Agent Hill: Powerless by James Hunt Page B

gently pressed his finger into the sharp tip of the file that was used for cleaning underneath the nail.
    “You’re funny.” Heath rose from the crate, the Russian soldiers suddenly shrinking beneath him as his full height was on display. He kept his eye on the file in his hand as he took a few steps toward the soldier who had spoken, and before the Russian could react, Heath had the tip of the file against the artery on the side of his neck. “Tell me another joke.”
    The Russian’s Adam’s apple bobbed up and down from the large gulp he took with Heath standing in front of him. The tip of the file slowly dug deeper into the side of his neck. “W-what?” the Russian asked.
    “I want to hear another joke,” Heath answered. “Go on. Make me laugh.” The Russian looked to his comrades for assistance, but they all took a step back from the towering behemoth. Heath watched the man’s mouth go dry, and his lips formed soundless words. Heath frowned. “No more jokes?” He shook his head. “Pity.”
    “Mr. Fuller.”
    The voiced boomed and echoed from behind Heath, the thick Russian accent curling over each “e” and “r.” Heath removed the tip of the file from the soldier’s neck and walked over to the colonel to greet him as the Russian soldier behind him almost collapsed out of his seat.
    “Your men need more discipline, Colonel,” Heath said, ignoring the man’s extended hand meant for a greeting. “Are the rest of your units in place?”
    The colonel gave a disgusted grin and nodded. “Per your instructions.”
    “Tell your men they need to be on high alert. The man we’re after is highly dangerous. I would imagine that most of your soldiers will die before they even see him coming.”
    “It’s just one man, and we have his building surrounded,” the colonel exclaimed. “He has nowhere else to go.”
    “There is always somewhere else to go, Colonel.”
    Heath rode in the front of the truck while the rest of the Russian soldiers, one of them gingerly rubbing the red mark on the side of his neck, piled into the back. The snows pushed to the sidewalks were soiled, and the people walking on them looked no different.
    Heath hated this country. He hated being here, but the fact that they had a location on one of the GSF agents holed up in their safe house with no communication to their peers overrode his disgust for his current predicament. He would have preferred going after Sarah, but they were unable to locate her safe house off the hard drives they recovered.
    The truck came to a stop at the end of a narrow street in the middle of a poor neighborhood at the Moscow city limits. “This is where he is?” Heath asked.
    The driver nodded. His broken English was not completely understandable but decipherable. “House. Middle Street.”
    Heath’s polished shoe hit the brown-stained cobble street, and the driver banged on the back of the truck, sending the soldiers spilling out the back. The colonel walked to Heath, who was adjusting the cuffs on his shirt, surrounded by a cluster of rifles.
    “Are you ready?” the colonel asked.
    “The schematics of the house show that the only two entrances are the front and the back,” Heath answered. “But your men should know that there will most likely be exits that they don’t know about. And remember, I want him alive.”
    The colonel nodded.
    “Then let’s move,” Heath said. He pulled the pistol from the inside of his jacket and took the first steps down the unevenly cobbled street. His eyes focused on the structure in the distance. He examined the doors, the windows, and the people scattering to their houses from the street corners at the sight of the advancing soldiers. No doubt that the GSF operative inside would be alerted to his presence. Heath picked up his pace, his long strides separating him from the soldiers behind him.
    In a full sprint, Heath fired and shot the door handle off, splintering both the door and the frame it was attached