Hunter by Chris Allen

Author:Chris Allen [Allen, Chris]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Thriller
ISBN: 9781743341384
Google: 30ANnSzYKccC
Barnesnoble:
Goodreads: 17179671
Publisher: Momentum
Published: 2012-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 49

UN DETENTION UNIT, SCHEVENINGEN, THE HAGUE

Having finished his first meal at Scheveningen, Ivan Simovic, or Detainee 93-96-69 as he was now known, was returning to his room under escort. He intended to watch television for the first time in weeks. The last fortnight had taken their toll. His age was catching up and he was less fit than the old days. It had been a while since he'd been allowed to sleep properly and he was exhausted. They had told him to expect a visit from his appointed defense counsel later that afternoon, and he knew he would need his energy; he had a lot to say.

As the big Serb approached the door to his cell, the detention unit guard dropped back, saying, "Go on by yourself," before walking back to the mess hall. Simovic watched the guard's back as he disappeared along the corridor the way they'd just come. Strange. But he was too weary to question it and lazily headed to his cell.

When he walked in through the open door, he froze.

"How was lunch?" asked a young, fit and familiar-looking man in an expensive suit. He sat on the cell's only chair, legs outstretched across the tiny space, feet resting comfortably on Simovies bed. "Don't be shy, come in."

"What the fuck is this?" said Simovic. "You're that fucking cop. Why aren't you dead?"

"Cop is not entirely accurate, but it'll do for now. As for being dead, well, clearly I'm not."

Alex Morgan removed his legs from the bed and gestured to the big Serb, Simovic, to sit down. The look on Morgan's face made it clear it wasn't a request. Simovic took the remaining few steps necessary to reach the end of the bed and sat down, feet on the floor, hands on his knees, jaw clenched.

"Excellent," said Morgan. "Now, I don't think you've been properly introduced to my colleague."

The presence of the person occupying the doorway was felt before they were seen. Simovic's eyes turned sharply from Morgan and landed upon another man, similarly dressed to the cocky bastard on the chair but this guy filled the doorway.

Hermann Braunschweiger leant against the frame, arms folded and legs crossed at the ankles like he'd been kept waiting for ages. Simovic had no idea where he'd come from. There'd been no-one in the corridor when he'd walked in seconds ago.

"Guten tag," offered Braunschweiger.

At the sight of Braunschweiger, the penny dropped. Simovic recalled the feeling of being thrown twelve stories to his death, or so he thought at the time, by a guy the size of a bull elephant. When he'd slammed into the back of the Albanian police van instead, he'd already soiled his pants. His embarrassment in front of the cops had been hard to swallow. "This is harassment!" Simovic hissed. "You're the ones who snatched us from Tirana. You're supposed to turn us in.

"We have turned you in," replied Morgan. "Isn't your accommodation satisfactory?"

"No you didn't, you fucks! You kept me in solitary lockdown, I don't know

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