Terminal Vendetta (A Diana Weick Thriller Book 3) Cate Clarke (little red riding hood read aloud TXT) 📖

woman in a long skirt and tank top approached them from behind, her sandals brushing against the stone steps with rehearsed steps. She nodded her head at both of them, muttering something quickly and then gesturing for the two of them to follow her.

From the steps, she led them to one of the temple halls at the back of Singheungsa.

“Shit,” Diana muttered as they disappeared from the scope’s view and beyond a sliding paper door.

With more swears muttered under her breath, Diana partially disassembled the sniper rifle and stuck it back in the bag. The high ground she’d gotten not completely useless, just mostly useless. Diana made her way down the mountainside, slipping in the fresh mud several times, wishing she’d taken the concrete trail. If only she could have paraded around as a regular civilian. She’d proven to herself—in that time with Idris Amber, the MI6 agent—that undercover work was not her strong suit.

With one final slip, Diana almost knocked herself out on the bottom of one of the temples, running into the pillar that held it above the gravel below. She shimmied herself around it, sneaking her way underneath the raised temples, staying as close to the trees as possible, weaving back in and out of the forest as she needed to.

From behind the temple she’d seen them enter, Diana slipped herself over the edge of the forest. The mountainside was almost right outside the back windows of the hall. It was convenient that these temples were so damn old; everything was made of ancient paper and wood, allowing sound to transfer easily to her crouched spot in the trees.

“You came a long way,” a woman’s voice said from beyond the paper.

“It is worth the trip,” Zabójca replied.

“For him? You’re sure?”

“I’m certain.”

“If we were going to have a conversation about what we’re certain of,” David said, Scottish accent abrasive even through the paper doors, “let’s be certain that you’re not wasting our time.”

The woman laughed.

“Ms. Gwan... Yoonah, I think what my colleague is trying to say,” Zabójca said, “is that we are after something particular, and we wouldn’t have come all this way if we weren’t… positive that you have it.”

“I do know where he is.”

“Then tell us.”

“Pay me.”

There was shuffling and a thunk like a briefcase or a bag placed down against wood. Some Korean was exchanged between the woman and others, contemplating and discussing the two foreigners in their midst.

“It seems like…” Yoonah said. “Not enough for someone of his ranking.”

“This is what was agreed,” Zabójca said.

“Don’t pretend like you can’t afford my rates, Mr. Fedoruk.” Her voice slid through the paper like she was right next to Diana, whispering in her ear. She added, holding every letter in a hiss, “Zabójca.”

There was a slight laugh and another shuffling of feet.

“This is not a negotiation,” Zabójca said. “We already did that.”

“Take the money and tell us where he is,” David snapped.

There was a click, the pulling back of the safety on a gun. Diana moved between the trees, trying to get an angle with a view. She managed her way to the other side of a paper window, the morning sun striking through it, providing a glimpse at their silhouettes. The shadowy form of a woman sitting cross-legged, two others on either side of her. Zabójca’s frame, tall and skinny, holding his gun down at his side, almost blending in with the shadow of his leg. And David with his arm outstretched, pointing the gun directly at her forehead.

Zabójca lightly pressed his hand against David’s outstretched gun, pushing it down and out of the woman’s face.

“I just feel that you have more to give,” Yoonah said after a moment, her silhouette unflinching.

“The feeling is mutual,” Zabójca growled, his patience wearing a bit—David’s already worn.

“You have very little power here,” she snapped. “You will only connect with him while he’s in this country if I allow you to do so. I am the contact. You are the buyer. I am the mother. You are the child. You will eat what I give you. You will drink what I give you. You can throw as many tantrums as you like but this is the way it will be if you wish to get your hands on someone as important as him.

“Besides,” she continued. “You’re running out of time. Only a few days left to accomplish whatever it is you set out to do. No. Don’t tell me. Those are the details I don’t want to know.”

“Aye. That’s right,” David said, fiddling with the gun, his shadow twitching. “We’re in a hurry. So quit havering on and get it over wit’.”

The shadow of the woman grabbed the bag and slid it toward her. She undid the zipper—the sound of it way too loud. It made them all stiffen. Diana ducked down into the tree line as a group of tourists made their way past the temple, snapping quick selfies in front of the steps.

With an elegant gesture of her hand, Yoonah motioned to the bag, and one of the silhouettes next to her picked it up and dragged it into their lap, peering down into it, counting.

There was a long silence as the counting went on. Yoonah and Zabójca both stayed quite still, only occasionally turning their heads to sounds outside. David began to pace back and forth, his heavy boots squeaking against the ancient wood.

Whispers were exchanged in Korean.

“Tonight, he will be at JangSen,” Yoonah said. “It’s in Gangnam. He will likely be bringing a girl there with him. Tomorrow, he will be at the American base in Yongsan.”

And as soon as the information was out, both David and Zabójca raised their pistols simultaneously. Three silenced shots and all of the crossed-leg shadows against the temple walls slumped into one another.

Zabójca gathered up the bag between them and slung it over his shoulder.

“So tonight or tomorrow?” David asked, sticking his gun back in his pocket.

“Tonight,” Zabójca replied. “We’ve got to get back to Seoul, so let’s move.”

Diana waited