Black Eagle (Jason Trapp Book 6) by Jack Slater

Author:Jack Slater [Slater, Jack]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-07-30T16:00:00+00:00

26

Trapp pushed himself off the concrete wall of one of the colony’s accommodation blocks when he saw the guard. The movement sent whispers of pain spidering through his aching neck and shoulders, but he gritted his teeth and ignored it. The discomfort was at least improved today.

The stink of bacon, unfortunately, was now an ever-present addition to his life. Sasha had informed him that if he wanted to minimize the damage to his skin from the forced exposure to the storm, he had to keep wearing it for at least a week.

So far, it’d only been three days.

It wasn’t even that he minded the smell. In truth, he didn’t. Sure, he smelled like a food truck, but the real issue was that he hadn’t had a tasty meal since they’d locked him up and thrown away the key.

He watched as his target exited the guards’ fenced-off accommodation wing and irritably slammed the gate shut behind him. The man’s name, Sasha had told him, was Konstantin. His surname wasn’t known, nor the patronymic they favored in Russia, but neither of those mattered. In truth, neither did the first name, but Trapp liked to learn as much as he could about his marks. It rarely helped, usually serving only to add to his stress. But at least he had the mental comfort that he’d done everything he could.

As Konstantin passed under the glow of one of the few working lights that lit the camp’s interior at night, Trapp noticed that the man had a sallow, pitted complexion, with heavy bags underneath his eyes of the kind that didn’t disappear after a good night’s sleep. It was the visage of a problem drinker.

Which was exactly what Trapp was hoping for.

Knowing that Konstantin’s destination had to be the secure facility in which they were holding Fowler, which was to the north of the camp, he circled around the accommodation block at a jog. It was the long way around but kept him out of his target’s sight and allowed him to pick his own angle of attack.

Guessing that he’d made a few seconds on the man, Trapp stopped behind another of the identical Soviet-style camp buildings and rested to catch his breath. He was lucky; though it had been a relatively warm day, tonight was cold—meaning there were few other inmates around. No one spared him more than a passing glance.

He opened up his coat and pulled out a bottle of vodka in which he’d dissolved the Xanax tablets. He twisted off the top and took a big gulp, swilling the fiery liquid around his teeth and gums. Trapp gave it a good 10 seconds, dribbling a little around his chin to ensure that the liquor scent was impossible to miss before spitting the rest into the snow at his feet.

Could he taste the pills?

No. There was a whole heap of finely-crushed sedative in this bottle, but they were dissolved in enough liquid to be undetectable. And anyway, Trapp suspected that Konstantin’s tastebuds had long since been scoured away by his diet of liquor and cigarettes, so it probably didn’t matter.

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