The Assassin by Stephen Coonts

Author:Stephen Coonts [Coonts, Stephen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Thriller, Mystery, (¯`'•.¸//(*_*)\\¸.•'´¯)
ISBN: 9780312994464
Publisher: St. Martin's Press
Published: 2007-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

That was Jake Grafton, Mr. Consensus.

I called Robin Cloyd at Langley to find out what was going on just then at the Petrou chateau. She was supposed to be reading—or at least scanning—the printouts sent over to Grafton's office by the CIA of the conversations picked up by the bugs I had planted last week. It seemed a lifetime ago.

"So what's happening today in Marisa's life?" I asked.

"Let me get my notes," she said. "How's the weather there?"

"Clear and chilly."

"Oh, I wish I were there," she said warmly. "France sounds so romantic." I m sure.

"I'm hoping, on my next vacation—"

"This call is costing the taxpayers serious money," I pointed out. I was quickly learning that it was necessary to keep her focused.

"Ah, here are my notes. Marisa and Madame Petrou had lunch together a few minutes ago. This morning—morning in France—they visited madame's attorneys. They were talking about attending a concert tonight."

"Thanks." I broke the connection. Speedo Harris was there with me at our vantage point in the inn, so I decided to take him along. He could watch the joint from in front of it.

Twenty minutes later I presented myself at the security shack in front of the main gate and presented my card. I had several in my wallet to

choose from, so I selected one that said terry g. shannon, world travel corp. My cell phone number was printed on it. The guard, a portly fellow well past middle age, wearing a holstered pistol, went back inside to call the main house.

A while back I thought about having a card made up, tommy carmellini, spies and lies, for occasions such as this, but knew my many superiors at the agency would frown when they learned of it, as would happen eventually. People pass cards around or discard them in the oddest places.

In about two minutes the guard moved to the door as the gate opened and waved us on. He kept my card, probably as a souvenir.

Speedo parked the rental car in front of the house and remained behind the wheel as I got out. He picked up a novel and settled in. I glanced back at him as I stood at the door. He was yawning and listlessly turned pages. Being chauffeured around was a new experience for me. I wasn't sure that I liked it.

Abu Qasim watched Tommy Carmellini through binoculars from his vantage point on the second floor of the chateau across the road from the Petrou mansion. It was fortuitously empty; the owners were spending the winter at their condo in Martinique, as they did every year.

"He's here," he said to the man sitting on the couch across the room. That man, who went by the name of Khadr, removed an automatic pistol from his right-hand coat pocket and a silencer from his left. He pushed the silencer onto the barrel and twisted it ninety degrees, locking it in place. He pulled back the slide, checking for the gleam of brass, and ensured the safety was on.

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