Read Online Hunter by Chris Allen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Chris Allen
Tags: thriller
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one last time, so we can really make sure we're looking after these judges. That sound OK?" asked Ryerson. Ryerson had met Lorenc Gjoka once in Lyon, long before Lazarevic had come forward as an informant. He didn't like him.
"Yes. Yes, of course," Lazarevic replied cautiously. "Anything. Just ask me."
"Well, let's start with something easy." Tappin gave the impression they were just a bunch of guys sitting around talking about baseball or football with his easy manner. He was just warming up. "We'd like to start with anything you know about any folks here in the US who may be sympathetic to—"
There was a loud knock on the door, it opened and a young woman, one of the Interpol staff, appeared. She excused herself and gestured for Ryerson to join her. Pat Ryerson was immediately on his feet and disappeared into the corridor, closing the door behind him. There was silence for a few moments before he returned. The door remained open.
"Mr Lazarevic," Ryerson said, "my colleague here is going to escort you to another room. I'd appreciate it if you'd wait there until I collect you. This will only take a moment."
The young woman was at the door again and ushered Lazarevic outside in silence. Ryerson closed the door and came back. He sat heavily upon the edge of the table. His face was grave.
"What the fuck's going on, Pat?" asked Tappin. "There's been a hit on one of the other judges," Ryerson said. "This one was successful."
"Who was it?" Morgan said.
"Judge Guillaume Rene de Villepin. Happened at his home in Bordeaux last night. Wasn't discovered until this morning. Building superintendent called it in." "Jesus!" exclaimed Tappin. "How?"
"Bullet straight through the heart as he answered his front door," Ryerson replied. Then he turned to Morgan. "Alex, I don't rally know what it is you guys do, but your boss wants you, son. Pronto. He's in Vallincourt's office. You're to go straight in."
PART TWO
DEAD OR ALIVE
Chapter 13
ABOARD THE YACHT FLORENCE, THE MEDITERRANEAN
The yacht swam upon the crystalline waters of the Mediterranean, rolling gently on the waves as sea breezes kissed her decks with secret whispers of ancient history. She sat five nautical miles off the east coast of Malta, due south of Sicily, along the maritime route between Valletta and Catania, her last port of call.
The significance of the island's strategic position in the center of the Mediterranean had seen Malta be a much sought-after prize throughout all the great empires, from the Phoenicians to the British, for literally thousands of years. While that was still true to some extent, its significance today as a staging point into southern Europe was equally as important to those who exploited its location for other reasons, human trafficking being the most prevalent.
Of course, those sorts of considerations were not an issue for the guests aboard the Florence.
"I can't believe I ever let you talk me into this, you know," Charly said in her soft, playful, educated American accent. "I mean, seriously, we're still just getting to know each other and I'm not someone given to flights of fancy. You're very persuasive." She leant her body back provocatively from the upper- deck dining table, reclining so that her magnificent curves gave their best effect upon the broad gold and white stripes of the bench seat.
"I am ... enchanted by you:' Raoul replied, openly admiring her. "How could I not wish to lavish you with luxury?"
"Well, it certainly is beautiful here. Still, why I allowed you to whisk me away from New York like that; flying me off to Rome, then Catalina, then this ..." She smiled at him, casting her eyes out across the deep blue waters twinkling under a perfect sun. "It's been an amazing week already, Raoul. I just want to thank you for taking things slowly."
"We have as much or as little time as you like, my dear:' he said. "Who knows, you may even grow to like me along the way." Again, the dazzling smile. "It is my pleasure to share
"Yes. Yes, of course," Lazarevic replied cautiously. "Anything. Just ask me."
"Well, let's start with something easy." Tappin gave the impression they were just a bunch of guys sitting around talking about baseball or football with his easy manner. He was just warming up. "We'd like to start with anything you know about any folks here in the US who may be sympathetic to—"
There was a loud knock on the door, it opened and a young woman, one of the Interpol staff, appeared. She excused herself and gestured for Ryerson to join her. Pat Ryerson was immediately on his feet and disappeared into the corridor, closing the door behind him. There was silence for a few moments before he returned. The door remained open.
"Mr Lazarevic," Ryerson said, "my colleague here is going to escort you to another room. I'd appreciate it if you'd wait there until I collect you. This will only take a moment."
The young woman was at the door again and ushered Lazarevic outside in silence. Ryerson closed the door and came back. He sat heavily upon the edge of the table. His face was grave.
"What the fuck's going on, Pat?" asked Tappin. "There's been a hit on one of the other judges," Ryerson said. "This one was successful."
"Who was it?" Morgan said.
"Judge Guillaume Rene de Villepin. Happened at his home in Bordeaux last night. Wasn't discovered until this morning. Building superintendent called it in." "Jesus!" exclaimed Tappin. "How?"
"Bullet straight through the heart as he answered his front door," Ryerson replied. Then he turned to Morgan. "Alex, I don't rally know what it is you guys do, but your boss wants you, son. Pronto. He's in Vallincourt's office. You're to go straight in."
PART TWO
DEAD OR ALIVE
Chapter 13
ABOARD THE YACHT FLORENCE, THE MEDITERRANEAN
The yacht swam upon the crystalline waters of the Mediterranean, rolling gently on the waves as sea breezes kissed her decks with secret whispers of ancient history. She sat five nautical miles off the east coast of Malta, due south of Sicily, along the maritime route between Valletta and Catania, her last port of call.
The significance of the island's strategic position in the center of the Mediterranean had seen Malta be a much sought-after prize throughout all the great empires, from the Phoenicians to the British, for literally thousands of years. While that was still true to some extent, its significance today as a staging point into southern Europe was equally as important to those who exploited its location for other reasons, human trafficking being the most prevalent.
Of course, those sorts of considerations were not an issue for the guests aboard the Florence.
"I can't believe I ever let you talk me into this, you know," Charly said in her soft, playful, educated American accent. "I mean, seriously, we're still just getting to know each other and I'm not someone given to flights of fancy. You're very persuasive." She leant her body back provocatively from the upper- deck dining table, reclining so that her magnificent curves gave their best effect upon the broad gold and white stripes of the bench seat.
"I am ... enchanted by you:' Raoul replied, openly admiring her. "How could I not wish to lavish you with luxury?"
"Well, it certainly is beautiful here. Still, why I allowed you to whisk me away from New York like that; flying me off to Rome, then Catalina, then this ..." She smiled at him, casting her eyes out across the deep blue waters twinkling under a perfect sun. "It's been an amazing week already, Raoul. I just want to thank you for taking things slowly."
"We have as much or as little time as you like, my dear:' he said. "Who knows, you may even grow to like me along the way." Again, the dazzling smile. "It is my pleasure to share
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