A Game for Assassins (The Redaction Chronicles Book 1) Read Online Free Page A

whistles.
    The final few bullets seemed to explode into the running spy. One to the shoulder, and the final one – the most serious – took him in the rear of the skull, providing him, momentarily, with a pretty red halo before he crashed unceremoniously to the ground. The world seemed to stop, a breath held in anticipation of more to come. But no more do come. The bullets have done their work. The spy was splayed out face down, his arms and legs twisted at odd angles so that he resembled a child's rag doll, tossed aside in a fit of pique.
    Bajek knelt down to examine the wounded man. There was a mass of blood and grey matter, caked all over the concrete path.
    The left side of his head had been blown away, a fatal wound, but to the man's credit, he was still clinging to the last remnants of life. His body twitched every few seconds, his eyes rolling wildly and his jaw worked as though he was trying to speak.
    Bajek moved closer, so that his ear was almost touching the man's lips. At first there was nothing, then with a massive effort a word came out in a hoarse whisper… to be repeated again and again and again. Each time, the strain on the dying man took its toll, but still he expelled the same word until finally he had nothing left to give. His eyes rolled back into his head and he slipped away. Bajek closed the man's eyes and raised himself to one knee.
    The rest of the team stood stock still, like mourners at a funeral, which in a way they were, Bajek supposed, providing a cordon to keep the public onlookers away. And there at the back of them all stood that bastard bloody Russian, the so-called professional, the big man from the KGB, who had fired the fatal shots.
    The Russian stood now like a child chastised, hands at his side, pistol still in his right hand, a guilty look, a look of shame in his expression. His eyes cast around the Polish team and he dismissed the shooting with a shrug. It was then that Bajek, the junior officer, who was only a rung up from the office cleaner, snapped and lunged at the man. No deception, no thought or planning, just a straight charge and jump to reach the Russian's throat.
    “I almost had him… you… you…
butcher
!”
    Both men went down in a tangle, the pistol dropping to the floor as Bajek started beating at the KGB man with fists, elbows and feet. Bajek found himself being pulled back hurriedly and restrained. He was pulled one way while Jan, the team leader, picked up the Russian, dusted him down, and began to apologize, moving him in the opposite direction.
    “I'm sorry about that, Major. You have my word, he will be punished, he is a junior officer with little experience of how operations in the field work. He is young. The shooting? Accidents happen. No, of course you didn't intend to kill him. A tragic accident. The man should not have run. Please, let's get you back to base; my team can sort this out, so that we can prepare our reports together.”
    Bajek was aware of the Russian storming back toward the vehicles that would spirit him away from the scene. The rest of the team were re-grouping, calling in the 'meat-wagon' to take the body away, dispersing those members of the public who were brave enough, or stupid enough, to continue showing an interest.
    Bajek slumped down against the wall of the Black Bear enclosure. Jan, the team leader, came to stand over him, hands on his hips. “Do you know how much trouble you're in? You'll be lucky if you don't get kicked out of the service for this.”
    “That stupid Russian panicked. He blew the whole operation,” growled Bajek, his anger still prevalent, but slowly receding with the increasing realization of what he'd just done.
    “So what? It's his head on the line, or at least it was, until you waded in with your fists. Now you've embarrassed the service and made an enemy of a Major in the KGB. Well done.”
    “I thought the KGB were supposed to be the professionals and we're just the poor country cousins? If that's