Hetman: Hard Kil Read Online Free PDF Page A

Don’t you watch the news? Pierce Brosnan is the new Bond and he’s from County Louth!”
    Inside his hood Snow remained silent. He was being held captive by a film geek.
    “No phone call, but I’ll get you some water. I won’t pour it over you. Well not this time.”
    Feeling light-headed Snow shuffled into a sitting position as Glendon moved away beyond his field of vision. Snow listened intently and still could hear no one else in the barn.
    Returning with a plastic water bottle, Glendon crouched and lifted the sack from his prisoner’s head. Snow could now see that Glendon was flame haired, muscular and had a pistol protruding from his waistband.
    Snow leaned in to the bottle, their eyes met and the inexperienced Irishman suddenly realised that he’d made a mistake.
    Snow jerked his head forward. There was a sickening click from the bridge of Glendon’s nose as Snow’s forehead made contact and the cartilage flattened. Glendon let out a yell and fell backwards, dropping the bottle as blood streamed down his face.
    Snow struggled forward, rolled off the youth and with supreme effort pushed his hands down as he raised his legs. The bonds cut deeply into his wrists but his arms were now in front of him. Glendon regained his senses and thrashing his legs kicked Snow hard in the kidneys. Another sharp pain tore at Snow. Glendon grabbed the pistol, which Snow now recognised as a Soviet issue Makarov and tugged it out of his jeans. Snow twisted and clamped his still bound hands around the youth’s neck. Glendon’s arms flailed, his left hitting Snow on the top of his head whilst his right tried to manoeuvre the pistol.
    Snow squeezed and pulled up. There was a crunch, Glendon’s neck snapped and the Makarov fell to the floor. The volunteer was dead.
    Snow shuffled backwards, and realized that he was panting like a wild animal. He stared at the boy, his first kill. One life traded for another. Since passing Selection it was a given that this day would come, but somehow he’d never thought that he’d have to kill a daft kid. Snow felt cold and hollow, but he had no time for remorse or to make sense of it.
    Forcing his actions aside he searched Glendon, found a penknife and cut away his bonds. Collecting the Makarov, Snow pushed himself to his feet. He swayed, the edges of his vision greyed and he almost fell. There was an instant hammering in his head and a fire in his spine. He’d hit the pavement hard when Paddy tackled him. A possible concussion, but what about his back? Snow was no doctor but like all members of the SAS had received medical training. He heard his instructors’ voices telling him to ‘suck it up’ and get on with the mission. If he could stand and hold a weapon he could fight.
    Snow grabbed at an exposed beam in the wall of the barn, closed his eyes, took several deep breaths and straightened up. Opening his eyes his vision was clear, but the pain was just as fierce. He focussed on the Makarov. It had a full clip of eight 9.22mm rounds. It was a basic weapon, but he liked its feel. It had been the first handgun he’d ever used as a teenager on a range in Moscow.
    A hundred yards away Fox was looking relaxed. “You still got that scar on your stomach Marty?”
    “Piss off Paddy, course I bloody have.”
    “Show your friend.”
    “Ach what for?”
    “Think of it as a purple heart.”
    Grew lifted his shirt and pretended to look annoyed.
    “Where’s that from?” Quinn asked.
    “He did it to me with a crappy little toy rifle!”
    “You soft shite.”
    “Soft! I was six and he was five. It hurt like hell.”
    “But the mental scar still does, eh Marty?” Fox goaded.
    The three men chuckled for several seconds and then lapsed into silence.
    “Where are the other lads?”
    “What, you don’t know Paddy?” Quinn asked suspiciously.
    “Dolan claimed I didn’t need to know.”
    “Then you don’t.” Quinn retorted.
    “What’s the harm?” Grew tapped his nose. “Two boyos are