The Assassins Read Online Free PDF Page B

job was with you. Do not look so surprised. Messy operations leak like bad surgery. Naturally, since you and he worked on it together, there is a supposition that if you do not know exactly where he is you certainly know how to reach him. Anyone who has dug deeply enough to discover your connection will also think of your two colleagues on the operation. I will say their names so you know how much I have discovered—Judd Ryder and Eva Blake.”
    Tucker suppressed a grimace. “I have no idea where he is,” he said honestly.
    “The Carnivore’s need to remain hidden is a threat to you, your friends, and your oh-so-secret CIA unit. To protect his security, it is just a matter of time until he scrubs those of you who know.”
    Tucker wondered whether the Carnivore had been the person behind doubling Judd.
    “Is this sudden interest of yours related to Burleigh Morgan’s liquidation?” Tucker asked.
    Morgan had been in the assassination business longer than either the Padre or the Carnivore. A Brit from the old East End, he was as tough as a two-dollar steak, at least according to Tucker’s French sources. Two days before, Morgan had left his girlfriend’s apartment in Paris and climbed into his sports car. As he turned on the engine, the seat exploded under him. Body parts landed a block away.
    The Padre adjusted his bulk. “Morgan’s death was unfortunate. He had been kind enough to give me the information about the barrel on the Gaza beach.” He studied Tucker. “You are certain you do not know where the Carnivore lives? Where he is at this very moment? I would truly like the information as we sit here. On the other hand, perhaps you may not care to know more about the barrel of armaments.”
    Ignoring the implied threat, Tucker decided he owed the Carnivore nothing on the scale of what Mossad would owe him for information about the barrel. “I want your intel about the weapons barrel now,” he ordered. “Don’t shake your head at me. If what you say checks out, I’ll locate the Carnivore for you.”
    The Padre’s eyelids lowered and rose as he considered the offer. “Very well.” He described an arms smugglers’ haven on Italy’s coast where shipments were packed in waterproof barrels, then the shipping route the barrels took across the Mediterranean Sea, and finally the longitude and latitude of a natural convergence of currents where the barrels were off-loaded. The convergence was known as al-Baraha—the Blessed One.
    “From this pool of waters the barrels float in to shore,” the Padre went on. “If all is timed correctly, they arrive in the bleakest hours of morning on the same beach. You must admit my information is excellent, certainly worth the life of one old assassin like the Carnivore. You agree?”
    “If the intel checks out, we have a deal.”
    “How will I be in touch?” the Padre asked.
    “You won’t. I’ll call you. Give me your cell number.”
    Grumbling under his breath, the Padre produced an iPhone, checked it, and relayed the number.
    “Wait five minutes, then you can leave,” Tucker instructed.
    The Padre shook his head. “No, I will stay until the end of the movie. I must watch George Clooney kill the bad guys. It is very satisfying.”
    Tucker padded down the stadium stairs. As soon as he entered the corridor, he saw his team leader was drinking from a water fountain. The officer looked up and nodded. The signal told Tucker his spies were in place to follow the Padre no matter which exit he chose.
    Tucker sauntered past her. “He’s in the top row. On the aisle.”
    At the end of the hallway, the spymaster glanced back over his shoulder. His team leader was no longer in sight, and the cinema door was closing quietly.

 
    9
    Passing the theater’s concession stand, Tucker saw one of the elevators was empty. He hurried and stepped inside. As the door closed, he took out his secure handheld. With it he sent classified e-mail and text messages, accessed classified