The Killer Read Online Free PDF

you’ll do nicely you British bastard,’ he grinned as he lifted the Armalite, taking aim at the soldier's stomach. It was always far better to shoot them in the guts. They would die eventually, but their prolonged screams of agony seemed to really unsettle the rest of the squad.
    Still smiling, as he looked through the telescopic sights, Darren closely examined his target’s face. He seemed to be around thirty-five years old and, even though he had one of those stupid British handlebar type moustaches, it was a hard face, the face of experience. A killer’s face for sure, if ever he’d seen one. ‘I wonder how many of our boys you’ve shot down in your time, you old bastard.’ He slowly started to squeeze the trigger. Then he stopped dead, his finger coming away from the trigger as though it were electrified.
    Victor was about as excited as any new squaddie could possibl y be. It was only the second week of his first tour here in Ulster, and already he was on an active patrol. He’d been impatiently waiting for just this moment ever since he’d joined up. ‘Just wait until I’m back home on leave,’ he grinned. ‘I’ll be a fucking hero. The fucking birds’ll love me to bits.’ He was quietly laughing to himself as he jumped out of the Land Rover.
    ‘Oh no, no, no, not you, you old bastard,’ Darren silently informed the Sergeant to whom he’d just granted the gift of life. With a wicked smirk crossing his face, Darren’s mind raced as he focused on his new, far better, target. This one looked like a kid. ‘A fuckin’ boy soldier,’ he smiled, as he retargeted. ‘Bet you haven’t even started shaving yet you little shit, have you?’
    He zeroed in, inspecting the youth’s happy looking face. ‘I bet all these fuckers look after you, think of you as a son, the baby of the outfit, eh?’ With that thought he lowered his aim down from the face and towards the young soldier's belly, whispering a final prayer. ‘Forgive me Father, for I am about to sin. Please have mercy on his soul.’
    The single shot rang out. As the young soldier fell backwards, a dark red circle replaced the random greens and browns of his camouflage jacket and he looked down in fascinated horror as it spread rapidly across his mid-section. He lay screaming in shock and pain, his hands instinctively reaching down, pressing on the wound. The pressure produced a plume of bright red blood, squirting upwards like a fountain, spraying the life-blood from his torn and ruptured young stomach.
     
    ***
     
    At the very moment Darren pulled the trigger a foghorn sounded, but this haunting wail was not heard in Ireland. It was far away on a waterfront, in the great city of New York. It echoed around the ships and superstructures and wharf-sides, continuing off well into the distance. Jeff looked up from his desk, momentarily ignoring the immense pile of Dollar bills in front of him. A ship was entering port. He sat and watched it.
    ‘C’mon buddy, we’ve work to do, and it won’t get done with you staring out of the god damn window,’ Ryan snapped.
    ‘OK, OK, relax will ya. I was only taking a minute,’ Jeff replied as he turned again to his pile.
    Pushing a button he watched as another neat stack of bills was shrink-wrapped and automatically labelled. Placing this batch on top of the rest gave him a full pallet. He hit a different button, which now shrink-wrapped the entire pallet and its contents to form one thick, giant black plastic parcel. Jeff pressed the button on his mike. ‘Another’s ready,’ he said in a bored, flat tone.
    He yawned and stretched, lazily watching as the forklift driver collected the parcel and took it away towards the loading ramp. ‘Holy shit, this is never ending,’ he mumbled, yawning yet again. He still had another three hours left to go, counting and wrapping money, oiling and sealing pistols and rifles at the New York office of the infamous registered charity NORAID. Ryan McKee was in control of