Read Online Raymond Benson - 2012 - Hitman: Damnation by Raymond Benson - Free Book Online Page A

           Three
… four …
                 The
noise was unbearable. It was as if he were inside the roars of a thousand
beasts.
                 Five
… six … sev —
                 A
wall of freeze slammed into his body, and the cacophony abruptly ended. The
powerful wind ceased and was replaced by an envelope of frigid liquid.
                 For
a moment he might have lost consciousness. He wasn’t sure.
                 Relax.
Don’t fight it. Go limp.
                 Years
of training had conditioned Agent 47 to completely surrender to the sea. To
fight it would be disastrous. The only way to surface and catch the precious
oxygen above was to become a lifeless, weightless particle of ocean trash.
                 And
it worked.
                 Agent
47’s bald head broke the surface, and he gasped for breath. It was only then
that he kicked and moved his arms in an effort to tread. The ocean was indeed
rough and extremely dangerous.
                 Incredibly,
he still gripped the briefcase. It was as if the thing was in actuality an
outgrowth of his arm.
                 The
life jacket!
                 He
had almost forgotten it.
                 With
his free hand, he pulled the tube up and into his mouth. Blowing was extremely
difficult. It was hard enough to breathe normally in such conditions, and yet
he managed to do it. It took an eternity, but slowly the vest inflated and did
its job to keep the assassin afloat.
                 Completely
spent, Agent 47 allowed the roiling waves to carry him wherever they might, yielding to a blanket of black unawareness.
                 Voices
and noises murkily drifted in and out of his brain. As his eyelids blinked
open, blurry bright lights pierced his retinas like spears. He felt the urge to
cough, but the effort was a gurgling gasp. Hands were on him, pushing, pulling
…
                 He
heard the distinct words, “He’s alive!”
                 And
then he sank back into a cocoon of nothingness.
                     *
                 When
next he opened his eyes, his vision was less blurry. The bright lights were
still above him, and he realized he was no longer floating helplessly in the
ocean. However, the rocking sensation of being tossed around by the waves was
still present.
                 Agent
47 lay in a bed. He was dressed in a hospital gown and was covered with warm
sheets and blankets. An IV was attached to the back of his right hand. A drip
on a stand stood next to the bed. Turning his head, he saw a nurse with her
back to him.
                 He
coughed, but it came out in an unintelligible croak.
                 She
turned. Dark hair, in her thirties. “Oh, you’re awake!
I’ll get the doctor.”
                 Where
am I?
                 The
assassin studied his surroundings. It was no ordinary hospital room. Too small. The windows were round. Portholes.
                 He
was on a boat.
                 No
wonder he still felt the rocking of the sea.
                 A
black man in a white lab coat entered the cabin, followed by the nurse. He was
in his fifties, wore glasses, and had a kind face.
                 “Good
morning,” he said in a British accent. “I’m Dr. Chalmers. How are you feeling?”
                 Agent
47 didn’t answer.
                 “You’ve
had a rough time. You were lucky we were nearby. We picked you up out of the
water. You’d almost drowned.”
                 Again,
the hitman said nothing.
                 “Don’t
worry. You’re going to be fine. You have a strong constitution.”
                 47
already knew that.
                 “We’re
giving you some fluids through an IV. You were