Hostile Intent by Don Bentley

Author:Don Bentley [Bentley, Don]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 9780593333532
Google: JO5nEAAAQBAJ
Amazon: B09BV8W12V
Goodreads: 58735040
Publisher: Berkley
Published: 2022-05-15T05:00:00+00:00

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The Giant Ferris Wheel formed the hub of the Prater. A large grassy area bounded by a network of walking trails lay to the west, while a roller coaster and additional carnival rides formed the eastern boundary. To the north sat a series of restaurants and cafés, while the south featured a mini-golf area and a planetarium beyond which the city reclaimed the real estate in the form of tree-lined walkways and eventually hotels, restaurants, and apartment buildings.

As I’d suspected he might, the GRU officer was approaching from the open area to the west. The route of travel from the wide unrestricted pedestrian area to the more constricted cobblestoned paths surrounding the Ferris wheel provided a series of natural choke points. Obstacles that funneled would-be watchers into several easily observable paths.

At the same time, the congested paths gave Nolan’s son ample excuse to check for a tail while pausing for mothers pushing babies or oblivious children darting from attraction to attraction. This route also had the added advantage of permitting egress to the north, east, or south on the far side of the Ferris wheel. In the event of a wave off, the Russian could exit one direction while I went in another.

But that was no longer the plan. We didn’t have time for whispered bathroom chats or half-understood signals. One way or another, the Russian was coming with me. How that happened was up to him.

Or perhaps not.

As I moved to intercept Nolan’s son, a scrum of bodies rounded the tip of the Ferris wheel station to my right.

Bodies in blue uniforms with a single word in bright yellow script centered above their right breast pockets.

Polizei.

Maybe their appearance had nothing to do with me or the Russian intelligence officer standing feet away.

And maybe Frodo would take up ballet.

“Follow me,” I said, my voice low but firm. “Now.”

For a moment the Russian’s pale blue eyes bored into mine; then they cut left. I followed his glance and saw a man with circular John Lennon sunglasses and a build that wasn’t so much slim as anorexic. He was rock-star skinny, and his waxy skin and hunched stance suggested someone who exercised little and ate less. Someone who labored inside, whose work was all-consuming, who forgot about eating or sleeping. A scientist.

A Russian scientist.

The GRU officer was on the job.

The cluster of Vienna’s finest spilled out of the sidewalk and flowed around the tables, moving toward a single target.

Me.

“You Russian?” I said, loud enough for my voice to carry across the small common area.

“Kakoy?” the Russian said, his thickening accent nicely conveying his confusion.

“Russki?” I said, pronouncing each syllable with a care that would have done Frodo proud.

And then I decked him.

Hard.

But in a purely professional manner.

I didn’t put everything I had behind the jab, but I put enough. His head snapped back and he stumbled. But he kept his balance. This time when he looked at me, his blue eyes held something more than just confusion.

Anger.

Lots of it.

He came

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