Clean Kill by Jack Coughlin, Donald A. Davis Page A
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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here’s my business card in case you need anything else,” he said, stepping away.
In five minutes, they were out of the airport and the soft, polite voice of Linda instructed Sybelle to turn left. A colorful map on the screen pinpointed their exact position. Kyle opened the box and found a pair of black leather identification holders with Federal Bureau of Investigation shields and identity cards and a Glock 17 for Sybelle. He took the heavy Colt .45 semiautomatic for himself. After checking out the weapons, he returned them to the box and wedged it between his feet.
“Please, do not exceed the speed limit,” Linda reminded in a pleasant tone. The top was down, the day was pleasant, and the wind whipped over their heads. Sybelle adjusted her dark glasses and punched the accelerator.
KYLE SOON TIRED OF watching the countryside. He would see Jeff soon, but what would he say? The man was more of a father to him than his real father, whom Kyle never knew. The fact that Jeff was badly wounded filled Swanson with worry. And what of Pat? She had seen Kyle at all of his many extremes and somehow kept bringing him back to believing that life was worth living.
Now there was Delara, she of the hot car. Kyle had led a raid on an Iranian bioweapons laboratory and saved her life, then she helped on another raid that brought down an even bigger lab. The former schoolteacher was beautiful and brave and was branded as an outlaw in her home country. She never wanted to return to the nation that had slaughtered her family and where she and all women were second-class citizens. He figured that this fast yellow sports car was most likely a gift from Jeff, an in-your-face insult to the religious zealots who controlled Iran.
Kyle knew he was falling in love with Delara, but would not admit it. He could hardly wait to hold her again, and knew she felt the same. The idea that the three people he cared for the most having been in jeopardy filled him with a seething rage. Sir Jeff had tried to bring some old enemies together to see if a new peace could be forged, and had been repaid with disaster.
Loud rock music brought him out of his reverie. “I’m trying to drown out Linda’s constant bitching,” Sybelle explained. “Make yourself useful and see what else is on that CD player.”
He worked the buttons on the console, the map replaced by the names of available albums of music. When he leaned forward to hunt for the CD controls, he heard a sudden sharp curse by Sybelle and was thrown violently against the seatbelt straps. He looked up and saw the checkerboard dark and light green side of a boxy East of England ambulance flash across his spinning vision. It had pulled onto the road right in front of them, and Sybelle was doing about 90 miles per hour. She hit the brakes and swerved sharply to the right, cutting the front tires back into a controlled skid. Sliding rubber screamed against the road.
Kyle grabbed the dash for support as the belt held him tight against the centrifugal force that threatened to fling him from the open car.
Sybelle worked the gears, accelerator, and the emergency brake, pulling the Saab through a complete 360-degree turn before it steadied and stalled out. “Motherfucker!” she said, exhaling hard and her hands gripping the wheel so tightly that the knuckles were white. “He damned near T-boned us. Missed us by inches.” She got the Saab running again and spun the steering wheel. “I’m going to catch that fucker and kick his ass!”
“Wait!” Kyle said, reaching a hand to the steering wheel to stop her. Something had caught his eye. “Hold on for a minute.” He switched the computer screen back to the voice navigation system. “Linda, how far are we from the hospital clinic?”
“You are now exactly ten and one-half kilometers from our destination,” said the warm voice. “Have you had an accident? I can notify the proper authorities.”
“No. We are fine. Do not do
In five minutes, they were out of the airport and the soft, polite voice of Linda instructed Sybelle to turn left. A colorful map on the screen pinpointed their exact position. Kyle opened the box and found a pair of black leather identification holders with Federal Bureau of Investigation shields and identity cards and a Glock 17 for Sybelle. He took the heavy Colt .45 semiautomatic for himself. After checking out the weapons, he returned them to the box and wedged it between his feet.
“Please, do not exceed the speed limit,” Linda reminded in a pleasant tone. The top was down, the day was pleasant, and the wind whipped over their heads. Sybelle adjusted her dark glasses and punched the accelerator.
KYLE SOON TIRED OF watching the countryside. He would see Jeff soon, but what would he say? The man was more of a father to him than his real father, whom Kyle never knew. The fact that Jeff was badly wounded filled Swanson with worry. And what of Pat? She had seen Kyle at all of his many extremes and somehow kept bringing him back to believing that life was worth living.
Now there was Delara, she of the hot car. Kyle had led a raid on an Iranian bioweapons laboratory and saved her life, then she helped on another raid that brought down an even bigger lab. The former schoolteacher was beautiful and brave and was branded as an outlaw in her home country. She never wanted to return to the nation that had slaughtered her family and where she and all women were second-class citizens. He figured that this fast yellow sports car was most likely a gift from Jeff, an in-your-face insult to the religious zealots who controlled Iran.
Kyle knew he was falling in love with Delara, but would not admit it. He could hardly wait to hold her again, and knew she felt the same. The idea that the three people he cared for the most having been in jeopardy filled him with a seething rage. Sir Jeff had tried to bring some old enemies together to see if a new peace could be forged, and had been repaid with disaster.
Loud rock music brought him out of his reverie. “I’m trying to drown out Linda’s constant bitching,” Sybelle explained. “Make yourself useful and see what else is on that CD player.”
He worked the buttons on the console, the map replaced by the names of available albums of music. When he leaned forward to hunt for the CD controls, he heard a sudden sharp curse by Sybelle and was thrown violently against the seatbelt straps. He looked up and saw the checkerboard dark and light green side of a boxy East of England ambulance flash across his spinning vision. It had pulled onto the road right in front of them, and Sybelle was doing about 90 miles per hour. She hit the brakes and swerved sharply to the right, cutting the front tires back into a controlled skid. Sliding rubber screamed against the road.
Kyle grabbed the dash for support as the belt held him tight against the centrifugal force that threatened to fling him from the open car.
Sybelle worked the gears, accelerator, and the emergency brake, pulling the Saab through a complete 360-degree turn before it steadied and stalled out. “Motherfucker!” she said, exhaling hard and her hands gripping the wheel so tightly that the knuckles were white. “He damned near T-boned us. Missed us by inches.” She got the Saab running again and spun the steering wheel. “I’m going to catch that fucker and kick his ass!”
“Wait!” Kyle said, reaching a hand to the steering wheel to stop her. Something had caught his eye. “Hold on for a minute.” He switched the computer screen back to the voice navigation system. “Linda, how far are we from the hospital clinic?”
“You are now exactly ten and one-half kilometers from our destination,” said the warm voice. “Have you had an accident? I can notify the proper authorities.”
“No. We are fine. Do not do
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