leaving the U.S. If he’d had his preference he would have used someone back home for the detailed work; but his mission was off the books, strictly unofficial. Anyone working with spooks was out of the question. So he had gone to Petr, who had a reputation as a ruthless gangster but a superb forger.
“Sure, of course,” the man said, his accent eastern European. “It wasn’t easy, pulling that many identities together that quickly. Why you want this, anyway?”
That made the asset anxious. Solid suppliers knew not to ask those sorts of questions. “I like to travel a lot,” he said. “And I’m collecting airline points.”
Petr laughed at that and his boys quickly joined in. “Funny guy eh? I like funny. You got the money?”
The asset took a wad of crumpled euros from his inside pocket and threw it onto the desk. “That’s five thousand.”
Petr nodded. “That is what we agreed. I tell you, Mr. American, you have some balls to come see me, eh? I mean, we don’t know each other, you just get my name from some contact I haven’t seen or heard from in two, three years. If I didn’t know better,” he grinned, “I would think you might be a cop. Or planning something illegal.”
“Just give me my paper and I’ll be on my way.” Keep it cordial and professional, the asset told himself. No reason to suspect…
The wire looped around his neck swiftly and silently from behind, but the asset’s training kicked in and he managed to get two fingers under it as the guard from the door tried to pull the garrote tight, to choke the life out of him. He dropped his case onto the ground, freeing up his other hand.
“Maybe since we don’t know you,” Petr said, “we take whole thing and keep paper, yes?”
The wire cut into his hand. The asset threw himself backward, the weight bowling the strangler over, the pressure released for a moment. The wire was still in place, and his attacker grabbed at each of the wooden handles on its either end, then wrapped his legs around the asset’s waist, making him near impossible to pry loose.
“It is nothing personal,” the forger said matter-of-factly, “just business.”
The wire cut deep, blood beginning to drip in busy patterns all over the floor.
“Don’t struggle,” Petr said, “Victor is much too strong for you, my friend. It will all be over sooner if you just give in.”
Both men lay on their side battling for control; the asset tried to kick backwards with his heels, to catch a shin or kneecap; but instead, the garrote got tighter as the attacker pulled with all of his might. He felt his air diminishing, face flushed from the artery that was being cut off in his neck. He pushed his left hand upwards, so that his arm was between the wire and his neck, knowing he’d only have one chance for the move to work. He thrust the arm through the loop, pulling it away from his skin, then flung his head backwards, smashing the man in the face with the back of his skull.
The tension in the wire temporarily slacked off and the asset pushed hard against it with his arm, the attacker letting go of one end of the noose. The asset threw a hard elbow backwards, catching the guard on curve of his cheekbone right below his eye socket and sending him to the ground screaming, clutching the bone.
Guards number two and three were coming for him now. The one on the left had already retrieved a pistol from the back of his waistband and tried to level it; but the asset was nimble, ignoring the pain in his hand and arm from the cuts, rolling sideways and coming to his feet, wrist-locking the gunman’s arm, swinging it toward his colleague even as the guard opened fire, the three shots catching the second guard flush in the chest.
As his partner went down, the asset broke the first man’s wrist with a hard twist, the crunch of the small bones audible, then drove the side of his hand into the man’s larynx, crushing it and sending him to the ground, spluttering for air, his
“Sure, of course,” the man said, his accent eastern European. “It wasn’t easy, pulling that many identities together that quickly. Why you want this, anyway?”
That made the asset anxious. Solid suppliers knew not to ask those sorts of questions. “I like to travel a lot,” he said. “And I’m collecting airline points.”
Petr laughed at that and his boys quickly joined in. “Funny guy eh? I like funny. You got the money?”
The asset took a wad of crumpled euros from his inside pocket and threw it onto the desk. “That’s five thousand.”
Petr nodded. “That is what we agreed. I tell you, Mr. American, you have some balls to come see me, eh? I mean, we don’t know each other, you just get my name from some contact I haven’t seen or heard from in two, three years. If I didn’t know better,” he grinned, “I would think you might be a cop. Or planning something illegal.”
“Just give me my paper and I’ll be on my way.” Keep it cordial and professional, the asset told himself. No reason to suspect…
The wire looped around his neck swiftly and silently from behind, but the asset’s training kicked in and he managed to get two fingers under it as the guard from the door tried to pull the garrote tight, to choke the life out of him. He dropped his case onto the ground, freeing up his other hand.
“Maybe since we don’t know you,” Petr said, “we take whole thing and keep paper, yes?”
The wire cut into his hand. The asset threw himself backward, the weight bowling the strangler over, the pressure released for a moment. The wire was still in place, and his attacker grabbed at each of the wooden handles on its either end, then wrapped his legs around the asset’s waist, making him near impossible to pry loose.
“It is nothing personal,” the forger said matter-of-factly, “just business.”
The wire cut deep, blood beginning to drip in busy patterns all over the floor.
“Don’t struggle,” Petr said, “Victor is much too strong for you, my friend. It will all be over sooner if you just give in.”
Both men lay on their side battling for control; the asset tried to kick backwards with his heels, to catch a shin or kneecap; but instead, the garrote got tighter as the attacker pulled with all of his might. He felt his air diminishing, face flushed from the artery that was being cut off in his neck. He pushed his left hand upwards, so that his arm was between the wire and his neck, knowing he’d only have one chance for the move to work. He thrust the arm through the loop, pulling it away from his skin, then flung his head backwards, smashing the man in the face with the back of his skull.
The tension in the wire temporarily slacked off and the asset pushed hard against it with his arm, the attacker letting go of one end of the noose. The asset threw a hard elbow backwards, catching the guard on curve of his cheekbone right below his eye socket and sending him to the ground screaming, clutching the bone.
Guards number two and three were coming for him now. The one on the left had already retrieved a pistol from the back of his waistband and tried to level it; but the asset was nimble, ignoring the pain in his hand and arm from the cuts, rolling sideways and coming to his feet, wrist-locking the gunman’s arm, swinging it toward his colleague even as the guard opened fire, the three shots catching the second guard flush in the chest.
As his partner went down, the asset broke the first man’s wrist with a hard twist, the crunch of the small bones audible, then drove the side of his hand into the man’s larynx, crushing it and sending him to the ground, spluttering for air, his
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