By Stephen Leather
Dan 'Spider' Shepherd sequence, booklet 5
Undercover cop Dan "Spider" Shepherd is familiar with there aren't any effortless options within the battle opposed to terrorism. while a killer begins to focus on pardoned IRA terrorists, Shepherd must positioned his lifestyles at the line to guard his former enemies. While he is undercover in Belfast, a grief-stricken Saudi whose sons died less than torture within the identify of the warfare on Terror is making plans to avenge their deaths by means of amazing out at humans as regards to Shepherd. because the murderer closes in on his prey, Shepherd realizes that the one technique to store lives is to turn into a killer himself.
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Extra info for Dead Men
All right, let’s say you do kill Bourne. ” There was in what anyone else might be termed a twinkle in the colonel’s eye, but to Halliday, who was still trying to get the measure of him, it seemed as if someone had walked over Bourne’s grave. Death had winked at him. “I know that look, Mr. Smith. I know you’re expecting the worst—a high payment. ” Karpov nodded. “You have me entirely, Mr. ” The two men laughed at the same time, but their tones were absolutely different. ” Halliday made a tent of his fingers.
It was well told that Americans overseas only wanted to speak English. “Good. ” But instead of beginning, he stared at a wall full of very bad portraits of jazz greats like Miles Davis and John Coltrane, copied, he had no doubt, from press photos. After seeing the colonel in the flesh he had begun to have second thoughts about this meeting. For one thing, he was younger than Halliday had imagined. His blond hair was thick, without the slightest wave, and cut short in the style of the Russian military.
The air was soft and cool, as yet innocent of the harsh sun that would turn the sky white in a few hours’ time. The early hour had been deliberately chosen. As expected, there was no traffic to speak of, just a young boy at the far end of the block teaching himself to ride a bicycle. A sanitation truck lumbered around the corner at the opposite end of the block, its huge brushes beginning to spin whatever dirt there might be on the nearly immaculate street into the truck’s belly. Again, the sight was utterly normal; the residents of this neighborhood all had pull with the municipal government, and they were proud of the fact that their streets were always the first to be cleaned each day.
Dead Men by Stephen Leather