Donovan Creed Books 5-8 by John Locke

Author:John Locke
Language: deu
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781781854365
Publisher: Head of Zeus Ltd.
Published: 2011-03-15T00:00:00+00:00

1.

29 Hours Earlier…

THE CHIP IN my head can be activated by tapping a four-digit code into a device that looks like a wristwatch. When the code is entered, the chip heats up and starts liquefying my brain. Do that to me, and you better have fresh batteries and type in the right code, because if you don’t, I’m going to come for you.

It’s not personal.

I know you’ve got a life, a loving spouse, two apple-cheeked kids, three dogs, four cats and five parakeets. Or maybe you live alone in a basement apartment with a single window that’s half dirt and half sky, and you dine nightly on canned cat food while fantasizing about large, hairy women in boxer shorts who could win the limbo contest if the people on either end would just raise the fucking bar!

Either way, you’ve got a life, and as far as I’m concerned, you deserve to live it without interference from me.

Until you press those buttons.

Do that, and your life belongs to me.

I’m Donovan Creed, former CIA assassin, sometime hit man for the mob. I currently head up a team of assassins who kill suspected terrorists for Uncle Sam. I can be your best friend or your worst nightmare.

But you should know I don’t have many friends.

I’m a tolerant, even-tempered guy who likes the same things you do: long walks on the beach at sunset, holding hands, romantic candle-lit dinners featuring great food and premium Kentucky bourbon, making love under the stars with high-end call girls, torturing, maiming and killing bad guys…

I’m not a bully.

Random comment, I know, but God, I hate bullies.

I’ve been told I have a hero complex, which means I feel compelled to help those in need. Personally, I think the world would be a better place if more people get involved when bad things go down. But apparently the fact I feel compelled to help people—instead of choosing to help them—makes me something of a sociopath. Let’s say it this way: if you’re a bully—and that word covers a lot of ground with me—it won’t take long for you to see something no one wants to see:

The man I keep hid.

To prevent that from happening, don’t fuck with the USA and don’t fuck with me, or the people I care about.

Which brings me to the buzz I felt in my head a few hours ago. The one caused not by alcohol, but by someone attempting to activate the kill chip in my brain.

I’d been enjoying a lovely dinner with Miranda, a particularly attractive young lady of the evening. We were in New York City, had the whole night ahead of us. I didn’t cancel the date, because we’d been looking forward to it for weeks. In the end, we had a great time despite the fact someone was trying to kill me.

Here’s what I know about the kill chip: it was grafted to my brain more than a year ago by the government surgeon who heads the hospital at Sensory Resources,

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