Read Online A Covert War by Michael Parker - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Michael Parker
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sound of the cracking bone and gristle made Susan scream out loudly. The man cried out in pain and immediately clutched his face. Marcus didn’t pause but clenched his fist and swung it sideways, chopping him across the windpipe. This made the man gag and he fell forward on to his knees, putting his hands out to stop himself from falling. Marcus then drove his shoe into the man’s face, knocking him back and then kicked him fiercely in the head.
As the man straightened up by the force of the kick, Marcus swung his arm downwards in a chopping motion and brought the heel of his hand down on to the busted nose. Blood erupted from the wound as the man screamed again and fell. As the man’s hands touched the pavement, Marcus slammed the heel of his boot on to the man’s fingers and busted those too.
He spun round and looked at the man whose kneecaps had been shifted severely and wacked him with another devastating blow, using his foot across the man’s forehead. The man groaned and passed out.
Susan was still screaming and crying when Marcus had finished. He looked at her with the venom of his attack still burning fiercely in his eyes, and in the poor light, Susan knew she was looking at someone she didn’t know. She pulled her hands away from her face and they were trembling violently.
Marcus grabbed her and dragged her away, shouting at her, ‘Run! Run!’
Susan felt herself being propelled away from the hideous scene where the two men lay badly beaten and ran as fast as her legs would go. Marcus kept close behind her, keeping hold of her elbow as they fled.
Eventually they ran into a road where there were a number of shops, all closed, but there were a couple of public houses and an all-night taxi rank. They ran up to the first of two taxis in the queue, yanked open the rear doors and dived in.
‘Where to?’ the driver asked.
‘Just drive, we’ll tell you when to stop.’
The taxi pulled away and Marcus flopped back into the soft seat. He looked at Susan and smiled. Susan continued to stare at him, still stunned.
‘Marcus,’ she managed to say eventually. ‘Who are you?’
He turned his head away, not in anger or anything like that. Then he laughed and glanced back at her.
‘Maggot would have been proud of me tonight,’ he answered and just kept on laughing.
SEVEN
James Purdy finished reading the Times newspaper and turned his attention to the Guardian. There were various sections of both papers that had been marked as ‘relevant’ for the minister, and it was simply a case of scanning the pages until he came across a section that merited some interest. After that he would turn his attention to the tabloids.
But try as he might, Purdy was unable to absorb much of the written word; his mind was still on the meeting with Cavendish the previous afternoon and the unquestionable consequences once the news was out in the public domain.
Immediately after his meeting with Cavendish, Purdy had made a short, but discreet phone call. He vented his anger on the person he had called and remarked that the reason for falling into the trap set by the security service was simply down to incompetence of the organisation. He said he believed Cavendish would be operating on his own, for now, and to avoid any problems for the organisation Cavendish should be eliminated.
Purdy had promised to deliver the names to Cavendish of those who had taken part in the orgy and subsequent murder of one of the girls, but now he expected that to be unnecessary; Cavendish would not be a problem.
Despite his own conviction that the organisation would deal with the problem swiftly, Purdy still carried a sense of doom and foreboding in his heart. He tried desperately to ignore the constant, nagging doubts that assailed his mind and concentrate on his work, but it was useless, no matter how he tried. So one hour after arriving at his office in the House of Commons, he informed his secretary that he felt unwell and would be
As the man straightened up by the force of the kick, Marcus swung his arm downwards in a chopping motion and brought the heel of his hand down on to the busted nose. Blood erupted from the wound as the man screamed again and fell. As the man’s hands touched the pavement, Marcus slammed the heel of his boot on to the man’s fingers and busted those too.
He spun round and looked at the man whose kneecaps had been shifted severely and wacked him with another devastating blow, using his foot across the man’s forehead. The man groaned and passed out.
Susan was still screaming and crying when Marcus had finished. He looked at her with the venom of his attack still burning fiercely in his eyes, and in the poor light, Susan knew she was looking at someone she didn’t know. She pulled her hands away from her face and they were trembling violently.
Marcus grabbed her and dragged her away, shouting at her, ‘Run! Run!’
Susan felt herself being propelled away from the hideous scene where the two men lay badly beaten and ran as fast as her legs would go. Marcus kept close behind her, keeping hold of her elbow as they fled.
Eventually they ran into a road where there were a number of shops, all closed, but there were a couple of public houses and an all-night taxi rank. They ran up to the first of two taxis in the queue, yanked open the rear doors and dived in.
‘Where to?’ the driver asked.
‘Just drive, we’ll tell you when to stop.’
The taxi pulled away and Marcus flopped back into the soft seat. He looked at Susan and smiled. Susan continued to stare at him, still stunned.
‘Marcus,’ she managed to say eventually. ‘Who are you?’
He turned his head away, not in anger or anything like that. Then he laughed and glanced back at her.
‘Maggot would have been proud of me tonight,’ he answered and just kept on laughing.
SEVEN
James Purdy finished reading the Times newspaper and turned his attention to the Guardian. There were various sections of both papers that had been marked as ‘relevant’ for the minister, and it was simply a case of scanning the pages until he came across a section that merited some interest. After that he would turn his attention to the tabloids.
But try as he might, Purdy was unable to absorb much of the written word; his mind was still on the meeting with Cavendish the previous afternoon and the unquestionable consequences once the news was out in the public domain.
Immediately after his meeting with Cavendish, Purdy had made a short, but discreet phone call. He vented his anger on the person he had called and remarked that the reason for falling into the trap set by the security service was simply down to incompetence of the organisation. He said he believed Cavendish would be operating on his own, for now, and to avoid any problems for the organisation Cavendish should be eliminated.
Purdy had promised to deliver the names to Cavendish of those who had taken part in the orgy and subsequent murder of one of the girls, but now he expected that to be unnecessary; Cavendish would not be a problem.
Despite his own conviction that the organisation would deal with the problem swiftly, Purdy still carried a sense of doom and foreboding in his heart. He tried desperately to ignore the constant, nagging doubts that assailed his mind and concentrate on his work, but it was useless, no matter how he tried. So one hour after arriving at his office in the House of Commons, he informed his secretary that he felt unwell and would be
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