The Red Cobra (James Ryker #1)
Rob Sinclair
For my sons, my future
CHAPTER 1
She wiped clean the bloodied knife, sheathed it, then looked down at the two lifeless bodies. The man lay naked on the bed, his face twisted into an ugly grimace. Thick red blood smeared his flabby body; most of the blood his, some of it his wife’s. Her lithe body lay haphazardly on the floor by her husband’s feet. Her throat was open, the wound deep enough that the white of her spine was visible.
If only she’d stayed in the bathroom a few moments longer...
The man had been the target. It had taken just two days to track him down to the remote coastal house. One day later and he would have been smuggled safely out of the country.
Unfortunately for him, the assassin’s hunting skills had been underestimated.
Killing the wife had been nothing more than a split-second reaction. It hadn’t been the intention. If she’d simply been sleeping by her husband’s side she may well have lived through the ordeal.
The killer wouldn’t dwell. She spent a few moments satisfying herself that despite the impromptu second kill, the scene remained clean of her. Then she slipped out of the house, the many bodyguards stationed there to protect the dead man never once suspecting her presence.
She headed the half mile along the coastal road on foot to where she’d earlier parked her car. A chilling wind blasted off the nearby shore. It was dark outside, the time nearly two a.m. The closest town was over five miles away and there were no streetlights here. With the sky overcast, the road was near black.
At least it was for the first five minutes of her walk. Then, out of the darkness, came the twin beams of a car’s headlights, reaching out from behind the killer and slicing through the air ahead. She turned. The vehicle was only fifty yards away. She didn’t panic, just kept on walking.
As the car neared, she held her breath. Her hand grasped the handle of her sheathed knife. The growl of the car’s guzzling engine reverberated around her head, vibrations shooting through her as the vehicle crawled past. It came to a stop ten yards ahead.
The driver’s door opened. For a brief moment, the car’s dim interior light lit up the face of the man who stepped out.
She should have known it would be him.
He stood still, facing her. Now he was upright, away from the thin light seeping out of the car’s windows, she could no longer make out his face.
‘Why?’ was all he said as he stood by the open door.
His hands hung casually by his sides. Was he armed?
‘You know why,’ she said.
‘I can still protect you.’
‘I never asked for protection.’
‘No. You didn’t. But you’re going to need it now.’
She let his words sink in for only a second.
And then she ran.
She sprinted through the blackness, arms and legs pumping in a steady rhythm, her breaths deep and fast. Her heart soon pounded from adrenaline and exertion.
The darkness would help her, she knew, making her nearly invisible as soon as she was away from the faint glow of the car’s rear lights. Still, she was surprised he didn’t open fire on her. Perhaps he wasn’t armed after all.
She heard nothing of him from behind and didn’t once dare to look. Straining every sinew and muscle, she bounded across the soggy ground, headed directly for the steep cliffs that gave way to the thrashing sea below.
With each step she took, the roar of the crashing waves grew louder. Soon it filled her ears. On the distant horizon, the clouds began to part. A sliver of bright white light from the moon became visible. For the first time, she could see the endless expanse of inky water below. And the edge of the cliff just a few paces ahead.
She closed her eyes, preparing for the leap into the unknown...
The next second, she was shoved from behind. She lost her footing and ended up face down in the mud. Maybe he slipped too. Or maybe he’d simply thrown his whole body at her in order to bring her down. Either way, his big frame thudded onto the ground next to her.
In an instant, she turned onto her back, moving away from him, then leaped onto her feet. He did the same. She pulled out the long knife and swung it in a narrow arc as he raced toward her. She caught his arm and heard the slicing noise as the blade tore through skin and flesh.
He didn’t cry out. Didn’t even murmur.
He smashed into her. The knife flew from her grasp and they tumbled back to the ground, him on top, straddling her, pinning her arms with his knees.
Within seconds, two thick hands were wrapped around her neck, choking her. She rasped and gasped for breath.
The open wound on his forearm glistened in the moonlight. She reached out as much as his restrictive hold would allow, and dug her nails in. Dug deep. She squeezed as hard as she could.
Not so much as a flinch from him. It was like he wasn’t even there. No humanity behind those pearly eyes. Just a... machine.
His strength, his determination, his focus, was too much. Her eyes began to bulge. The shadowy vision of him on top blurred.
But then she saw it. A faint sparkle in the darkness. Metallic. Not her knife. A gun. On the wet ground next to them.
He was armed after all. At least he had been.
She stretched out her hand, the pressure from his knees on her upper arms giving her little room to manoeuvre. She clawed at the soggy mud. Her fingertips were just an inch from the weapon. Her whole body strained...
She got it.
Grabbing the gun’s barrel, she swung the grip toward his head. He never saw it coming. The thick metal handle crashed into his skull. He barely seemed to notice. She hit him again. Then a third time. Finally, the grip round her neck weakened. Slightly.
It was all she needed.
She bucked and pushed up with all the strength she could muster. His body gave a couple of inches. Enough for leverage. She swivelled and took him with her. A moment later, she was the one on top, the gun’s barrel pressing against his forehead.
In the darkness, all she could clearly make out of him were his sparkling eyes. When she’d first met him she’d thought him handsome. Out in the cold, dark night, his penetrating gaze was sinister and unforgiving.
She stared down and he stared right back.
‘If you were going to shoot me, you’d have done it already,’ he said, still eerily calm and composed. A stark contrast to how she was feeling. ‘Do it. Do it now. You won’t get a better chance.’
Her finger was on the trigger. In fact, despite her hesitation, she was actually pushing down on the trigger as he made his move. He grabbed her wrist and pushed the gun up. She fired. Three times. The bullets sailed away into the night. The noise of the gun so close to her head was deafening. And disorientating.
The next she knew, he’d taken back the gun and was turning it round on her.