officially ready to report for duty.
Jordan waited in the basement, crouched at the foot of the stairs. When he heard a rustling on the main floor fifteen minutes later Jordan snuck over to the breaker panel and cut the power to every part of the house. Overheard heavy footsteps echoed, several strangers roaming through the rooms in the dark. Muffled voices were speaking in a foreign language he could not make out. After a few minutes the voices stopped and Jordan heard an eruption of gunfire on the top floor. He allowed himself a smirk.
The Russians discovered their mistake and were not happy. Shouting echoed down, a couple of them were arguing amongst themselves. They would have to work quickly now, the sound of the gunshots would bring the police in a short time. Jordan crept back under the basement stairs and listened intently. Two footsteps headed off somewhere, but a third came closer and paused just above.
Someone opened the basement door and flipped at the light switch a couple times. When nothing happened , a gruff male voice cussed into the dark.
“ Yebanutaya suka .”
The voice yelled something out to the others and then the man slowly began his descent downward. Through the space between the steps Jordan saw two Timberland boots coming down, followed by two thick pairs of legs in a pair of cargo pants. With the night vision goggles turned on, everything was hued a pale sort of green. The man got to the bottom of the steps and his nervous eyes glanced around in the dark. His exquisitely coiffed hair was dyed platinum blonde, and much to Jordan’s delight he was decorated with feathers from exploded pillows.
Jordan let out a snicker and startled the man who leapt back and waved his gun around in the dark. Trembling, the Russian mumbled something that sounded like it meant who is there, or what was that? Slowly he stepped away from the stairway and blindly trudged forward in the general direction of the laundry room. A sliver of light coming in through a narrow window must have drawn his eyes. Jordan came out from under the stairs and tip-toed up behind the man. He slid the bowie knife out of its sheath and was about to drive it through the Russian’s back and into his liver when he changed his mind. Jordan’s commanders in Special Forces would have called this seeing red; when the glory of the battle or the thrill of the hunt or whatever you wanted to call it started affecting your judgment.
Calling up a happy memory of a picnic with Sarah and Emma, Jordan imagined their faces, and when the anger manifested he made sure to put it to good use. Jordan was going to enjoy this.
Through the green haze of his night vision Jordan saw his gloved hands stretching out in the dark. They grabbed hold of the Russian by the neck and twisted to the right as hard as they were capable of. For a few moments the platinum blonde hit man struggled, choking for air and trying to break free, but then Jordan heard a satisfying pop and he slumped to the floor, his body limp.
“Too easy.”
Jordan checked the pulse by the wrist. When he was sure blondy was dead Jordan picked up his weapon and stashed it away in his duffel bag, which he carried upstairs.
Just as Jordan was reaching for the knob to the basement door it swung open. A tall man with a closely trimmed goatee had his hand on the door. His head was turned as he was yelling up to another Russian who must have been on the top floor searching the other bedrooms.
“Da.”
The man turned to call down to dead platinum blonde friend and he received a shock. In a rush he whipped a Beretta out and pointed it at the black shadow that had come bounding up out of the darkness. Jordan had the bowie knife out and he swung a wide arc, aiming for the tall man’s throat, but the Russian had remarkable reflexes for a man his size and dived backwards just out of reach of the blade.
Tumbling backwards, the tall Russian fired a round at Jordan but missed and shot a hole into the
Jordan waited in the basement, crouched at the foot of the stairs. When he heard a rustling on the main floor fifteen minutes later Jordan snuck over to the breaker panel and cut the power to every part of the house. Overheard heavy footsteps echoed, several strangers roaming through the rooms in the dark. Muffled voices were speaking in a foreign language he could not make out. After a few minutes the voices stopped and Jordan heard an eruption of gunfire on the top floor. He allowed himself a smirk.
The Russians discovered their mistake and were not happy. Shouting echoed down, a couple of them were arguing amongst themselves. They would have to work quickly now, the sound of the gunshots would bring the police in a short time. Jordan crept back under the basement stairs and listened intently. Two footsteps headed off somewhere, but a third came closer and paused just above.
Someone opened the basement door and flipped at the light switch a couple times. When nothing happened , a gruff male voice cussed into the dark.
“ Yebanutaya suka .”
The voice yelled something out to the others and then the man slowly began his descent downward. Through the space between the steps Jordan saw two Timberland boots coming down, followed by two thick pairs of legs in a pair of cargo pants. With the night vision goggles turned on, everything was hued a pale sort of green. The man got to the bottom of the steps and his nervous eyes glanced around in the dark. His exquisitely coiffed hair was dyed platinum blonde, and much to Jordan’s delight he was decorated with feathers from exploded pillows.
Jordan let out a snicker and startled the man who leapt back and waved his gun around in the dark. Trembling, the Russian mumbled something that sounded like it meant who is there, or what was that? Slowly he stepped away from the stairway and blindly trudged forward in the general direction of the laundry room. A sliver of light coming in through a narrow window must have drawn his eyes. Jordan came out from under the stairs and tip-toed up behind the man. He slid the bowie knife out of its sheath and was about to drive it through the Russian’s back and into his liver when he changed his mind. Jordan’s commanders in Special Forces would have called this seeing red; when the glory of the battle or the thrill of the hunt or whatever you wanted to call it started affecting your judgment.
Calling up a happy memory of a picnic with Sarah and Emma, Jordan imagined their faces, and when the anger manifested he made sure to put it to good use. Jordan was going to enjoy this.
Through the green haze of his night vision Jordan saw his gloved hands stretching out in the dark. They grabbed hold of the Russian by the neck and twisted to the right as hard as they were capable of. For a few moments the platinum blonde hit man struggled, choking for air and trying to break free, but then Jordan heard a satisfying pop and he slumped to the floor, his body limp.
“Too easy.”
Jordan checked the pulse by the wrist. When he was sure blondy was dead Jordan picked up his weapon and stashed it away in his duffel bag, which he carried upstairs.
Just as Jordan was reaching for the knob to the basement door it swung open. A tall man with a closely trimmed goatee had his hand on the door. His head was turned as he was yelling up to another Russian who must have been on the top floor searching the other bedrooms.
“Da.”
The man turned to call down to dead platinum blonde friend and he received a shock. In a rush he whipped a Beretta out and pointed it at the black shadow that had come bounding up out of the darkness. Jordan had the bowie knife out and he swung a wide arc, aiming for the tall man’s throat, but the Russian had remarkable reflexes for a man his size and dived backwards just out of reach of the blade.
Tumbling backwards, the tall Russian fired a round at Jordan but missed and shot a hole into the
Similar Books
