Read To Kill Again: Episode One for Free Online Page A

you in hell, chum.
    ...and scuttles off.
    Dyson pleads for help with trembling, outstretched arms. But people just pass the everyday criminal occurrence without even a second glance.
    INT. EISENHOWER SUITE, DORCHESTER HOTEL - NIGHT
    Ratski lied. The President is still in the UK.
    And he looks considerably frailer than when we last saw him. He sits huddled on the sofa, as alone and lost as Dyson is 130 years away, the oxygen mask permanently affixed to his face.
    Suddenly, he explodes in a convulsive coughing fit and slips off the sofa onto the floor. Struggling to breathe, his eyes flutter shut...
    INT. DETECTIVE’S OFFICE, POLICE STATION - CONTINUOUS
    The eyes that open are Sarah’s.
    She sits hunched over her desk. Exhausted, alone in the darkened office. Lightning flashes at the windows. She stares at a computer monitor, not quite believing what she sees.
    SARAH : This is serious shit.
    Sarah jumps out of her skin as Detective Constable DEBBIE SHAW, 20’s, grabs her from behind.
    DEBBIE : What is?
    She’s a joker. Pretty, a little overweight, but with balls bigger than any male counterpart.
    SARAH : Jesus bloody Christ, Debbie! You trying to give me a heart attack?
    DEBBIE : I have the stealth of a panther, the cunning of a fox --
    SARAH : And the brain of a donkey.
    Debbie grins. Drops into the seat opposite Sarah.
    DEBBIE : What’s up?
    SARAH : (unsure) Nothing.
    Debbie turns Sarah’s desk lamp into her face.
    DEBBIE : Ve hav vays of making you talk !
    Sarah smiles lethargically. Looks puzzled.
    SARAH : Okay. Something’s going on here.
    She waves several sheets of paper at her.
    SARAH : This is the ballistics report on the shell case from the Dennis and Richards’ shooting last night.
    DEBBIE : Yeah.
    SARAH : So all bullet cases can be traced by their head stamp, right?
    DEBBIE : I did read ‘Ballistics for Dummies’.
    SARAH : Sorry...
    She leans across the desk to Debbie, speaking in hushed tones.
    SARAH : So, John gets that suit turn up today, the rumor being the guy was a Yank. They disappear off together for a couple of hours, then he develops a sudden reluctance to investigate the shooting.
    DEBBIE : He did?
    SARAH : Yeah. I mean, that’s strange enough. That’s not John. Soooo, I did some digging.
    DEBBIE : Like the nosy cow you are.
    SARAH : I’m a woman, it’s our God-given right to be nosy. Anyway, the Yank signed in as a Special Agent Michael Ackerman. FBI. Based at the embassy here in London.
    She clicks at a mouse on the desk.
    SARAH : This is him entering the station.
    Debbie looks over at the screen to where several black and white stills show Ratski approaching the station’s front desk.
    DEBBIE : Yeah, I saw him.
    SARAH : But...
    She types away at the computer keyboard.
    The screen pops up with an internet browser, which quickly changes to the FBI website.
    Sarah makes several clicks with the mouse and the screen changes to reveal ‘WELCOME TO THE FBI LONDON FIELD OFFICE’.
    SARAH : When you do this...
    A couple more clicks and the screen changes again. A banner reads ‘MEET OUR AGENTS’. Sarah clicks one last time and the screen changes...
    SARAH : You get this.
    ...to reveal a smiling, middle-aged black man. The name below says --
    DEBBIE : Special Agent Michael Ackerman?
    SARAH : (nods) Michael Ackerman. Born and raised in Houston, Texas. Joined the FBI in ‘95, blah, blah, blah... Somebody didn’t research their bullshit too carefully because --
    DEBBIE : (sings) The real Ackerman is a lot blacker, man .
    She chuckles at her quip. Adopts a more serious look.
    SARAH : Oh, it gets weirder.
    She waves the ballistics report again.
    SARAH : According to the head stamp of the case we picked up, that shell was part of a massive consignment shipped a couple of years ago. And who d’you think bought them?
    Debbie shakes her head and leans closer still.
    DEBBIE : Go on.
    SARAH : The United States Defense Department.
    DEBBIE : Jesus. That’s heavy shit. So what you gonna do?
    Sarah stares