to him for a final embrace. John
could read it in her body language. He stepped back. If
he took her in his arms, he d never let her go. Suzanne
stared at him, then turned when an agent touched her
elbow. One last lingering glance at him, and she slid
into the back seat of the lead car. The agents got in and
started the cars.
Bud was left standing, looking at him. They stared at
each other and John could see that Bud understood.
A minute later, John watched the taillights of the cars
as they topped a hill and disappeared.
John turned back to the SUV and took off in a hurry.
He knew what he had to do and he had to do it fast.
The hunter stalks his prey. The prey is alert, but the
hunter is stealthy and patient. The hunter is an expert
and has done this before, has stalked and killed humans
before. Humans leave spoor and have habits, just as
animal prey do.
The hunter has been lying here for four days and four
nights, sipping frugally from a canteen, eating nothing,
eyes glued to the forty-power spotting scope with night
vision.
The hunter has mud and greasepaint on his face, is
buried belly-down in the root pocket of a giant oak and
is wearing a ghillie suit designed to meld into a wintry
Pacific 140
Northwest landscape. He smells like an animal, which
is good. The other animals in the forest give him a
wide berth because they recognize him for what he is
a large and dangerous predator. He is in killing mode
and the other animals sense that.
Below, in the valley, is a large limestone villa,
surrounded by guards. The hunter finds the guards with
their elaborate security watches and the thick
surrounding walls topped with barbed wire ridiculous.
From his vantage point, anyone who steps out of the
villa steps right into his crosshairs.
The shot is already lined up, elevation has been
calculated. When the prey is in the crosshairs, windage
will be factored in. The hunter knows how to do this,
supremely well.
The hunter s comrades have given him intelligence.
The prey is in the villa, secluded and alone, except for
the guards. The comrades have given the hunter watch
times, schedules, a list of enemy firepower and their
promise to help him. But the hunter has chosen to act
alone. This is his fight, his war. He stands alone. If he
has to die, he will die alone.
He waits, day after day, night after night.
At midnight on the fourth night, a night so windless the
hunter knows he could drive tacks into a target, the
prey steps out to stand for a moment. He is tall, blond,
handsome, with cold features clearly visible in the
night scope. He pauses for a moment, looking around,
feeling secure. Foolishly secure.
He is surrounded by walls and guards. He doesn t
know they are as nothing. He bends to light a cigarette
and the green flare in the night vision goggles ruins the
hunter s vision for a moment. He waits.
He waits for the prey to pull on his cigarette, blow out
a leisurely plume of smoke, which dissipates slowly in
the cold still air. Waits for the prey to exchange
pleasantries with the guards. Waits for him to pull in a
breath of the pristine mountain air, secure in his safety
and immunity.
And it is then, when the prey crushes the cigarette
beneath his heel, having taken a last, secure glance at
his rich and safe kingdom, starting to turn back inside,
it is then that the hunter strikes.
Something was happening in the living room. Male
voices were raised in excitement. The phone rang
constantly. Suzanne debated briefly going in to see
what was going on, but she didn t really care. In the
four days and four nights she d been locked up in the
safe house, she d learned to turn her emotions off,
otherwise she d have gone mad.
There were no windows and she knew the time of day
only because of her wristwatch and the small TV in her
room. 141
She didn t even know where she was. She d been
flown to a small airport, but they d been met by a car
out on the tarmac, in the General Aviation section and
she couldn t see the name of the airport. What did it
matter? Wherever she was, she wasn t free. Wherever
she was, John wasn t with her.
The time had seemed interminable. Bud had stayed
with her the first three days but had had to leave
yesterday.
Thank God the debriefing had finally ended. She had
told her story over and over, to agent after agent.
Finally, they had just left her alone. From the
conversations of the agents looking after her, she
understood that the grand jury arraignment would be
soon. Then there would be another safe house. The [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
