Ethan Justice: Origins (Ethan Justice #1) Read Online Free PDF

Johnson’s stomach in knots. “Other than staying in contact while we observe, we shouldn’t be talking at all. Tell me what’s on your mind, and let’s get back to work.”
    Wilson shrugged. “I miss my old job.”
    Johnson shuffled his chair forward and lowered his voice to a venomous growl. “For fuck’s sake, Max. You know we can’t talk about our pasts or our personal lives. Are you trying to put us out of work?”
    Shoulders a body builder would have died for slumped. “My wife died last week while I was in hospital.”
    The senior Earthguard agent looked around the bustling coffee shop. It wasn’t unusual for an agent to be kept under surveillance after a considerable period of inactivity. Thankfully, he didn’t see anything. He felt for the big fool, but his hands were tied. He had to follow procedure.
    “Don’t say another word, Max, or I’ll be forced to report in to the controller.” Johnson leaned in a little further. “Look, Buddy, I owe you big time, but this is my livelihood you’re messing with. We work together, not play together. You know the rules. If you’ve got problems, then take the counselling on offer.”
    Wilson rubbed his flat nose, the result of many blows, most on the job since they had been paired up a month over five years ago. London guard was one of the most sought after agent posts. A paltry two operatives covered a sprawling city rife with infinitely varying beliefs and an abundance of high profile targets. Most in the international field considered it second only to Washington, and Johnson was the first American to land the post. The pay and benefits were substantial. And his bull of a partner was about to blow it for them both. Wilson’s bottom lip trembled.
    “My daughter...”
    Johnson reached inside his thick dark coat for his phone. “One more word, Max...”
    “All right. You can’t help. Forget it. I should never have tried.” Wilson stood up and threw a ten pound note on the table. “Back to work then.”
    As Johnson rose, a good ten inches further than Wilson, his phone vibrated ominously inside his jacket. He had a bad feeling.
    “Johnson,” he answered.
    “We’re getting some activity on the satellite from your subject’s location. Is everything okay, Agent Johnson?”
    Johnson’s worst fears had been realised.
    *
    John doubled over as if hit in the stomach by an invisible force. He couldn’t breathe, and his empty stomach searched for content to eject. Retching dryly, he fell to his knees.
    Mark was slumped forward in his chair, his upper body resting on the surface of the desk. The side of his face was lying in a pool of blood. A Chinese letter opener skewered his left hand into the top of his head like he was patting himself. The end of his little finger and half of his thumb lay in front of Mark’s open eyes in their own small pool of thick red body fluid. The ivory handle of a huge dagger, which John recognised as one of Mark’s collection, protruded from the centre of his friend’s back. There was no life evident in the eyes. John didn’t need to have seen a lifeless body before to know that his best friend was dead.
    Documents were scattered all around Mark’s body, some in the spreading pool of blood which crept towards the front edge of his expansive antique desk. John looked on, unable to take his eyes away, unable to fathom the scene in front of him. His eyes remained glued as Mark’s blood flowed over the desk’s edge like molten lava, splashing freely on the sixteenth century Persian rug. Knowing Mark’s fondness and unreasonable over protectiveness of the rug, John’s first instinct was to stop the blood flow onto the almost paisley-like, patterned carpet.
    He noticed Mark’s outstretched right arm with hand still clutching the door entry remote control like he was trying to hand it to somebody. Pointing it at the door like a TV remote perhaps? No, John remembered Mark explaining that it didn’t work like that, although he