Read Online The Virtuosic Spy 01 - Deceptive Cadence by Kathryn Guare - Free Book Online
Authors: Kathryn Guare
Tags: Suspense, Literature & Fiction, Thrillers, Espionage, Mystery, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Literary Fiction, International Mystery & Crime, Thrillers & Suspense, British & Irish
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him earlier was observing the exchange. She could not have identified him until that moment.
Her hand disappeared into the bundle she held gathered against her chest. He still had time to get off a shot, but instead he turned and launched himself back at the alcove, diving for cover. It was too late. The shot hit him before he landed, and an explosion of pain immediately followed.
“Shit, shit, shit!” He sprawled in the doorway with a hand pressed to his side, emphasizing each exclamation with a vicious kick at the wall.
The lights snapped on, and the images of the village night market faded from the screens around him. He was once again surrounded by the sterile, fluorescent glare of the Fort’s simulation facility. With a small hum, the air conditioning powered on, and his mouth twisted in annoyance as a door at the end of the corridor opened, revealing the compact, muscular figure of his weapons training instructor, Joanna Patch.
She strolled forward and squatted down next to him. From the hint of laughter in her light brown eyes, he could tell she was in a playful mood. Ordinarily, he would have jumped at the opportunity to widen this crack in her professional demeanor, but now it increased his irritation.
“It’s no good trying to put a foot through the wall, you know,” she said lightly. “It doesn’t change the fact that you are now lying in a dark alley in Gwalior with a bullet in your side.”
“Yeah, I don’t need the detailed narrative, thanks.” Conor shifted painfully against the wall. “The physical evidence of your handiwork is realistic enough. What the hell was that, anyway? Sure, I’d be dead right now if you’d clipped me in the head with it.”
“It’s a small ball made of concentrated felt traveling at sixty-five miles per hour when it hits you.” Joanna gave him a serene smile. “And if I’d wanted to hit you in the head with it, I would have done.”
“You might give me a vest or something for these exercises.” He rubbed a drop of sweat from his nose, still feeling peevish.
“Ah, but you won’t have such luxuries in the field, now, will you?”
“Yeah, and haven’t you been telling me I won’t have a gun in the field, either?”
“I said we wouldn’t be issuing you a gun,” Joanna corrected him. “But you never know when someone might pitch one at you and tell you to start firing, so we think it’s wise to teach you how to use it. Now, let’s have a look. Ooh, yes. Nasty, that. Not much fun getting shot up, is it? Best avoided at all costs.”
Conor pushed her hand away and yanked his shirt down over the spreading bruise on his side. He sat up a little straighter.
“Was she carrying a baby in that bundle of rags or not?
“Is that why you didn’t fire?” Joanna asked. “Because everything else was going splendidly. You assembled the Glock in record time. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone do it faster, working in the dark. We’ve already established that you’ve a quick draw and a deadly aim. You had plenty of time for a preemptive shot, and yet you didn’t take it. Is that why? You thought you might shoot an innocent baby whilst saving your own life?”
She waited for an explanation, but when he didn’t offer one, she sighed and rose to her feet. The mischievous attitude fell away as she gazed down at him with an expression of cool disappointment. “It was just a bundle of rags. No baby. So you sacrificed yourself for nothing, you see. You should have taken the shot. You need to grow a bit more comfortable with moral ambiguity, Conor. Being able to act on the lesser of two evils might save your life someday.”
She left him then and headed back to the control room, but at the sound of the Glock being once more stripped into pieces, she stopped and turned to face him. With deliberate care, and without taking his eyes from her face, he sent each piece sliding across the floor to rest at her feet.
“With all due respect, Joanna, your little
Her hand disappeared into the bundle she held gathered against her chest. He still had time to get off a shot, but instead he turned and launched himself back at the alcove, diving for cover. It was too late. The shot hit him before he landed, and an explosion of pain immediately followed.
“Shit, shit, shit!” He sprawled in the doorway with a hand pressed to his side, emphasizing each exclamation with a vicious kick at the wall.
The lights snapped on, and the images of the village night market faded from the screens around him. He was once again surrounded by the sterile, fluorescent glare of the Fort’s simulation facility. With a small hum, the air conditioning powered on, and his mouth twisted in annoyance as a door at the end of the corridor opened, revealing the compact, muscular figure of his weapons training instructor, Joanna Patch.
She strolled forward and squatted down next to him. From the hint of laughter in her light brown eyes, he could tell she was in a playful mood. Ordinarily, he would have jumped at the opportunity to widen this crack in her professional demeanor, but now it increased his irritation.
“It’s no good trying to put a foot through the wall, you know,” she said lightly. “It doesn’t change the fact that you are now lying in a dark alley in Gwalior with a bullet in your side.”
“Yeah, I don’t need the detailed narrative, thanks.” Conor shifted painfully against the wall. “The physical evidence of your handiwork is realistic enough. What the hell was that, anyway? Sure, I’d be dead right now if you’d clipped me in the head with it.”
“It’s a small ball made of concentrated felt traveling at sixty-five miles per hour when it hits you.” Joanna gave him a serene smile. “And if I’d wanted to hit you in the head with it, I would have done.”
“You might give me a vest or something for these exercises.” He rubbed a drop of sweat from his nose, still feeling peevish.
“Ah, but you won’t have such luxuries in the field, now, will you?”
“Yeah, and haven’t you been telling me I won’t have a gun in the field, either?”
“I said we wouldn’t be issuing you a gun,” Joanna corrected him. “But you never know when someone might pitch one at you and tell you to start firing, so we think it’s wise to teach you how to use it. Now, let’s have a look. Ooh, yes. Nasty, that. Not much fun getting shot up, is it? Best avoided at all costs.”
Conor pushed her hand away and yanked his shirt down over the spreading bruise on his side. He sat up a little straighter.
“Was she carrying a baby in that bundle of rags or not?
“Is that why you didn’t fire?” Joanna asked. “Because everything else was going splendidly. You assembled the Glock in record time. I don’t think I’ve seen anyone do it faster, working in the dark. We’ve already established that you’ve a quick draw and a deadly aim. You had plenty of time for a preemptive shot, and yet you didn’t take it. Is that why? You thought you might shoot an innocent baby whilst saving your own life?”
She waited for an explanation, but when he didn’t offer one, she sighed and rose to her feet. The mischievous attitude fell away as she gazed down at him with an expression of cool disappointment. “It was just a bundle of rags. No baby. So you sacrificed yourself for nothing, you see. You should have taken the shot. You need to grow a bit more comfortable with moral ambiguity, Conor. Being able to act on the lesser of two evils might save your life someday.”
She left him then and headed back to the control room, but at the sound of the Glock being once more stripped into pieces, she stopped and turned to face him. With deliberate care, and without taking his eyes from her face, he sent each piece sliding across the floor to rest at her feet.
“With all due respect, Joanna, your little
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