The Final Twist
- Автор: Дивер Джеффри
- Серия: Colter Shaw #3
- Год: 2021
- Язык: английский
- Год: G.P. Putnam's Sons
- ISBN: 978-0-525-53913-1
- Жанр: Триллеры
Электронная книга - «The Final Twist». Краткое содержание книги:
Following the enigmatic clues his father left behind, Shaw plays cat and mouse with the company’s sadistic enforcers, as he speeds from one gritty neighborhood in the City by the Bay to another. Suddenly, the job takes on a frightening urgency: Only by finding the courier bag can he expose the company and stop the murder of an entire family — slated to die in forty-eight hours.
With the help of an unexpected figure from his past, and with the enforcers closing the net, Shaw narrows in on the truth — and learns that the courier bag contains something unexpected: a secret that could only be described as catastrophic.
Droon was no longer smiling. Shaw was not playing fair, dancing in and out, cuffing ears and eyes. Another slash to the upper arm. The jacket took the brunt.
Droon would pounce and Shaw would leap back, but every time he did so his right palm or left would connect with Droon’s face, which was now red in places and bleeding. That was his only target. In fast, out fast.
“How’d you like...” Droon took a deep breath. “... to be blind, son? That suit your way of life?” Like a fencer he thrust the knife forward. Shaw saw it coming. He stunned Droon with a blow to the ear. Hard enough and such a move can render your opponent unconscious. This strike didn’t do that but it disoriented him.
“I’m tired of you, Shaw. Let’s finish this.”
Rule Four: When the attacker draws back, counterattack to the eyes and throat.
Droon leapt forward, and the blade missed Shaw’s chest by inches. The second that the scrawny man turned slightly and drew the blade back, Shaw was on him, gripping the knife wrist in his left hand and clawing at the eyes. The man howled.
Shaw pressed his advantage and, still holding the knife hand, gripped the man under his right knee, lifted him into the air and slammed him onto his back on the hard, rock-strewn ground. His breath went out of his lungs.
The knife tumbled to the ground.
“No, son, no.” Droon held up his hands, as if for mercy, but then pressed forward and seized Shaw’s throat. Though he wasn’t a large man, there was formidable strength in the grip.
As his vision began to fade, Shaw picked up the SOG knife and, holding it firmly in his right hand, plunged it into Droon’s neck.
“No, wait, no.” He seemed surprised. Maybe he thought that for some odd cosmic reason Colter Shaw didn’t have the right, or wasn’t able, to stab him with his own blade.
The pressure on Shaw’s neck continued.
Colter Shaw thought of his father.
Thinking of one word:
Survival...
He twisted the blade, opening the rent in the man’s neck wider. Blood propelled.
“Look... No... I...”
The arms dropped.
In no more than ten seconds, the man had gone limp.
Breathing hard, Shaw rolled off him, rose and stepped away ten feet. He kept a firm grip on the knife.
Never assume even a downed enemy is no threat...
Droon coughed once. Then his breathing ceased. Shaw watched him, motionless, his unblinking eyes staring upward. They were aimed toward an oak bough, not far overhead, stark in the gray sky, thick with clusters of early-season acorns, which were a pleasant green in color, a deep shade.
Colter Shaw thought: Not a bad image to carry with you in your last moments on earth.
68
Got ’em on the wire,” Ty said to Shaw. “Listen.”
The operative, no longer in the park ranger hat, was playing the recording he’d made of the conversation among the BlackBridge crew as they’d waited in the plumbing truck.
Braxton: We can’t do anything with a damn ranger there.
Droon: We’ll hope he leaves. If he doesn’t, well, accidents happen, don’tcha know?
Braxton: No. We wait till he’s gone. I want it as clean as possible.
Droon: We’re going to have two bodies ’ventually. Three can’t gum up the works any more.
Helms: Not the ranger.
A fourth voice was that of the pale man, whose name turned out to be George Stone, a BlackBridge employee. He’d been a mercenary in Africa and the Balkans, Ty had learned.
Stone: We kill Shaw now?
Droon: Does that make sense? Don’t you think it might be better to wait till she comes back from the office, then take them out together?
Helms: All right, all right... Maybe make it look, murder-suicide.
Droon: Now there’s an idea for you.
Helms: Gahl. That son of a bitch. How did he even know about the money laundering? He was research.
Stone: He overheard something. Was in the old building. Nobody was separate then.
Braxton: Right. Was years ago.
Helms: At least half the finance infrastructure’s still in place. Most of the banks’re the same. And the contractors? Maybe he knew about taking out the councilman. Maybe there’s an email, a note. Jesus, that info could burn us to the ground.
Droon: Yeah, the councilman. Todd Zaleski. Forgot all about that. Now that job went smooth as oil.
Helms: Droon. Jesus. This isn’t a performance review.
Droon: Sure, sir. Sorry. Oh, lookee here. S’that woman. Julia. Get ready to move.
Ty shut the recorder off.
“That should be enough for the Bureau to get started,” Shaw said.
“I’d think. Conspiracy to commit murder, extortion. Admission of murder. That’s a sweet one. The councilman.”
Shaw told him that the death of Zaleski, his father’s protégé, was what had started Ashton Shaw on the trail of BlackBridge, all those many years ago.
Helms snapped, “Did you have a warrant for that recording?” His wrists, like those of the others, were zip-tied behind him.
Ty glanced at him briefly, the way you’d regard a fly that buzzed a bit close. “You just executed an illegal wiretap, you extorted Mr. Shaw and Ms. Lesston here under threat of force and your associate tried to kill two people and got killed himself. That means you’re guilty of felony murder. And I haven’t even got near conspiracy yet. Oh, by the way, we didn’t trespass in your vehicle to plant a listening device. Your window was open, and my microphone just happens to be very good. So, no warrant needed.”
Shaw gazed over at Braxton. He took satisfaction in the fact that the woman who was responsible for his father’s death looked truly stricken. Her overly made-up face was taut. She was no longer grandmotherly, but ghostly.
Helms muttered, “I want an attorney.”
Ty said in an oddly formal voice, “That will be arranged, I’m sure.”
The takedown operation had been improvised and more than a little rushed. But no matter. It had worked. They now had everything they needed to get BlackBridge. Shaw texted Russell then walked up to Victoria, who was rubbing her shoulder — the one she’d injured last week. “You okay?”
“Just sore is all.”
Her eyes widened slightly as she saw the slash on his hand, the messy blood.
“It’s okay.” He walked to his bike, lifted the seat and got a bottle of alcohol. He poured it over the wound, exhaling at the hot pain that radiated up to his jaw. She tore open the bandage he’d taken out, and when the liquid had evaporated off, she pressed on the skin and smoothed the edges.
“Droon?” She nodded toward the woods.
Shaw shook his head.
“I was going to say sorry I missed him. But worked out better this way, right?” she asked, in a soft voice.
Yes, Droon had been his. It couldn’t end any differently.
He was about to ask her a question, when he suddenly sensed that the ambient sound had changed.
The parking lot had been filled with the white noise of traffic. San Bruno is bordered by the 101 and 280, both multilane Silicon Valley arteries and as busy as can be at all hours.
He’d been aware of the sticky rush of traffic. Been aware of the guttural whine of aircraft descending toward or departing from San Francisco and San Jose airports. Been aware of the wind in the pine and maples, a distant dog complaining.