Read The Assassins for Free Online Page B

listened.
    As soon as he heard the door open, the Padre ran back around the corner and used his bulk to slam the smaller man against the wall. At the same time he rammed the point of the WASP blade into the spy’s gut. He pressed the button on the Neoprene handle, shooting 24 grams of carbon dioxide gas at the blinding speed of 800 pounds per square inch from the handle through a small tube in the blade and out the tip.
    And into the man. The spy screamed. Horror shone from his eyes. As he jerked and writhed, the basketball-size cavity of his internal organs was being snap frozen. Soon he slumped, and the Padre lowered his shoulder and pulled him over it. With one hand, the Padre texted for his limo. He had to get rid of the corpse and hope Tucker Andersen would never be able to associate him with the death.
    In less than a minute, his chauffeur was backing the black Cadillac limousine up to the Padre. The angle of the vehicle prevented the passenger in the rear seat from seeing what the Padre was doing. The trunk opened silently. As he dumped the corpse inside, the chauffeur appeared. The Padre gave him instructions about its disposal and soon was sliding in next to his wife, inhaling her expensive perfume. He dismissed all thoughts of business.
    “Hola, generalissimo, querido m í o.” Catalina greeted him in Spanish with a smile and a shy kiss on the cheek.
    He felt welcomed to the center of his heart. She was small, just nineteen years old, with the wide face and hips of a solid Basque woman. Her beautiful black eyes glowed in admiration for him. Her teeth were small—straight now, due to the excellent orthodontist he had found near their new home in Gstaad. Her fingers were tiny, but her hands were broad and strong. As he watched, she knitted her fingers into his. This was his first marriage. He lifted his arm, and she slid under it.
    “It went well?” She was an innocent and knew nothing of his work.
    “As well as could be expected,” he responded in Basque. As he had grown older he had yearned for his heritage. One satisfaction was to bring their conversation back to their native tongue.
    “Did you locate the man you wished to?” she asked curiously in Basque. “I think I heard you call him the Carnivore.”
    “Do not worry. It is only business, but I have more to do. The limo can drop you off in Bethesda for shopping, or you can stay with me.”
    She patted his chest. Her diamond-drenched wedding band and engagement ring glittered. “I’ll stay with you.”
    He was rich and gave her all the money she wanted. Still she had chosen not to go shopping. He prized her modesty and common sense. She was like his mother—solid, reliable, and strict. His throat tightened with emotion as he remembered his mother. He had joined ETA when he was only fifteen years old to help force Spain to give the Basques their own nation. But then his mother was killed in the crossfire between his ETA unit and Franco’s police. His unit could have saved her but had decided to sacrifice her to make a political statement.
    It was then that he had taken the skills ETA had taught him and left. Long ago he had stopped caring about governments and their small issues. They paid him very well to do their dirty work so they could deny their dirty motives. They were no different from ETA.
    Catalina sighed and burrowed against him. He smiled and stroked her silky hair. When his iPhone vibrated against his hip, he slid it out. And smiled again. Everything was on schedule.

 
    11
    Silver Spring, Maryland
    The sky glistened blue, and the air was warming. As snow dripped from eaves and mailboxes, Ryder drove onto Derby Ridge Lane. Homes lined the left side of the curving street, while on the right a snowy forest spread into the distance. He parked in front of Eva’s place, a modern row house with white pillars and shutters. As he turned off the engine, his Samsung Galaxy smartphone vibrated.
    Tucker’s voice was loud and strong: “I’ve