Assassin Read Online Free PDF

him.
    His eyes desperately widened to catch any scrap of light, he peered out into the black, murky water and then, suddenly, there it was, a foaming mass of bubbles streaming from the onrushing grey blade of a ship’s bow. Carver took one last breath and dived, frantically kicking out with his fins as he fought to escape the inexorable avalanche of steel now bearing down upon him.
    It was no good. He wasn’t getting away. The bow was going to hit him. And then, just as he braced himself for the impact, an unseen force picked him up and flung him sideways, displacing him along with the water being forced away from the ship and he was caught up in the wake as it flowed away from the hull, and then, like iron filings attracted to a magnet, was drawn back towards the vessel.
    Carver was hurled towards the flank of the cutter. He saw the diagonal red, white and blue stripes painted on its side and aft of them the words ‘US COAST GUARD’ printed in white capital letters. He hit the hull just under the final ‘D’, taking the blow on his left shoulder, arm and hip with a force that knocked the breath from his body, before the current swirled away again and left him bobbing in the open water as the stern of the cutter disappeared into the night.
    Carver ran his hand over his body, pressing with his fingers to detect any broken bones. He felt shaken up and bruised, but his arm was still mobile and his chest only ached when he breathed, without the sharp, stabbing pain of a broken rib. He was fit to go on.
    Fifteen minutes later, he was treading water beneath one of the two L-shaped walls that stretched out from the shore to form the dock. The entire structure was about sixty feet wide and twice as deep. Right next to Carver, facing out to sea, was a gap in the wall, about thirty feet wide, to let boats in and out. A man dressed in black fatigues, with a black flak jacket, boots and cap, was patrolling the wall on the far side of the gap, walking to and fro, pausing every so often to raise his night-vision binoculars and look out over the water.
    Through the opening into the dock, Carver could see a yacht, moored to a floating pontoon at the foot of the far wall, its bow pointing towards him. This must be the Lady Rosalie , a 42-foot sloop loved by the President almost as much as the wife after whom she was named. He took a deep breath, dropped beneath the surface of the water and started swimming towards her.
    Carver surfaced on the far side of the bow, in the narrow gap between the hull of the Lady Rosalie and the wooden planking of the pontoon floating beside her. At the far end of the pontoon a set of stone steps marched diagonally up the side of the dock wall. Still staying below the level of planking, Carver made his way along the hull. He ducked behind the yacht’s stern, breathed deeply once again and dropped below the surface of the water. A good sixty seconds passed before he reappeared and looked back along the hull towards the guard. He had walked out along the wall, his back was turned and his attention was now focused out to sea. Still in the water, Carver pulled off his mask, snorkel and flippers. He pulled himself out of the water on to the dock and scurried across to the steps.
    Crouching in the shadows, he reached into the pack on his chest and removed the Heckler and Koch. It was compact and snub-nosed, little more than a foot long, but plenty big enough for the job he would ask it to do.
    Carver closed his eyes, regulated his breathing until it was slow and easy. His mind was running over the plans he’d memorized of the grounds of Lusterleaf, and the main house itself, no more than a hundred feet away across the grass that ran up to the dock. About twenty feet shy of the house ran a low stone wall, with a flower-bed in front of it, and a stone terrace behind, furnished with tables and chairs, that ran up to the back of the house.
    Carver assumed that there were lookouts on the roof of the house. He also