Page 130 of Witness 8

‘Sure, what time?’

‘They should be there around nine. Please be there for me at that exact time. They charge by the hour even when they’re waiting.’

‘Sure thing,’ said Ruby.

Alison thanked her and hung up. Ruby checked the street again. Quiet. None of Flynn’s team’s cars. They’d gone.

Her arm was still hurting. She was exhausted.

But she had no choice. She had to do this tonight. She went back into the Jacksons’ house.

Everything was as she had left it.

Ruby walked into the kitchen, picked up the hammer and moved into the hallway.

She stood by the painting of the red priest.

She heard the buzzing.

He called her name.

Ruby raised the hammer. Her arm burned in pain. The hammer went up, over her head.

She let it fly.

And the red priest became silent.

‘Hi, Ruby,’ said a voice.

A real voice.

She turned, shocked, toward the staircase and the voice.

‘We need to talk,’ said Eddie Flynn as he walked down the stairs.

‘I want to help you . . .’ he said.

62

Angel

The man called Angel closed and zipped the carry case for his Sako TRG M10 and laid it on the vast emperor-sized bed.

The apartment he’d rented at extortionate cost was worth the money. 108 Leonard was an iconic building. With iconic apartments. The bathroom had more marble than most hotel lobbies. The price would eat into his bottom line when he collected his fee, but it was nice to enjoy the finer things once in a while. Angel didn’t kill people for money. Sure, he got paid for his work, but he killed people because that was what Angel was put on this world to do.

Killing was purpose.

Protect the team.

Take out the target.

There was no team any more. Hadn’t been for a while. Now, there was just the missions. Jobs he chose himself. The joy was in the execution of his work, not in the remuneration. Downtime was good. He owned a lot of nice cars. Some decent houses. And a place in the mountains of Ohio that allowed him enough space to practice his craft.

He put on a fresh T-shirt and black jeans.

Then tied his boots. Loosened them and then re-tied them. It was part of his ritual. Make sure your boots are tight – that’s what his drill sergeant told him. He’d carried that with him through basic training, then BUD/S: Basic UnderwaterDemolition/Seal Team Training. This training is designed to be some of the most grueling mental and physical challenges ever devised. Only one in five trainees make it to week four – hell week. Few make it out of that part of the course. Most quit.

Some die.