The Spy Whisperer (Ben Sign Mystery Book 1) by Matthew Dunn

Author:Matthew Dunn [Dunn, Matthew]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Matthew Dunn
Published: 2018-04-16T22:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

It was early morning as Sign drove his vehicle across Cambridgeshire and into Norfolk. He was alone in the car. The country road he was driving along was deserted. Rain was lashing his vehicle, though it was hard to predict if the inclement weather would persist – interspersed between the black clouds were patches of blue sky sending bolts of sunlight to the flat lands. High winds were moving the clouds at a rate of knots, changing where sunlight fell and darkness prevailed. The strength of the winds was sufficient to smack Sign’s car a few inches sideways as he drove onwards. It wasn’t a problem. Sign had driven through massive sandstorms in the Middle East, minus forty degrees frozen waste lands in Siberia, and on one occasion had managed to maintain grip of his vehicle after it had been rammed by a rhinoceros in Botswana. On all of those occasions he knew death was likely, but not from the elements or wild animals. There were worse things on his heels – men with guns.

Sign stopped his car and got out of the vehicle. Ignoring the weather, he stood on the empty road and opened an umbrella. He was wearing an immaculate suit. Fields were either side of him. There were no houses, no cars, no sign of life. He pulled out his mobile phone and held it to his ear. He didn’t call anyone. No one called him. But he waited, tilting the umbrella slightly back so that his face and phone were visible.

From a distance of seven hundred yards, Hilt watched him through the scope on his high–powered sniper rifle. Hilt was prone, hidden in gorse on a slight rise that gave him perfect views of the road Sign was on. Hilt had followed him here from West Square. Hilt’s crosshairs were on Sign’s head. It would be so easy. Pull the trigger and put a savage hole in Sign’s head. And if he missed, he’d shoot two of the tyres, move closer, and finish Sign off. If Hilt’s boss gave the order, Sign was a dead man.

Hilt called Smith. “Sign’s in Norfolk. His pal’s not with him. I guess it’s nothing work–related.”

Smith was silent for three seconds. “The chief of my organisation has a country retreat in Norfolk. What is Sign wearing?”

“A suit.”

“Stay on him!” Smith ended the call.

Hilt collapsed his customised rifle, placed it in a rucksack and turned, with the intention of sprinting to his car. As he did so, Knutsen punched him in the face. Hilt collapsed to the ground, rolled, and sprang to his feet. He dropped his rucksack and moved close to Knutsen, slamming a boot into Knutsen’s ankle and slapping his palm into the ex–cop’s face. Knutsen gasped for air as he hit soil and grass. Hilt wanted to thrust his hand against Knutsen’s nose and force cartilage into his brain. But Knutsen grabbed his arm and forced him onto his back. Hilt lashed out with his free arm and legs.

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