Assassin Awakens by T.L. Crater

Author:T.L. Crater
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Theresa Crater

17

Kiselev gave a grunt of surprise when he saw the number on his phone. He answered it with a curt, “Report?”

“He’s dead, sir.”

Kiselev glanced up at the flat screen TV playing on mute. “Why hasn’t it hit the news yet?”

“Not the target. The man you sent.”

“What?” Kiselev paused in disbelief. “Who did it?”

“Man from Red Sky claims he heard a noise and surprised him.”

“Do you believe him?”

“It seems unlikely, sir. He’s a bit of a dufus.”

He frowned. “Dufus? What does that mean?”

“Not very smart. Doubtful he could get the drop on somebody like Dushku.”

“What’s your theory?”

“One of my men saw a woman leaving with a big duffle bag. Exactly what I’d use to hide a sniper rifle.”

“A woman.” Kiselev’s lip curled in disgust.

“Yes, sir.”

“Was he killed by a sniper?”

“No, a handgun. Glock 9mm. What we carry.”

“What is Red Sky’s standard issue?”

“They prefer Berettas. But the man claims he took the gun away from Dushku.”

Kiselev snorted. “He’s not the killer then.”

“Agreed.”

Kiselev thought of the sketch he’d gotten from Dushku. “Did you get a picture of this woman with the duffle bag?”

“I haven’t had time to search the data base.”

“Did you get a look at her?”

“No, but my guy described her.”

“And?”

“Five-seven. Light skinned African American. Maybe Indian or South Asian. A bit of black hair under her baseball cap. Curly, but not like an Afro. We couldn’t see her face.”

“Thank you.” Kiselev ended the call.

Kiselev texted the man he’d sent to kill this female assassin. “Report back to home base immediately.” The man knew what this meant. Kiselev hoped he didn’t run. It would just make more work. There was no place he could hide from Kiselev’s network, though.

The Russian oligarch sat deep in thought, swirling the bourbon in his glass, but not drinking. He stared out at the green meadows of his compound. What was the little minx up to? If she wanted to rub out Earl, she’d have just let Dushku finish the job. Maybe she was one of Morton’s hires. Intelligence suggested he sometimes had a freelance agent test his security. That must be it. But where would she be now?

He lifted the bourbon to his lips, but the ice had melted. He set the glass down. Morton probably wasn’t done with her. She’d stick with Earl. He’d have to send in someone to take them both out.

He sent a copy of Dushku’s sketch of the woman to another agent he had stationed near Earl’s private retreat. “The Albanian down. This is the suspect. Sketch not precise. Locate and terminate.” He attached a picture of Earl. “This is your second target.”

“Zametano,” came the text back, the Russian equivalent of “Roger that.”

Kiselev had hoped for a big, splashy kill. He’d have to settle for something a little quieter, but it would still get the job done.

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