Clean Kill by Jack Coughlin, Donald A. Davis
Authors: Jack Coughlin, Donald A. Davis
Tags: Fiction, General, Suspense, Thrillers, Mystery & Detective, Suspense fiction, Crime, War & Military, Police Procedural, Terrorism, Marines, International Relations, Undercover operations, Snipers, Terrorists, Swanson; Kyle (Fictitious Character)
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information before you is fresh as of thirty minutes ago.”
“How did Prince Abdullah survive? I don’t understand how he got away unscathed.”
“Luck. He actually was well protected in a bathroom when the attack hit. The prince has been taken to a private clinic, and the SVR already has a follow-up strike underway. We’ll get him.” The SVR, Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service, had succeeded the old KGB and was firmly in Ivanov’s pocket.
Ivanov flipped through the pages. “Good, then. It’s a good start. Now get Dieter Nesch on a secure call for me. I want his personal read on how things are going.”
“Very good. Would you like some lunch?”
“Not yet. Any important appointments this afternoon?”
“Nothing immediate, sir. I thought it best that you have today free. Another SVR briefing is scheduled in two hours.”
Niki and Petrov left Andrei Vasiliyvich Ivanov alone in his big office, with a news channel chattering away on a TV set. Andrei poured a tumbler of vodka from the carafe on his desk, took a deep drink, and settled back to watch the news. He smiled and put his boots on the desk. By the time his plan was accomplished, Andrei would have brought Saudi Arabia to heel in a masterful coup accomplished without the use of a single Russian airplane, soldier, or tank. Once that was done, Ivanov could proceed to toppling some other Middle East regimes with the ultimate goal of wringing the oil out of those places—every last drop—and bringing the riches home to Mother Russia.
10
THE PLANE SMOOTHED IN for a faultless landing at a private air terminal in northern England and Kyle and Sybelle had no trouble spotting their next ride. A young man dressed just like them, in a white polo shirt and tan slacks, met them at planeside and reluctantly handed Kyle a set of keys. “Ms. Tabrizi insisted on sending her personal car for your use.”
Sybelle snatched the key ring. “I’m driving. You’re too tired.”
“No way. She sent the car for me. You’re just a passenger.” He reached for the keys.
She playfully dangled them just out of his reach. “Stop whining, gunnery sergeant. You don’t even know how to drive on the wrong side of the road.”
The young man did not know these two people, but couldn’t blame them for arguing over who was going to drive the lynx yellow Saab 9-3 Bio-Power convertible, a car that looked as if it were grinning. “Ms. Tabrizi has nice taste in motorcars,” he said. “This has a top speed over 150 miles per hour. I just wish I had been able to try it over on an autobahn with no speed limit. Instead, my instructions were to deliver it to you, then go home.”
“Jeff must be paying her pretty good. What was the price tag on this thing?” Kyle asked.
“This one, with all of the extras, goes for about £40,000.”
“Awright, girlfriend!” Sybelle laughed. “That’s about $80,000 in real money.” She was already in the comfortable leather driver’s compartment. The five-speed stick shift on her left console would control the 2.8V6 engine. She arched an eyebrow at the young man. “Now, if we only knew where we were going.”
He pointed to the compact flat display screen in the dashboard. “I’ve programmed the voice control navigation system. A map will show on the touch-screen monitor when the ignition comes on, and Linda will guide you from here to there, every turn of the way as soon as you clear the airport. It will take a little more than an hour if you do the speed limit.”
“Linda?”
“That’s what Ms. Tabrizi calls the female voice imbedded in the avionics of the car. Linda gets quite peeved if you do not mind her.”
Sybelle turned the key and the big engine thrummed. “So do I,” she said. She had no intention of doing the speed limit, no matter how peeved the Linda machine might get.
Kyle adjusted the passenger seat and belted in, and the young man handed him a plain cardboard box. “I am also to give you this, and
“How did Prince Abdullah survive? I don’t understand how he got away unscathed.”
“Luck. He actually was well protected in a bathroom when the attack hit. The prince has been taken to a private clinic, and the SVR already has a follow-up strike underway. We’ll get him.” The SVR, Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service, had succeeded the old KGB and was firmly in Ivanov’s pocket.
Ivanov flipped through the pages. “Good, then. It’s a good start. Now get Dieter Nesch on a secure call for me. I want his personal read on how things are going.”
“Very good. Would you like some lunch?”
“Not yet. Any important appointments this afternoon?”
“Nothing immediate, sir. I thought it best that you have today free. Another SVR briefing is scheduled in two hours.”
Niki and Petrov left Andrei Vasiliyvich Ivanov alone in his big office, with a news channel chattering away on a TV set. Andrei poured a tumbler of vodka from the carafe on his desk, took a deep drink, and settled back to watch the news. He smiled and put his boots on the desk. By the time his plan was accomplished, Andrei would have brought Saudi Arabia to heel in a masterful coup accomplished without the use of a single Russian airplane, soldier, or tank. Once that was done, Ivanov could proceed to toppling some other Middle East regimes with the ultimate goal of wringing the oil out of those places—every last drop—and bringing the riches home to Mother Russia.
10
THE PLANE SMOOTHED IN for a faultless landing at a private air terminal in northern England and Kyle and Sybelle had no trouble spotting their next ride. A young man dressed just like them, in a white polo shirt and tan slacks, met them at planeside and reluctantly handed Kyle a set of keys. “Ms. Tabrizi insisted on sending her personal car for your use.”
Sybelle snatched the key ring. “I’m driving. You’re too tired.”
“No way. She sent the car for me. You’re just a passenger.” He reached for the keys.
She playfully dangled them just out of his reach. “Stop whining, gunnery sergeant. You don’t even know how to drive on the wrong side of the road.”
The young man did not know these two people, but couldn’t blame them for arguing over who was going to drive the lynx yellow Saab 9-3 Bio-Power convertible, a car that looked as if it were grinning. “Ms. Tabrizi has nice taste in motorcars,” he said. “This has a top speed over 150 miles per hour. I just wish I had been able to try it over on an autobahn with no speed limit. Instead, my instructions were to deliver it to you, then go home.”
“Jeff must be paying her pretty good. What was the price tag on this thing?” Kyle asked.
“This one, with all of the extras, goes for about £40,000.”
“Awright, girlfriend!” Sybelle laughed. “That’s about $80,000 in real money.” She was already in the comfortable leather driver’s compartment. The five-speed stick shift on her left console would control the 2.8V6 engine. She arched an eyebrow at the young man. “Now, if we only knew where we were going.”
He pointed to the compact flat display screen in the dashboard. “I’ve programmed the voice control navigation system. A map will show on the touch-screen monitor when the ignition comes on, and Linda will guide you from here to there, every turn of the way as soon as you clear the airport. It will take a little more than an hour if you do the speed limit.”
“Linda?”
“That’s what Ms. Tabrizi calls the female voice imbedded in the avionics of the car. Linda gets quite peeved if you do not mind her.”
Sybelle turned the key and the big engine thrummed. “So do I,” she said. She had no intention of doing the speed limit, no matter how peeved the Linda machine might get.
Kyle adjusted the passenger seat and belted in, and the young man handed him a plain cardboard box. “I am also to give you this, and
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