I KILL RICH PEOPLE 2 Read Online Free PDF

finger. “I managed to drop on the one thorny bush for a mile around.
    “Duginatposition400metersoutsidethevillage,”hecontinued. Routine .“ConfirmedStrykersatstagingpointaheadofextraction.Threetargetssighted06:45.Threetargetsneutralized06:58.Extraction07:05,alongwithremains.Thatandwaitingaroundforhourstogetmebackwiththerottingskunks.”
    “I need more detail on this one,” Miller insisted. “Full report.”
    Spencer continued, still on autopilot. Orders-missions-debriefs and systems-maintenance in between. Manchester United, his mother, his raging father. Bloated body bags all smell the same, sickly sweet repulsion.
    “Correct coordinates,” Spencer narrated. “GPS was working correctly for a change.” Targets were located. Mission completed. Remains retrieved, as ordered. Extraction uneventful. Strykers laid down a few short bursts, 60 rounds, estimated. Kept the rest of the village behind walls. They picked up an Apache that kicked up a dust storm over the village while the Strykers moved out. Good packed earth on the return so they kept off the roads on the run back here.
    “Targets?”
    “Like I said, mission accomplished.” Spencer finished speaking and eyed Miller, who pulled a tablet computer from his satchel, turned it on, and squinted with one eye until the photo display came into focus.
    “Positive ID? All three?”
    “Like I said.
    “They’re bagged. In the mobile morgue. Look for yourself. The two males, absolutely. Can’t ID the woman, not with her always covered head-to-toe in chadri and burqa.
    “Can I have my bunk now?”
    Miller tapped his laptop and opened the video. Taken from ten thousand feet, it keyed on Spencer and all three of his three targets. He sat there, squinting, until suddenly snapping to attention like he was watching the team driving for a touchdown in the fourth quarter.
    “Oh shit! You didn’t!” He ran his finger across the bottom of the screen and held the computer excitedly out to replay it so Spencer could watch with him. The scene showed the soccer player and his mother flopping over simultaneously.
    “One shot?” Miller questioned, perking up enthusiastically. “Motherfucker! A two-fer!”
    Spencer turned his eyes away. It sickened him now, hearing Miller’s excitement. When he was lying in the dirt alone, with a village of hostiles a few hundred meters away, it wasn’t nearly as bad. Taking a target with one shot is a decent way to kill and a decent way to die. A fair exchange; clean and organized. Not dirty and chaotic, not like a bomb. But he should not have done that, made his duty into a game.
    Miller stared down at his courier satchel where it was lying on the floor beside the cot. On a whim, he snatched it and flipped it upside-down, snapping the wire closure and shaking the bag. A cascade of $10,000 stacks of bundled $100 bills tumbled over his chest and around his sides. He patted the pile and began shrieking a hyena-like crazed laughter.
    Snatching up a bundle, he flipped it at Spencer to catch and hit Spencer’s midsection. Spencer let it fall on the tent’s canvas floor.
    Miller leaned over, looked at the money, and his tone changed. “Take a taste, Sergeant,” he told Spencer aggressively. “You earned it.”
    Afif,thetranslator,instantlypokedhisheadinsidethetent.Eveninthedimminglight,SpencersawAfif’seyeslockontothebills.AfifshiftedhisyellowjackaleyesupatSpencer,hishardglarecommunicatingvolumes—amanwhosoldouttotheinvader,amanwhoturnedhisbackonhistribe,hisvillage,hisclan;notranslationnecessary.SpencerclosedthetentflapinfrontoftheIsmaili’sface.MenlikeAfifneededmoney;withoutmoneythePathanswouldchopthroughhisribcageandtearhisheartoutthesecondhewasbeyondtheAmericanprotection.
    Spencer snarled “You pick that shit up and get it out of here. I’m not touching that. ” The money? That was not OK.
    “Evaporation,” Miller insisted. “Lost in