The Hunt (Mike Greystone, Book 1) Read Free Page B

circumstances. This made my life easier. Be it local sheriffs, federal agents, the CIA. I was a busy man. I didn’t like wasting my time. If there was an eager local policeman, I just showed my credentials and gave him a steely, unfriendly gaze, implying I was not fucking joking, and it was usually sufficient to allow me or my team to work without any obstacles.
    I liked Dermot. You wouldn't believe it, but I’d never met him. Yes, I did get a bottle of whiskey and a leprechaun after every job, however funny it was. But I had never met him. He was a sort of a friend, although you wouldn’t really have any friends in my line of business. And we had regular catch-ups since he was one of my more important clients. But I had never met him. I had never seen him. To be honest, I didn’t know what he looked like. I didn’t even know if he was a man or a woman. He could be both. Voice modification devices were cheap as dirt. I suppose he could be a woman, who knows? But on the other hand, he knew quite a lot about whiskey, so he seemed rather more of a male person. Or perhaps he was just buying the most expensive stuff to impress me and keep a good relationship with me, a key contractor. You never knew. So he was definitely either man or woman, no doubt about it. Well, let me correct that. These days, you couldn’t be sure of anything. Maybe Dermot was trans-gender? Hmm, it would be funny to have a trans-gender head of a secret government agency. Maybe in twenty years, but it was probably too early for that yet. This was not Sweden or Norway, where prime ministers admit to alcoholism and people go naked to the public sauna. This was the USA, no such thing here.
    As I said, I liked Dermot, whatever his gender. I liked the bottle I got from him after every job. But I was not entirely sure he was of Irish origin, despite his claims. It could just be a cover. His accent didn’t reveal that much. At his level of the hierarchy, he surely didn’t want to reveal his identity. I wouldn't be surprised if he was ... of Chinese origin? Why not? His name might not even be Dermot. Needless to say, I did some research for Dermot Clenaghan online, but it was very inconclusive. So I was quite convinced it wasn’t his real name. It was safer for him that way. It was a high-risk business.
    "Have you interviewed any of the victims?" I asked Dermot.
    "Some of them, yes," he answered.
    "Any useful information from that?"
    "One shooter, white, automatic gun, RPG rocket launcher. You probably heard it on the news."
    "I did. Anything else?"
    "What you probably haven't heard is that he looked Eastern European."
    "How did you find that out?"
    "One of the mothers of the children from that school who witnessed the shooting, and who moved to the US around fifteen years ago from Czech Republic said he looked definitely like somebody from Eastern Europe. She said she bets he’s from further east, like a Ukrainian, Belorussian, Russian, or Lithuanian."
    "That could be helpful," I interjected.
    "Could be, but let me finish," Dermot continued. "Not the southern or central eastern European lot, like Bulgarians, Romanians, or Polish. To be honest, I don't even know where all these countries are, but I took some notes. As you very well know we do some business in Europe, you did a project or two in Europe for us, didn’t you? Anyway, I know most countries west of the Oder River, but east - I don't care, not much business there so far after the Berlin Wall came down. Although Putin has been going crazy recently. Anyway, none of the witnesses heard him speak, so we can’t pin down his nationality."
    "Did anybody recognize the car or write down the number plates?" I asked.
    "Mike, these were all terrified mothers. Most of them wouldn't recognize and remember the car even if they stared at the badge and model name for half an hour in less stressful conditions. They just told us this was a nondescript big black pickup. Not very helpful."
    "Did you ask any of the