Read Online Raymond Benson - 2012 - Hitman: Damnation by Raymond Benson - Free Book Online
Authors: Raymond Benson
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out.
More gunshots.
47
froze and backed up. He pulled a Silverballer from
his backpack, aimed at the suspended shooter, and fired.
A hit. But not a kill. The sun was
simply too strong. It was like trying to aim into a fireball and strike a dot.
Nevertheless, 47 heard the man yelp in pain. But the guy held on to the QBZ-95
and started firing again. 47 decided to go in the opposite direction from which
he was supposed to climb. It was the only way to avoid getting perforated. He
had no idea what the route would be like or where it would take him, but he had
to move.
Then
he felt a tremor.
Where
was Diana?
The
cliff rumbled beneath his legs.
Move!
Move! Now! Now!
But
the Chinese shooter blocked his way with a barrage of death.…
SEVEN
… just as the Learjet jerked hard, continuing its
plummet toward the sea.
Agent
47 broke out of his reverie and returned to the here and now. He was still
strapped to the seat in the plane’s cabin, utterly helpless. He considered
opening the emergency hatch and jumping out right before the aircraft hit the
water. Would he survive? Possibly. It was worth a try.
He had the life vest. If the fall didn’t kill him, he could inflate the vest in
the water. Better than sitting there with a useless seat belt
across his waist.
He
unbuckled it and stood. The assassin clutched the back of the seats as he made
his way to the door, located just behind the cockpit. The plane lunged
brutally, throwing 47 to the floor. He pulled himself up to continue what might
be his final act, but then he remembered the briefcase. If he was going to die,
he wanted to perish with his beloved tools of the trade. The hitman retraced his steps, clumsily moving through the
cabin as the jet jerked and tilted erratically. When he reached his seat, 47
leaned over and grabbed the case with his adopted insignia, similar to a
fleur-de-lis, stamped on the outside.
Back to the door.
He
didn’t dare look out the window as he moved. How many seconds did he have left? A minute or two? Less?
It
took a near-superhuman effort to reach the hatch. The instructions for
emergency opening were printed on the interior. It wasn’t rocket science. Push
this lever and pull that one.
So
do it. What are you waiting for?
Push.
Pull.
The
hatch broke away from the fuselage and soared into space. A huge gush of wet
air nearly sucked Agent 47 out with it, but he held on to a safety handle on
the side and braced himself with his shoes against the frame.
Now
he could see the well of death below. A thousand feet? Less? With the storm battering the doorway, it was
difficult to know for certain.
But
it was obvious he had only a few seconds left.
Jump!
If
he was going to do it, he had to do it now.
Jump!
Agent
47 thrust himself through the hatchway and was hit with a sledgehammer of rain
and wind. For a moment he didn’t think he was falling; he was aware only of
being suspended in the maelstrom. Incongruously, he sensed that he was still
clutching the briefcase in one hand. The assassin thought he saw the jet veer
off into the darkness above and beyond him, but he wasn’t sure. He was blind
and deaf from the raging hell around him.
For
no logical reason, he started to count to himself.
One
… two …
Was
he even moving? Was the frenetic, cold whirlwind spinning him around and
around?
More gunshots.
47
froze and backed up. He pulled a Silverballer from
his backpack, aimed at the suspended shooter, and fired.
A hit. But not a kill. The sun was
simply too strong. It was like trying to aim into a fireball and strike a dot.
Nevertheless, 47 heard the man yelp in pain. But the guy held on to the QBZ-95
and started firing again. 47 decided to go in the opposite direction from which
he was supposed to climb. It was the only way to avoid getting perforated. He
had no idea what the route would be like or where it would take him, but he had
to move.
Then
he felt a tremor.
Where
was Diana?
The
cliff rumbled beneath his legs.
Move!
Move! Now! Now!
But
the Chinese shooter blocked his way with a barrage of death.…
SEVEN
… just as the Learjet jerked hard, continuing its
plummet toward the sea.
Agent
47 broke out of his reverie and returned to the here and now. He was still
strapped to the seat in the plane’s cabin, utterly helpless. He considered
opening the emergency hatch and jumping out right before the aircraft hit the
water. Would he survive? Possibly. It was worth a try.
He had the life vest. If the fall didn’t kill him, he could inflate the vest in
the water. Better than sitting there with a useless seat belt
across his waist.
He
unbuckled it and stood. The assassin clutched the back of the seats as he made
his way to the door, located just behind the cockpit. The plane lunged
brutally, throwing 47 to the floor. He pulled himself up to continue what might
be his final act, but then he remembered the briefcase. If he was going to die,
he wanted to perish with his beloved tools of the trade. The hitman retraced his steps, clumsily moving through the
cabin as the jet jerked and tilted erratically. When he reached his seat, 47
leaned over and grabbed the case with his adopted insignia, similar to a
fleur-de-lis, stamped on the outside.
Back to the door.
He
didn’t dare look out the window as he moved. How many seconds did he have left? A minute or two? Less?
It
took a near-superhuman effort to reach the hatch. The instructions for
emergency opening were printed on the interior. It wasn’t rocket science. Push
this lever and pull that one.
So
do it. What are you waiting for?
Push.
Pull.
The
hatch broke away from the fuselage and soared into space. A huge gush of wet
air nearly sucked Agent 47 out with it, but he held on to a safety handle on
the side and braced himself with his shoes against the frame.
Now
he could see the well of death below. A thousand feet? Less? With the storm battering the doorway, it was
difficult to know for certain.
But
it was obvious he had only a few seconds left.
Jump!
If
he was going to do it, he had to do it now.
Jump!
Agent
47 thrust himself through the hatchway and was hit with a sledgehammer of rain
and wind. For a moment he didn’t think he was falling; he was aware only of
being suspended in the maelstrom. Incongruously, he sensed that he was still
clutching the briefcase in one hand. The assassin thought he saw the jet veer
off into the darkness above and beyond him, but he wasn’t sure. He was blind
and deaf from the raging hell around him.
For
no logical reason, he started to count to himself.
One
… two …
Was
he even moving? Was the frenetic, cold whirlwind spinning him around and
around?
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