Wanted Read Free Page B

away.
    It had been another two days after that when a security guard had tried to restrain God, after he’d caught him attempting to steal antibiotics from a doctor’s surgery across the border in Canada. God had left the guard for dead. But the guard had not died, and a day later God had found himself pulled over in a stolen car by a highway patrol unit. The maimed guard had later identified God as the man who’d attacked him. CCTV footage from the surgery had confirmed that God had been there.
    God had been found guilty of assault and attempted robbery. But he’d not been accused of any of the many other crimes he’d committed before that. The police and the lawyers had made no connection between him, paper, stone and scissors, or with the attack on Shanklin’s family across the border.
    Once more he had prevailed.
    He’d been sent to prison for what he’d done to the guard. Each day he’d counted off the hours and had pictured Shanklin’s face. And had pictured the guard’s face. And had pictured Shanklin’s daughter’s face. Until the three had become one.
    After his release six weeks ago his first task had been to track down the security guard. The man had moved jobs several times since, but that had not been enough to keep him from God. It was regrettable that the guard had lived alone, without any family. But God would still never forget the look on his face as he’d rattled his last shuddering breath.
    Paper . . .
    God had then dedicated himself to tracking down his cancer, so that he could at last cut it out at the root.
    He’d made a study of Danny Shanklin. He’d learned that he was from a military family. His bastard of a father had been chief combatives instructor at the United States Military Academy. His half-English, half-Russian whore of a mother had lectured in Russian. Shanklin himself had gone to West Point. After graduating from NYC with a master’s in modern languages, he’d then joined the US Army Rangers. The CIA had come next. Langley. Special Activities Division. Camp Perry. Special Operations Group.
    Oh, yes, Shanklin had been reared in a nest of vipers indeed . . .
    It was when Shanklin had been seconded to the FBI that he’d first come to God’s attention. He had attempted to trap God. But he had failed. And it was then that God had hunted him down and had followed him and his family into the woods, where he had killed Shanklin’s wife and son.
    During God’s subsequent time in prison, he’d now learned, Shanklin had stopped using his old bank accounts and known addresses, and had liquidated his assets. He’d set himself up instead with a complex web of financial aliases, no doubt assuming that his whereabouts would be untraceable.
    But God had once worked for the American government, too, and still had many contacts there. So God had soon discovered that, over the last few years while God had been in prison, Shanklin had resurfaced. As a personal security consultant here. A hostage negotiator there. Always using a fake name. He’d made a business out of helping people. He’d stopped them getting hurt.
    But in all Shanklin’s attempts to drop off the grid and disappear from public view, he had made one terrible error. Even though he’d moved her to England, he’d allowed his daughter to keep her own name. Perhaps because – like the FBI – he had come to believe that God, having vanished for so many years, was dead. Or perhaps, through some sentimental attachment to his dead wife and son, he had tried to keep their family name alive.
    Shanklin’s daughter’s first name was Alexandra. She was now seventeen and in her final year at a boarding school in London. According to her Facebook profile, her nickname was Lexie and she had 117 friends. Her interests included sport, books and films, and she was in a relationship with a young man her own age, who liked football, rock music and skateboarding.
    God had not wasted any time. He’d arranged false identification and