Read Online Love is a Stranger by John Wiltshire - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: John Wiltshire
Tags: gay romance
Ads: Link
come.”
The phone was clicked off.
In two minutes, Ben went from being self-indulgent and theatrically miserable to the hard professional he actually was—the man who had thrived in Special Forces and then been personally headhunted for the department. His guns and other equipment were in the armoury at work. It was two hours to Nikolas’s house, even on the bike. He could be there tonight.
Ben!
“You’d have to put a gun to my head, first, I abhor nicknames … ”
Nikolas couldn’t have made it any clearer that something bad was happening—something he couldn’t call the department for. Ben felt a surge of emotion, primal and very, very good, wash through his body. He was back in the game.
By early evening, he was on the bike heading to Devon at 120 miles per hour in the outer lane of the M4. It had been dark since three and was bitterly cold, a light snow starting to fall as he hit the M5 junction. At Exeter, he left the motorway and began the familiar wind through country lanes toward Barton Combe, the nearest village to the house. Instead of turning into the gatehouse, he took the alternate route to the river and left the bike secluded at the edge of the woods. In black, well armed, he made his way on foot toward the house, coming at it from the grounds. At a suitable distance, he took cover and aimed his night-vision scope across the darkened façade of the building. There were a number of expensive cars parked on the gravel in front of the house. Something was lying by the front door. He held still and let his mind form the pattern to make sense of it. It was a body, but not a man. Not him . It was a dog. He scanned each window in turn and could detect a faint trace of light from the hallway. He retreated back into the trees and began to move around the house toward the back. He’d only gone a few hundred yards when he heard the unmistakable click of a lighter and saw the glow of a cigarette illuminating a face and top half of a man. He had a rifle slung over one shoulder. Ben didn’t recognise him. He waited for a moment and was rewarded by the man’s phone ringing and a conversation in rapid Arabic. “ No, no sign of him yet. I can see the whole house from here .”
Ben then knew what this was about. It was about him. Ibrahim Allouni had missed him at the cottage and had killed an innocent man instead, but now he was back. Unable to find him, he’d found Nikolas. Ben cursed himself silently for being so distracted he’d not followed through his suspicion that his assassination of Allouni’s son had been a compromised operation. Someone in the department had betrayed him and now Nikolas. Ben filed it away. He had other concerns just now. He gathered himself into the right frame of mind, approached the smoking man, and silently cut his throat, noting with utter detachment how the smoke rose from the throat for a moment before dissipating in the cold December air. He dragged the body into the bushes and took the phone, checking the weapon to see if it was worth keeping. It was vastly inferior to anything he carried, so he left it with the body. Mindful of the possibility of other sentries, he continued on his way to the back of the house and took up position where he could see in through the large windows to the kitchen.
Nikolas was sitting at the table, looking directly at him. Ben assumed he was just staring into the dark, but it was uncanny, nevertheless. Behind Nikolas at the counter were three men: Allouni, his brother Usama, and another man with a rifle held loosely across his arms. Nikolas said something; Usama came over and punched him in the side of the head. His brother pulled him back. Nikolas ran his fingers through his hair to tidy it and once more stared out of the window. Ben saw a slight smirk on his face, which made him immensely relieved.
By the number of cars, Ben reckoned there must be at least Philipa’s usual number of weekend guests,
The phone was clicked off.
In two minutes, Ben went from being self-indulgent and theatrically miserable to the hard professional he actually was—the man who had thrived in Special Forces and then been personally headhunted for the department. His guns and other equipment were in the armoury at work. It was two hours to Nikolas’s house, even on the bike. He could be there tonight.
Ben!
“You’d have to put a gun to my head, first, I abhor nicknames … ”
Nikolas couldn’t have made it any clearer that something bad was happening—something he couldn’t call the department for. Ben felt a surge of emotion, primal and very, very good, wash through his body. He was back in the game.
By early evening, he was on the bike heading to Devon at 120 miles per hour in the outer lane of the M4. It had been dark since three and was bitterly cold, a light snow starting to fall as he hit the M5 junction. At Exeter, he left the motorway and began the familiar wind through country lanes toward Barton Combe, the nearest village to the house. Instead of turning into the gatehouse, he took the alternate route to the river and left the bike secluded at the edge of the woods. In black, well armed, he made his way on foot toward the house, coming at it from the grounds. At a suitable distance, he took cover and aimed his night-vision scope across the darkened façade of the building. There were a number of expensive cars parked on the gravel in front of the house. Something was lying by the front door. He held still and let his mind form the pattern to make sense of it. It was a body, but not a man. Not him . It was a dog. He scanned each window in turn and could detect a faint trace of light from the hallway. He retreated back into the trees and began to move around the house toward the back. He’d only gone a few hundred yards when he heard the unmistakable click of a lighter and saw the glow of a cigarette illuminating a face and top half of a man. He had a rifle slung over one shoulder. Ben didn’t recognise him. He waited for a moment and was rewarded by the man’s phone ringing and a conversation in rapid Arabic. “ No, no sign of him yet. I can see the whole house from here .”
Ben then knew what this was about. It was about him. Ibrahim Allouni had missed him at the cottage and had killed an innocent man instead, but now he was back. Unable to find him, he’d found Nikolas. Ben cursed himself silently for being so distracted he’d not followed through his suspicion that his assassination of Allouni’s son had been a compromised operation. Someone in the department had betrayed him and now Nikolas. Ben filed it away. He had other concerns just now. He gathered himself into the right frame of mind, approached the smoking man, and silently cut his throat, noting with utter detachment how the smoke rose from the throat for a moment before dissipating in the cold December air. He dragged the body into the bushes and took the phone, checking the weapon to see if it was worth keeping. It was vastly inferior to anything he carried, so he left it with the body. Mindful of the possibility of other sentries, he continued on his way to the back of the house and took up position where he could see in through the large windows to the kitchen.
Nikolas was sitting at the table, looking directly at him. Ben assumed he was just staring into the dark, but it was uncanny, nevertheless. Behind Nikolas at the counter were three men: Allouni, his brother Usama, and another man with a rifle held loosely across his arms. Nikolas said something; Usama came over and punched him in the side of the head. His brother pulled him back. Nikolas ran his fingers through his hair to tidy it and once more stared out of the window. Ben saw a slight smirk on his face, which made him immensely relieved.
By the number of cars, Ben reckoned there must be at least Philipa’s usual number of weekend guests,
Similar Books
