Hunter's Games Read Online Free PDF

necessary.
    I know what you’re thinking—I’m going to find this really hard. And you’re right. I’m resisting the urge to have some fun with Bert and Ernie over here. But I have to play this smart. I still don’t know why I’m here, which means as things stand, they know more than I do.
    “For the benefit of the audio recording, Adrian Hell nodded,” he says. He looks over his shoulder at his colleague, who nods back at him. He turns to me again.
    “So let’s begin. Adrian, my name is Special Agent Tom Wallis. I’d like to start by establishing why you’re in the city of San Francisco.”
    I look at him, then at his colleague, who must be Special Agent Johnson. I clench my jaw as I run through everything in my head. I obviously have a cover story in place—it would be downright amateurish of me not to have everything planned and every angle covered before I carry out a hit. But I need to be sure of every detail before I speak, for my own piece of mind. Something’s not right. Must be something here I’ve missed, because they arrested me the moment I stepped outside City Hall…
    I’m still confident they don’t have any real evidence against me. I’ve spent too many years learning how to be too good to leave any. But that doesn’t explain how they knew where to find me or what they want.
    “Staying silent isn’t as beneficial as you might think, Adrian,” says Wallis after a few moments. “Tell us why you’re in San Francisco.”
    I stay quiet a moment longer before answering.
    “I’m here on business,” I say.
    “What kind of business?”
    “My own.”
    “What were you doing at City Hall?” asks Johnson, as he walks over and rests his hands on the table next to his colleague.
    “Sight-seeing.”
    “There are better things to see around here than City Hall,” says Wallis.
    “Just wanted to see everything that this place had to offer, that’s all,” I reply with a shrug, looking at each one of them in turn. “Why do you care anyway?”
    “We care about the safety of the people who live here,” says Johnson, with a hint of disdain.
    “How very noble of you. You want a medal or something?”
    “Are you not curious how we know who you are?”
    “You don’t know who I am.”
    “We know exactly who you are,” says Wallis, tapping his left index finger on the file that he brought in with him. “Let me show you.”
    I shrug again. They don’t know a goddamn thing, but I’ll let them have their fun.
    Agent Wallis opens the file and starts reading:
    “Adrian Hell—born Adrian Hughes, February 14th, 1972 in Omaha, Nebraska. Joined the Army in 1990 and was part of Desert Shield. Your military record is a little hazy from ‘93 to ‘02, but you’re rumored to have worked in some capacity with the CIA. No details on record of any operations you may or may not have carried out during that time.
    “In 2002, after being given an honorable discharge from active military service, you moved to Pennsylvania to marry your partner of five years, Janine, with your three-year old daughter, Maria, in tow.”
    Huh… I’m actually surprised they have so much on me. They’re clearly well prepared. But they’ve made the mistake of showing me their hand straight away.
    “Why stop there?” I ask. “You were on such a roll... Please, continue.”
    Agent Wallis says nothing. I look at him, then at Agent Johnson. They exchange frustrated glances but remain silent.
    “What?” I ask.
    More silence.
    “You can’t continue, can you?” I say, smiling. “That’s all you have. You’ve got nothing on me since 2002, and everything you do have is on the military’s databases anyway and easily accessible if you know who to ask. Am I right?”
    Wallis looks down at the table in defeat, closing the file as he realizes his bluff has backfired.
    “Which means you have absolutely nothing to justify holding me here,” I continue.”Which brings us back to square one, gentlemen… What do you want with