Authors: Stuart Handley
“What’s it to you? She’s nothing but a bitch, always was.”
Lilburn curled his lip. “Where’s the boy?”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Hall’s broken leg was in reach. Lilburn placed the barrel of his gun fair and square on the bone protruding from Hall’s bloodied and torn pants and applied pressure. Hall screamed. When the screaming stopped he asked again.
“I’ve had a lot of pain, Lilburn. You think that will work? Piss off.”
Lilburn stood up. Others would get the information. Hall was injured but he would live.
“What did you do with the virus?”
“I was wondering when you’d get round to that.” Hall shuffled himself up so he rested on one elbow. “I need something up my sleeve, some insurance. When I’m provided that, then I’ll reveal where it is.”
“You gutless coward. You didn’t deserve the respect people gave you.”
“I earned that respect, Lilburn! I earned respect all those fucking years I slaved my guts out for this country, now it’s time for the country to pay me back.”
“By using bioterrorism? You didn’t even make it a threat; you went all out to make it happen.”
Hall laughed. “I didn’t say make this country pay money, I said make it pay. There’s a difference. The country paying me offered a damn sight more money than any ransom from this asshole of a place.”
“Save the crap for someone who cares. The kid, Hall. Tell me where the kid is.”
Hall smiled again. “Ask Abdul Baari Fawaz. And that’s all you get from me until I get a lawyer.”
Lilburn turned around and walked away.
“Hey, HEY! Don’t you turn your back on me.” Hall struggled to get up but fell back with the pain. “You little half-baked piece of shit. I’m more of a man than you’ll ever be! You’re nothing, Lilburn, nothing. Come back here and I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”
Lilburn didn’t look back, not even when he stuck his middle finger up in the air.
Epilogue
The funeral service
for agents Dale Jones and Bryce Waterhouse, killed in action, concluded with the tearful next-of-kin being presented with the folded American flag.
Matt Lilburn had stood to attention for most of the service, a lump in his throat. It wasn’t the first funeral for colleagues he had attended, not by a long shot, and probably not the last. Standing by his side was the now acting head of Counter Terrorism, Rob Olson. The pair walked in silence across the green grass of the cemetery towards the director’s car. A staffer opened the rear door for Olson. Before he lowered himself into the seat he held out his hand to Lilburn. As the tall man shook it, Olson said: “I’ve made arrangements for you to accompany the body of Dr. Crawston back to London. I’ve also seen to it that you will be our representative at her funeral.”
Matt Lilburn did not, could not, say a word. He just nodded.
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or organizations, is purely coincidental. It remains the copyrighted property of the author and may not be reproduced, scanned, used in any way or distributed for any commercial or non-commercial use without permission from the author.
BioKill
Copyright © 2014 by Stuart Handley
All rights reserved
ISBN 978-0-9922619-3-1