A Soldier's Revenge: A Will Cochrane Novel by Matthew Dunn Page B

as a murderer. It was a reputation that was thoroughly deserved and had brought him to the attention of the man whose yacht he was now standing on. Carley had given him a new identity so that his criminal record was clean. Carley controlled Zhukov with brutal efficiency and respected his track record. He had never failed to complete a job, no matter how distasteful.
    As usual, Zhukov was in the black suit he wore when managing his legitimate trading company in Washington, D.C.
    “Good morning to you, sir.”
    Carley barely glanced at him. “My offer to put a scalpel to your mouth and correct your lisp still stands.”
    “But it gives me . . .” Zhukov struggled to find the word.
    “A degree of distinction?”
    The Russian thought about the phrase before nodding in approval. “ Distinction . I like that.”
    Carley’s expression was cold. “All matters are in hand. You’ve been observing?”
    “For days.”
    “Confident?”
    “Certain.”
    It was all Carley needed to hear. Zhukov was not a liar or egotist. If he said he was certain of success, he meant every word.
    Carley said, “I’m extracting the men and women who’ve helped you so far. They must leave America and lie low for a few months. Their equipment will be left behind at your safe house. A new team is flying in this afternoon. You remain in charge. Brief them on what you know. They know barely anything about me. Keep it that way.”
    “Understood.”
    Carley’s mind was thinking on multiple levels, and not just about this job. Tonight he was dining with an influential senator who’d turned to Carley for help because the politician had been accused of embezzling money out of a joint U.S.-Chinese oil deal. “As far as Cochrane goes, we’ve put him on the run and shut down his revenue stream. That’s only the beginning. Tomorrow we escalate matters. I will send him another message in the Washington Post . You will do your task to the best of your abilities. That will keep him alive, because he won’t put a gun to his head if you’re successful. We will kick him out of purgatory and kick him into hell.”
    Zhukov didn’t understand the English word purgatory . But he understood everything else. He had to, because even Zhukov wouldn’t dare to misunderstand Carley’s orders. He knew enough about the man to be terrified of that happening.
    Enough, including one stark fact.
    Edward Carley had been dismissed from the army after being diagnosed as a full-blown psychopath.

CHAPTER 12
    T hough it was dark in the cabin of the British Airways flight over the Atlantic, too many passengers were still pressing their call buttons and requesting drinks. In the confines of economy class, Dickie Mountjoy was apoplectic that people didn’t just shut up and sleep, instead of behaving like spoiled kids crying out to their parents for more drinks. He hadn’t been on an airplane since he was in the army. It seemed to him to be a place where people were trapped; there was a clear division between the passengers who needed and the crew who sometimes gave.
    Next to him was a thirty-year-old American woman called Barbara who’d introduced herself to Dickie after she’d boarded and had told him that she was returning home to New York to be reunited with her boyfriend after a period of cooling off.
    Beyond saying he didn’t know what cooling off meant, Dickie had said little else, eaten his meal, and was now trying to rest. But the infernal pinging kept him awake and irritable, with at least four hours left until touchdown.
    “Are you okay? You’re sweating.” Barbara was looking at the old man with concern.
    A talkative passenger by his side was the last thing he needed. “I’m all right, missy. Just don’t like being shoehorned into a box that’s flying at thirty thousand feet.”
    “Scared of flying?”
    “No. Just bored.”
    “That doesn’t explain the sweat on your face. Here.” She reached above him and directed the ceiling fan so that it blew