Last Light Read Online Free PDF

complemented his complexion very well indeed. I felt myself grinning.
    A young waiter came up to him with a tray of full glasses, but was waved away as he continued with his call. The Yes Man didn't drink or smoke. He was a bornagain Christian, Scientologist, something like that, or one of the happy-clappy bands. I'd never really bothered to find out, in case he tried to recruit me and I found myself saying yes. And I didn't set much store by it. If the Yes Man discovered C was a Sikh, he'd turn up at work in a turban.
    His conversation over, the phone got shut down, and he walked towards the river.
    As he wove and sidestepped through the crowd he bounced slightly on the balls of his feet, as if trying to give himself extra height. Watching his progress, I gently undid the tripod restraining clips so I could swivel the binos and continue to follow him if I needed to.
    He passed the two PR women, who looked pretty pleased with themselves. Each had a phone and a cigarette in one hand and a glass of self-congratulatory champagne in the other. He passed the cameraman, who was now busy taking group shots with Big Ben in the background for the Latin folks back home. Little did he know that he was a couple of chimes short of a world exclusive.
    The Yes Man side-stepped the photo session and continued to go left, still towards the river. He stopped eventually by a group of maybe ten men, gathered in a wide, informal circle. I could see some of their faces, but not all, as they talked, drank or waited for refills from the staff buzzing around them. Two were white-eyes, and I could see four or five Latino faces turned towards the river.
    The older of the two white-eyes smiled at the Yes Man and shook his hand warmly.
    He then began to introduce his new Latin friends.
    This had to be it. One of these was the target. I looked at their well-fed faces as they smiled politely and shook the Yes Man's hand.
    I could feel my forehead leaking sweat as I concentrated on who he was shaking hands with, knowing that I couldn't afford to miss the target ID, and at the same time not too sure if the Yes Man was up to the job.
    I'd assumed they were all South Americans, but as one of their number turned I saw, in profile, that he was Chinese. He was talk-show-host neat, in his fifties, taller than the Yes Man, and with more hair. Why he was part of a South American delegation was a mystery to me, but I wasn't going to lose any sleep over it. I concentrated on how he was greeted. It was a non-event, just a normal handshake. The Chinaman, who obviously spoke English, then introduced a smaller guy to his right, who had his back to me. The Yes Man moved towards him, and then, as they shook, he placed his left hand on the small guy's shoulder.
    I hated to admit it, but he was doing an excellent job. He even started to swing the target round so he faced the river, pointing out the London Eye and the bridges either side of Parliament.
    The target was also part Chinese and I had to double-take because he couldn't have been more than sixteen or seventeen years old. He was wearing a smart blazer with a white shirt and blue tie, the sort of boy any parent would want their daughter to date. He looked happy, exuberant even, grinning at everyone and joining in the conversation as he turned back into the circle with the Yes Man.
    I got a feeling that I was in worse trouble than I'd thought.
    FOUR
    I forced myself to cut away. Fuck it, I'd worry about all that on the flight to the States.
    The conversation on the terrace carried on as the Yes Man said his goodbyes to the group, waved at another, and moved out of my field of view. He wouldn't be leaving yet that would be suspicious he just didn't want to be near the boy when we dropped him.
    Seconds later, I had three bulbs burning below me. The snipers were waiting for those three command tones to buzz gently in their ear.
    It didn't feel right but reflexes took over. I flicked the shaving cream top from the box and