I Am Pilgrim Read Online Free PDF

wantedtoknowhowlongIwouldneedtoconsidertheiroffer,Isimplyaskedforapen.
    Sothatwasthewayofit–IsignedtheirMemorandumofEngagementinawindowlessroomona
    bleakindustrialestateandjoinedthesecretworld.IfIgaveanythoughttothecostitwouldexact,the ordinarythingsIwouldneverexperienceorshare,Icertainlydon’trecallit.
    ChapterSix
    AFTERFOURYEARSoftraining–oflearningtoreadtinysignsothersmightmiss,toliveinsituations whereotherswoulddie–Irosequicklythroughtheranks.MyinitialoverseaspostingwastoBerlin and,withinsixmonthsofmyarrival,Ihadkilledamanforthefirsttime.
    EversinceTheDivisionwasestablished,itsoperationsinEuropehadbeenunderthecommandof
    one of its most senior agents, based in London. The first person to hold the post had been a high-ranking navy officer, a man steeped in the history of naval warfare. As a result, he took to calling himself the Admiral of the Blue, the person who had once been third in command of the fleet: his exactpositionwithinTheDivision.Thenamestuckbutoverthedecadesitgotchangedandcorrupted, untilfinallyhebecameknownastheRideroftheBlue.
    By the time I arrived in Europe, the then-occupant of the office was running a highly regarded operation and there seemed little doubt he would one day return to Washington and assume The Division’s top post. Those who did well in his eyes would inevitably be swept higher in the slipstream,andtherewasintensecompetitiontowinhisapproval.
    It was against this background that the Berlin office sent me to Moscow early one August – the worst of months in that hot and desperate city – to investigate claims of financial fraud in a US
    clandestine service operating there. Sure the money was missing, but as I dug deeper what I uncoveredwasfarworse–aseniorUSintelligenceofficerhadtravelledespeciallytoMoscowand
    wasabouttosellthenamesofourmostvaluableRussianinformersbacktotheFSB,thesuccessor
    bothinfunctionandbrutalitytotheKGB.
    AsI’dcomeverylatetothisparticularparty,Ihadtomakeaninstantdecision–notimetoseek
    advice,nosecondguessing.IcaughtupwithourofficerwhenhewasonhiswaytomeethisRussian
    contact.Andyes,thatwasthefirstmanIeverkilled.
    I shot him – I shot the Rider of the Blue dead in Red Square, a vicious wind howling out of the steppes, hot, carrying with it the smell of Asia and the stench of betrayal. I don’t know if this is anything to be proud of but, even though I was young and inexperienced, I killed my boss like a professional.
    I shadowed him to the southern edge of the square, where a children’s carousel was turning. I figuredtheblaringsoundofitsrecordedmusicwouldhelpmasktheflatretortofapistolshot.Icame inathimfromanangle–thismanIknewwell,andhesawmeonlyatthelastmoment.
    Alookofpuzzlementcrossedhisface,almostinstantlygivingwaytofear.‘Eddy—’hesaid.My
    realnamewasn’tEddybut,likeeverybodyelseintheagency,IhadchangedmyidentitywhenIfirst wentoutintothefield.Ithinkitmadeiteasier,asifitweren’treallymewhowasdoingit.
    ‘Something wrong – what are you doing here?’ He was from the south, and I’d always liked his accent.
    I just shook my head. ‘Vyshaya mera,’ I said. It was an old KGB expression we both knew that literally meant ‘the highest level of punishment’ – a euphemism for putting a large-calibre bullet throughthebackofsomeone’shead.
    I already had my hand on the gun in my hip pocket – a slimline PSM 5.45; ironically, a Soviet design, especially made to be little thicker than a cigarette lighter. It meant you could carry it with barely a wrinkle in the jacket of a well-cut suit. I saw his panicky eyes slide to the kids riding the carousel,probablythinkingabouthisowntwolittleones,wonderinghowitevergotthiscrazy.
    Without taking the gun out of my pocket, I pulled the trigger – firing a steel-core bullet able to penetratethethirtylayersofKevlarandhalfaninchoftitaniumplateinthebulletproofvestIassumed hewaswearing.
    Nobodyheardasoundabovetheracketofthecarousel.
    The bullet plunged into his chest, the muzzle velocity so high it immediately sent