WARGOD by Steven Savile

Author:Steven Savile
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Mystery, Action & Adventure, Thrillers & Suspense, Spies & Politics, Thriller & Suspense, Thrillers, Terrorism, Assassinations, Thriller, Literature & Fiction
ISBN: 1503182762
Publisher: BadPress
Published: 2013-12-18T00:00:00+00:00

15—LOW COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN

The Netherlands—0245 Local (0145 UTC)

Konstantin Khavin parked his hired car in a layby and got out, slamming the door behind him.

The night air, chilly from a sea breeze blowing across the lowlands, was cutting. The bite helped him shrug off the fatigue from the long train ride and subsequent drive through the flat Dutch countryside. To the south, he could make out the glow of The Hague-Rotterdam conurbation. The city was distant enough that he could see the most of the landscape before him by starlight alone. He savoured the wind against his face a moment longer, then turned his back on it. From now until the end of it, he was task orientated. And the task was David Habersham.

He was less than two klicks from the front gate to Habersham’s manor, but the property itself lay on the far side of the highway. Lethe’s digging had tapped into the satellite feed and revealed there was no fence around the estate, and no evidence of security measures in place, which seemed odd for a man at the centre of an elaborate web of conspiracy theories and plots around the Crown. He had to assume the house itself was guarded.

Habersham was a powerful man, not rich beyond dreams of avarice—a multi-millionaire, but not a billionaire—not Howard Hughes hiding behind impenetrable layers of security.

Or so Lethe thought; Konstantin wasn’t so sure.

Walking a mile in Habersham’s shoes, even with the loner mentality, if he’d been part of a terrorist conspiracy intent on fundamentally altering the world, he’d take every precaution guarding the approaches to his residence. Never think your enemy is an idiot or weaker than you. Never think he wouldn’t do at least what you’d do, and at best would be three steps ahead of you as he’d had forever to make contingencies.

With the aid of a Night Optics D-300 night vision monocular held to his eye by an uncomfortably jerry-rigged headband, he covered the ground quickly—moving through the tall grass as confidently as if it was bright daylight.

He scanned the area for motion sensors, security cameras, any kind of hidden surveillance equipment. He stopped every few feet and listened with his eyes closed, straining to catch any sounds that didn’t belong—anything out of the ordinary—anything that might herald the approach of a patrol. Silence. Ordinary night sounds.

Twenty-seven minutes after slamming the car door, he got his first glimpse of Habersham’s house through a stand of Scots pine trees.

The house was a squat, single-story building with a gently sloping roof, built in the traditional colonial Dutch style. It was an utterly unremarkable place—not the home of a millionaire—save for the fact that at the north corner it joined to the towering structure of an old-fashioned windmill, like something straight out of Cervantes, with enormous vanes turning slowly in the faint breeze.

Habersham had made his fortune from alternative energy production so maybe the windmill was more than just an elaborate lawn ornament?

Despite the late hour, several of the windows in the house were lit from within.

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