Hunter's Games Read Online Free PDF Page A

anyone.
    Standard operating procedure when you need information from someone is to leave them on their own for a while. People tend to get nervous and paranoid, which over time leads to them feeling guilty. So when you finally go and talk to them, they’ve worked themselves up into such a state that they’ll tell you everything.
    But this isn’t my first visit to an interrogation room, either as a prisoner or as the one asking the questions. I relax back into my chair and close my eyes, knowing that in these situations, patience is always the best way forward. Nothing I can do to improve matters, so I’ll wait and let things play out for now. I’m here for a reason—even if I don’t know what that reason is.
    And that’s the thing getting to me. I know I’m good enough that they can’t possibly have any real evidence against me for a crime. I’m one of the best contract killers in the world. When I carry out my hits, I’m like a ghost. To the criminal underworld, I’m a legend. But in the eyes of any law enforcement agencies, I’m just a myth—a story told to new recruits to scare them. They have nothing on me, I’m sure of it. Which begs the question: how did they know where to find me?
    I look at the one-way mirror and wonder who’s behind it looking back at me. There’s always somebody behind these things. I study my reflection. I need a shave—that’s for sure. My ice-blue eyes stare back at me, looking as tired as I feel.
    It’s my own fault for having a few beers last night…
    Despite the lack of sleep and the mild hangover, I’m actually in pretty great shape, both physically and mentally. The last year has been both productive and profitable. Overall, I’m feeling better than I have done in a long time.
    I briefly look at the scar underneath my left eye that runs down my cheek. My mind flashes back to that portable cabin in the Nevada desert twelve months ago. Ironically, I was sitting in a chair in restraints then as well…
    Nothing good ever comes from me being tied up...
    I sigh and begin drumming my fingers on the desk to break the silence. I hate not knowing what’s going on.
    After another few minutes, the door opens, and two men walk in. The one who enters first is the younger of the two. He’s a black guy, probably late twenties. He has short, dark hair and is clean-shaven, wearing a suit and tie with the jacket open. He walks over to the table, placing his cup of coffee and a document folder carefully on the surface before sitting in the seat opposite me. He’s fresh-faced and very serious—I’m guessing he’s quite new to the job and keen to impress.
    His colleague remains standing near the door as he closes it behind him. He’s a little older and looks slightly more cynical than the first guy. Like me, he needs a shave, bordering on the scruffy side of fashionable with his beard. He doesn’t have a suit jacket on, and he's rolled his shirtsleeves up. He leans against the wall with his arms folded, staring at me.
    A doomed-to-fail attempt at intimidation.
    I’ve always found it amusing when people underestimate me and assume I’m just like everyone else.
    I look at the young and enthusiastic man in front of me, who’s trying his best not to look terrified as he briefly reads the file he brought in with him. After a few moments he closes it, looking at his watch and then at me.
    “Interview started at fourteen thirty-nine hours. Special Agents Wallis and Johnson present. For the record, Adrian… Hell , can you confirm that you've been informed of your legal rights and that you understood them?”
    I nod once, but say nothing.
    Silence is nearly always the best strategy when you’re under arrest. Pick any one of the million metaphors that exist to prove it. If you say nothing, it puts you in control. The authorities can’t do anything if you don’t talk, and more often than not, they’ll crack before you do. Let them form their own opinions. Speak only when