The Assassins Read Online Free

toward the intersection of G and Seventh streets, then he scanned past the elementary school on the corner, and paused at Ryder. Ryder kept his expression neutral, his pace unhurried. Finally the double scrutinized the far end of the street, descended the steps, and ambled to the corner. He stopped at the curb, waiting for the cross-country skier to pass.
    The skier wore a black balaclava, exposing only his eyes, nose, and lips. Suddenly extending his stride and arm swing, the skier accelerated through the intersection as if he were a racer crossing the finish line.
    The double stepped off the curb. His boots sank into the snow.
    The noise of a powerful engine sounded from around the corner.
    The double started slogging across the street.
    A big white Arctic Cat snowmobile careened around the corner. Wearing a white helmet, goggles, and jumpsuit, the driver expertly guided the Cat as it bore down on the double.
    The man stared. Abruptly there was an explosion of snow as the double reversed direction. His feet slipped and his arms flailed as he fell and scrambled back up.
    Two women had come out on the steps of the elementary school.
    “Watch out!” one yelled, while the other gave a piercing shriek.
    The Cat rammed into the double, sending him high in a spine-breaking backward arch. He landed spread-eagled on his back, blood oozing from his nose, mouth, and ears.
    The snowmobile skidded from the impact. The driver turned into the skid, bringing the Cat under control. With a glance over his shoulder at the motionless man, he sat down, revved the Cat’s engine, and shot away.
    “Call 911!” Ryder shouted at the women. In seconds he was at the downed man’s side.
    The double’s eyes were open, staring up at the icy blue sky. His jaw hung slack, lips parted as if he were about to speak.
    Ryder felt for the carotid artery. No pulse. Opening the trench coat, he saw the man was wearing the sports coat and one of the shirts Ryder had tried to pick up at the cleaners just minutes before. Ryder found a wallet inside the jacket—one of his old ones. Inside was about one thousand dollars in cash and a District driver’s license forged to appear identical to the one Ryder carried. He returned the wallet, cash, and driver’s license. Continuing to search, he found a cell phone. He pocketed that.
    He stood up. He had to leave before police arrived. The women were motionless on the school’s steps, horror in their faces.
    “You called 911?” he asked.
    “Yes, they’re on their way,” one told him. “How is he?”
    “Unconscious and in bad shape. My sister lives on Seventh.” He was lying. The imposter was definitely dead, and Ryder had no brothers or sisters. “She’s a doctor. I’ll go see if she’s home.”
    As the women nodded, sirens sounded in the distance.
    Ryder got back on the sidewalk and ran. At H, he headed west. It was a busy boulevard, running parallel to his street. Traffic rushed past. At last he slowed and took deep breaths. He needed to focus. What had just happened, and what did it mean?
    The cross-country skier had been moving at a normal speed until the double approached the corner. Then the skier had accelerated and hurtled through the intersection. As the double had started to cross, the snowmobile engine had roared to life. The way Ryder figured it, the skier had been the lookout and his speeding through the crossway had signaled the hidden snowmobiler that the double was about to enter the deep snow and be vulnerable.
    This was the time Ryder usually walked over to the little market on Seventh to buy groceries. When he did, he always crossed that intersection. His lungs tightened. The double had been targeted for murder—or Ryder had been.

 
    6
    Ryder wanted to get inside his row house to search for an explanation of why he had been doubled. As the sirens grew closer, he hurried past insurance offices, down a driveway, and south across a parking lot. Ahead was the rear of his house. Opening