The Hunt (Mike Greystone, Book 1) by Michael Sigurdsson Page B
Authors: Michael Sigurdsson
Ads: Link
it to Mr. Zhao.
"That is really is one of the best gifts I’ve received recently. You are a man who really appreciates my interest, I will not forget it, Mr. Greystone," Mr. Zhao said enthusiastically. I just prayed that I wouldn't create even bigger monster further down the line through feeding his sadistic instincts. But I needed his help.
He put the box and the instruments away, and we sat down at the table. Two girls brought in food. I’ve no idea what it was, but looked like a soup with eyes floating in it. Funny coincidence. We started eating. I took a few spoonfuls of the soup. It was quite tasty, a bit spicy, but overall a nice flavor in the mouth. I avoided the floating eyes though. Mr. Zhao picked out the eyes from the soup first. It must have been a delicacy.
After a few moments, he cleared up any doubts I had about the contents of the soup. "In case you were wondering what the soup is made of, it's monkey’s eyes. Not a traditional Chinese dish, but wonderfully pleasant to the palate regardless of that. Have one, I'm sure you'll be delighted with the taste and flavor," he encouraged me.
"Thank you Mr. Zhao, the soup is delicious indeed," I wasn’t getting the gagging reflex yet, but the thought of eating monkey's eyes, in fact eating eyes in general, was sure to make me retch. "Eating eyes is not part of my cuisine either. If I remember rightly, my mother didn't cook eyes at all, although she died young. I think I'll just stick with the soup, not to upset my stomach with unfamiliar food," I tried to wriggle out of having to taste the monkey's eyes.
"As you wish, Mr. Greystone, you have no idea what you’re losing," he said. A note of disappointment was present in his voice.
After brunch, there was some tea with an equally horrible taste as last time, probably some kind of green tea again, although this time it was even more pungent. After tea, Mr. Zhao offered some drinks, and I was happy to observe he had some good whiskey, Middleton, so I washed away the taste of the tea with half an inch of decent whiskey.
"Mr. Greystone," he finally proceeded to business, "I made some inquiries and my contacts told me there was a recent transaction where a hand rocket launcher was purchased. I have confirmed the name – it was Ron Morgenthal, the same name you mentioned during your last visit, if I remember correctly? My informers told me that Ron Morgenthal is closely connected to Igor Ivanov, the boss of the Russian mob. He's a freelancer, does occasional jobs for other organizations as well, but the Russians are his main employer."
This was the information I was waiting for. I knew he worked for the Russians. Ivanov was lying, or actually not telling the full truth. I could now go back to Igor Ivanov and press him a little more to tell me how to find Morgenthal. I would need to give him something in exchange, I thought.
"Thank you Mr. Zhao, I was hoping for exactly this information," I said.
"There's more, he's a very smart guy. It's not easy to track him down. None of my sources know where he lives. He's expert at covering his tracks. If you want to catch him, you really need to speak to the Russians."
"I already did, but they said they didn't know him."
"That can’t be true. He is an extremely valuable asset. That’s why they try to protect him. If I were in your shoes, I would give them something valuable, some information or promise of a favor to convince them to do you a favor. This could be expensive for you."
"Wise words, Mr. Zhao, that's probably the right thing to do," I thanked him for the advice, although at that stage I knew that already.
I got up from the low bench we were sitting on, preparing to leave.
Before I said farewell, Mr. Zhao asked: "I actually have one individual I'm very dissatisfied with downstairs in my interrogation chamber. Would you like to accompany me, I would love to try out the orbitoclast you gave me?"
He looked at me imploringly, like a boy who wants to show off
"That is really is one of the best gifts I’ve received recently. You are a man who really appreciates my interest, I will not forget it, Mr. Greystone," Mr. Zhao said enthusiastically. I just prayed that I wouldn't create even bigger monster further down the line through feeding his sadistic instincts. But I needed his help.
He put the box and the instruments away, and we sat down at the table. Two girls brought in food. I’ve no idea what it was, but looked like a soup with eyes floating in it. Funny coincidence. We started eating. I took a few spoonfuls of the soup. It was quite tasty, a bit spicy, but overall a nice flavor in the mouth. I avoided the floating eyes though. Mr. Zhao picked out the eyes from the soup first. It must have been a delicacy.
After a few moments, he cleared up any doubts I had about the contents of the soup. "In case you were wondering what the soup is made of, it's monkey’s eyes. Not a traditional Chinese dish, but wonderfully pleasant to the palate regardless of that. Have one, I'm sure you'll be delighted with the taste and flavor," he encouraged me.
"Thank you Mr. Zhao, the soup is delicious indeed," I wasn’t getting the gagging reflex yet, but the thought of eating monkey's eyes, in fact eating eyes in general, was sure to make me retch. "Eating eyes is not part of my cuisine either. If I remember rightly, my mother didn't cook eyes at all, although she died young. I think I'll just stick with the soup, not to upset my stomach with unfamiliar food," I tried to wriggle out of having to taste the monkey's eyes.
"As you wish, Mr. Greystone, you have no idea what you’re losing," he said. A note of disappointment was present in his voice.
After brunch, there was some tea with an equally horrible taste as last time, probably some kind of green tea again, although this time it was even more pungent. After tea, Mr. Zhao offered some drinks, and I was happy to observe he had some good whiskey, Middleton, so I washed away the taste of the tea with half an inch of decent whiskey.
"Mr. Greystone," he finally proceeded to business, "I made some inquiries and my contacts told me there was a recent transaction where a hand rocket launcher was purchased. I have confirmed the name – it was Ron Morgenthal, the same name you mentioned during your last visit, if I remember correctly? My informers told me that Ron Morgenthal is closely connected to Igor Ivanov, the boss of the Russian mob. He's a freelancer, does occasional jobs for other organizations as well, but the Russians are his main employer."
This was the information I was waiting for. I knew he worked for the Russians. Ivanov was lying, or actually not telling the full truth. I could now go back to Igor Ivanov and press him a little more to tell me how to find Morgenthal. I would need to give him something in exchange, I thought.
"Thank you Mr. Zhao, I was hoping for exactly this information," I said.
"There's more, he's a very smart guy. It's not easy to track him down. None of my sources know where he lives. He's expert at covering his tracks. If you want to catch him, you really need to speak to the Russians."
"I already did, but they said they didn't know him."
"That can’t be true. He is an extremely valuable asset. That’s why they try to protect him. If I were in your shoes, I would give them something valuable, some information or promise of a favor to convince them to do you a favor. This could be expensive for you."
"Wise words, Mr. Zhao, that's probably the right thing to do," I thanked him for the advice, although at that stage I knew that already.
I got up from the low bench we were sitting on, preparing to leave.
Before I said farewell, Mr. Zhao asked: "I actually have one individual I'm very dissatisfied with downstairs in my interrogation chamber. Would you like to accompany me, I would love to try out the orbitoclast you gave me?"
He looked at me imploringly, like a boy who wants to show off
Similar Books
