Night of the Assassin: Assassin Series Prequel by Russell Blake

Author:Russell Blake [Blake, Russell]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781480238275
Amazon: 1480238279
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform
Published: 2012-12-10T11:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8

A green Ford Explorer pulled into the darkened lot of the little restaurant. A man got out, carrying a backpack with two million dollars in it, carefully sealed in Ziploc freezer bags. After surveying the road and verifying he was alone, he swung the rear of the SUV open and withdrew an inflated tire inner tube. He strapped the backpack securely to the tire using two bungee cords and stuck a cheap plastic flashlight into the exterior flap of the bag, the lens sticking out partway. He gingerly carried the ensemble down the banks to the edge of the Canal Rosales, and scanning the area again, flicked the switch on the flashlight before putting the inner tube on the water’s surface and pushing it out towards the middle of the moving current. He watched as it floated slowly away from him to the middle of the fifty foot wide canal, the little light bobbing as it made its way downstream. Once it was out of sight, he returned to his truck and drove away.

The young man spied on him from a hundred yards downstream through binoculars, noting the passage of the floating treasure as it moved slowly by him, and watched the man’s tail lights disappear down the road. Once he was satisfied that he was alone he ran down the overgrown bank as far as he could make it, before diving into the canal. Within a few minutes he had caught up to the tire. He switched off the flashlight so they would be completely invisible in the dark, moonless night. He made for the shore, and once close began moving against the current to a concrete embankment he’d drifted forty yards beyond. A few minutes later he exited the chilly water, pausing to remove the backpack from the contrivance before lashing the flashlight back in place on the tube, switching it back on, and pushing it out into the stream again, on the off chance they’d been stupid enough to position someone further downstream at the bridge that spanned the canal a quarter mile away.

He moved into the brush and located his black army boots exactly where he’d left them, with a change of clothes. He quickly stripped off his soaking black T-shirt and pants and wrung them out before stuffing them into the bag with the cash. After slipping into another black shirt and a pair of jeans, he put his boots on and was ready to move within two minutes. He edged silently through the brush and found the path at the end of which he’d left the truck, and debated his next move.

There was more to attend to. He’d need to keep his word and deal with Altamar. He started the engine, and then had a thought so evil it surprised even him. There was a sense of poetic justice to it, really.

He put the big truck in gear and pulled off into the night, tapping his fingers to the faint Latin rock beat playing on the radio.

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