Read Online Sentinel Five (The Redaction Chronicles Book 2) by James Quinn - Free Book Online
Authors: James Quinn
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the professional woman as she quickly gathered her clothes and dressed, ready to move on to her next client. Reierson lifted his naked bulk off the rug, walked to the bedroom and returned moments later wearing a hideous silk dressing gown of orange and black, and carrying a wad of cash wrapped in an elastic band. He peeled off several notes and held them out in his meaty fist. The woman quickly took them and stuffed them into her purse. She reached forward and offered him a chaste peck on the cheek; in return, in good Aussie style, he gave her a resounding smack on her backside as she tottered in her heels towards the exit. A slam of the door and she was gone. Now it was just the two men in the apartment.
The difference, sunshine, is that you don't know what's about to happen,
Gorilla thought.
Reierson smiled, the smile of a man who was satisfied with his life. He stretched, and Gorilla heard his back and knees click, before made his way to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large Rémy Martin, no ice. He flicked on the record player, something rock and roll that Gorilla didn't recognize and turned the volume up. It was someone singing about being a wild thing. Reierson sat back in a high chair facing the fire and the rug he'd just made love on. His feet tapped along to the music as he sipped his drink. Gorilla was pleased. The man was relaxed, off guard, and the volume of the music would help to hide what was going to happen next. He did one final mental check: catch to the inside of the cupboard loose, gloves on, gun primed. Check. He gently pushed open the door, took three long steps forward to reach the chair, brought the gun up to the side of Reierson's head and pulled the trigger, just as the drum beat of the song intensified. The boom of the revolver was lost in the maelstrom of music. It had been that simple, that easy and that brutal – and no more than three seconds had elapsed since he'd left the confines of the wall cupboard. Taking a life sometimes took no time at all and Reierson hadn't even been aware of what happened. One moment here, the next gone. Permanently.
Gorilla sat in an adjacent armchair and waited. He waited for the banging on the door, the wail of police sirens, and the screams of panicked neighbours. When none of that eventuated he knew he was in the clear. He turned to take one last glance at the dead man. The Australian was slumped sideways in the armchair, his head tilted to the left. There was a gaping hole in his right temple, from which blood still slowly pumped. Gorilla would give it another few minutes, then he'd turn down the volume level on the record player and make his escape.
According to the latest intelligence from Masterman and Penn, their mutual enemy Trench had been spotted in the hot spots of Hong Kong recently, by a friendly source inside Hong Kong Police's Intelligence and Security section. He'd last been seen in the company of the now-deceased Reierson, a known mercenary who was rumoured to have taken part in several contract killings. That alone was enough to flag him to the authorities. It seemed that Masterman's unofficial intelligence network reached far and wide, and they now had a clue suggesting Trench had returned to his old stomping ground of Hong Kong.
Regardless
, thought Gorilla,
his work here in Amsterdam was done and the next day he would be in the clear and winging his way to Asia.
He did one final check of the apartment, confirming for his own peace of mind that he hadn't left any clues or evidence behind. Then he placed the deniable pistol on the floor, underneath Reierson's hand. To the entire world, it would look as if the man had committed suicide and then dropped the pistol onto the floor as his life slipped away. Job done and case closed. Gorilla unlocked the front door and gave the dark shadowed body slumped in the chair a final look. It was the Gorilla's first kill in a long time and it had been oh-so-very simple.
I'm back,
thought
The difference, sunshine, is that you don't know what's about to happen,
Gorilla thought.
Reierson smiled, the smile of a man who was satisfied with his life. He stretched, and Gorilla heard his back and knees click, before made his way to the drinks cabinet and poured himself a large Rémy Martin, no ice. He flicked on the record player, something rock and roll that Gorilla didn't recognize and turned the volume up. It was someone singing about being a wild thing. Reierson sat back in a high chair facing the fire and the rug he'd just made love on. His feet tapped along to the music as he sipped his drink. Gorilla was pleased. The man was relaxed, off guard, and the volume of the music would help to hide what was going to happen next. He did one final mental check: catch to the inside of the cupboard loose, gloves on, gun primed. Check. He gently pushed open the door, took three long steps forward to reach the chair, brought the gun up to the side of Reierson's head and pulled the trigger, just as the drum beat of the song intensified. The boom of the revolver was lost in the maelstrom of music. It had been that simple, that easy and that brutal – and no more than three seconds had elapsed since he'd left the confines of the wall cupboard. Taking a life sometimes took no time at all and Reierson hadn't even been aware of what happened. One moment here, the next gone. Permanently.
Gorilla sat in an adjacent armchair and waited. He waited for the banging on the door, the wail of police sirens, and the screams of panicked neighbours. When none of that eventuated he knew he was in the clear. He turned to take one last glance at the dead man. The Australian was slumped sideways in the armchair, his head tilted to the left. There was a gaping hole in his right temple, from which blood still slowly pumped. Gorilla would give it another few minutes, then he'd turn down the volume level on the record player and make his escape.
According to the latest intelligence from Masterman and Penn, their mutual enemy Trench had been spotted in the hot spots of Hong Kong recently, by a friendly source inside Hong Kong Police's Intelligence and Security section. He'd last been seen in the company of the now-deceased Reierson, a known mercenary who was rumoured to have taken part in several contract killings. That alone was enough to flag him to the authorities. It seemed that Masterman's unofficial intelligence network reached far and wide, and they now had a clue suggesting Trench had returned to his old stomping ground of Hong Kong.
Regardless
, thought Gorilla,
his work here in Amsterdam was done and the next day he would be in the clear and winging his way to Asia.
He did one final check of the apartment, confirming for his own peace of mind that he hadn't left any clues or evidence behind. Then he placed the deniable pistol on the floor, underneath Reierson's hand. To the entire world, it would look as if the man had committed suicide and then dropped the pistol onto the floor as his life slipped away. Job done and case closed. Gorilla unlocked the front door and gave the dark shadowed body slumped in the chair a final look. It was the Gorilla's first kill in a long time and it had been oh-so-very simple.
I'm back,
thought
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