Read Online WHATEVER THE COST: A Mark Cole Thriller by J.T. Brannan - Free Book Online
Authors: J.T. Brannan
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‘Just looking.’
The man stopped barking at him in Khmer and switched to English himself. ‘This no place to be just fucking looking!’ he screamed. ‘You waste my fucking time!’ He moved as if to swing a punch at Cole, but Cole could tell it was bluster and moved backwards easily. ‘That’s right!’ the man shouted again. ‘You best back away! Now go on, fuck off!’
Cole did as he was told, and turned to look across the crowds towards Khat’s stall. He noticed that Boom was gone; probably didn’t want to be in the area when Cole turned up. Which was fair enough, Cole considered, checking the pistol in his waistband.
It could get messy.
Cole’s plan was simple – he was going to kidnap the man right in front of everyone.
When he had been held captive in that hellhole in Pakistan, he had met an Indian prisoner who had taught him the secret marma adi pressure point strikes of the ancient Indian art of Kalaripayattu, said to be the forerunner of the later martial arts of both China and Japan.
It was Cole’s skill in this art which had made him so valuable to Charles Hansard and his assassination program. Through subtle attacks to specific parts of the human body, he was able to cause a wide range of conditions in his victim – from shock, to unconscious ness, to death, to a death which could be delayed for several hours and or even days. It was a seemingly mystical power, but one which was based on thousands of years of observation and practice within the holistic Indian health system of Ayurvedic medicine.
As a ‘contract labo rer’ for the US government, Cole could therefore assassinate enemies of the state just by getting close enough to press or squeeze their pressure points, often without the victim even noticing. And by the time the person died, he would be long gone, the death blamed on natural causes such as stroke or heart attack.
It was hard to use such skills in the heat of a fight, as the art required absolute precision to be effective; but when used on an unsuspecting victim, it was the assassin’s art par excellence.
Not that Cole wanted to kill Khat; not yet, anyway.
Instead, he was going to shake the man’s hand whilst pressing into the forearm with the fingertips of his other hand; a simple yet effective attack which would render Khat immediately unconscious. Cole would then apply first aid, make a scene of it being a heart attack, and load him in the Toyota for an emergency hospital visit.
It would require confidence to pull off, but Cole knew that the scene would cause a panic – and when ignorance was mutual, confidence was King.
He edged towards the stall as Khat’s last customer moved away, smiling disarmingly towards the dealer as he approached.
Here we go , Cole thought as he extended his hand in greeting.
It went wrong almost instantly.
Cole could see Khat’s gold fillings as he smiled widely at him; yet it wasn’t a friendly smile at all, it was the smile of a spider welcoming the fly into its trap.
And suddenly Cole realized how stupid he had been, going into such a place with no surveillance, no reconnaissance, no detailed planning; trusting a man he barely knew.
The gun which came up to press against the back of his head was held by Boom, Cole knew that without having to look. And then Khat’s associates broke away from the stall, drawing their own weapons and forming a semi-circle around Cole.
At the head of the circle was Khat; still smiling, shirt-front open, relaxed and casual.
‘You come behind my tent and we talk, yeah?’ he called over to Cole.
Damn it.
He’d been out of the game too long, grown soft; not physically, but mentally. There was no way he would have ever trusted Boom a few years ago, no way he would have approached a foreign gun market so eagerly, with such little preparation. But he had been punishing himself for so long – making things hard for himself, intentionally putting himself in harm’s way, putting himself in
The man stopped barking at him in Khmer and switched to English himself. ‘This no place to be just fucking looking!’ he screamed. ‘You waste my fucking time!’ He moved as if to swing a punch at Cole, but Cole could tell it was bluster and moved backwards easily. ‘That’s right!’ the man shouted again. ‘You best back away! Now go on, fuck off!’
Cole did as he was told, and turned to look across the crowds towards Khat’s stall. He noticed that Boom was gone; probably didn’t want to be in the area when Cole turned up. Which was fair enough, Cole considered, checking the pistol in his waistband.
It could get messy.
Cole’s plan was simple – he was going to kidnap the man right in front of everyone.
When he had been held captive in that hellhole in Pakistan, he had met an Indian prisoner who had taught him the secret marma adi pressure point strikes of the ancient Indian art of Kalaripayattu, said to be the forerunner of the later martial arts of both China and Japan.
It was Cole’s skill in this art which had made him so valuable to Charles Hansard and his assassination program. Through subtle attacks to specific parts of the human body, he was able to cause a wide range of conditions in his victim – from shock, to unconscious ness, to death, to a death which could be delayed for several hours and or even days. It was a seemingly mystical power, but one which was based on thousands of years of observation and practice within the holistic Indian health system of Ayurvedic medicine.
As a ‘contract labo rer’ for the US government, Cole could therefore assassinate enemies of the state just by getting close enough to press or squeeze their pressure points, often without the victim even noticing. And by the time the person died, he would be long gone, the death blamed on natural causes such as stroke or heart attack.
It was hard to use such skills in the heat of a fight, as the art required absolute precision to be effective; but when used on an unsuspecting victim, it was the assassin’s art par excellence.
Not that Cole wanted to kill Khat; not yet, anyway.
Instead, he was going to shake the man’s hand whilst pressing into the forearm with the fingertips of his other hand; a simple yet effective attack which would render Khat immediately unconscious. Cole would then apply first aid, make a scene of it being a heart attack, and load him in the Toyota for an emergency hospital visit.
It would require confidence to pull off, but Cole knew that the scene would cause a panic – and when ignorance was mutual, confidence was King.
He edged towards the stall as Khat’s last customer moved away, smiling disarmingly towards the dealer as he approached.
Here we go , Cole thought as he extended his hand in greeting.
It went wrong almost instantly.
Cole could see Khat’s gold fillings as he smiled widely at him; yet it wasn’t a friendly smile at all, it was the smile of a spider welcoming the fly into its trap.
And suddenly Cole realized how stupid he had been, going into such a place with no surveillance, no reconnaissance, no detailed planning; trusting a man he barely knew.
The gun which came up to press against the back of his head was held by Boom, Cole knew that without having to look. And then Khat’s associates broke away from the stall, drawing their own weapons and forming a semi-circle around Cole.
At the head of the circle was Khat; still smiling, shirt-front open, relaxed and casual.
‘You come behind my tent and we talk, yeah?’ he called over to Cole.
Damn it.
He’d been out of the game too long, grown soft; not physically, but mentally. There was no way he would have ever trusted Boom a few years ago, no way he would have approached a foreign gun market so eagerly, with such little preparation. But he had been punishing himself for so long – making things hard for himself, intentionally putting himself in harm’s way, putting himself in
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