The Suppressor Erik Carter (books suggested by bill gates TXT) š
- Author: Erik Carter
Book online Ā«The Suppressor Erik Carter (books suggested by bill gates TXT) šĀ». Author Erik Carter
āTesting,ā he said.
As soon as the word left his lips, he recoiled. The thorn bush sliced him up.
The mustached manās eyebrows drew together, vicarious empathy.
āHurts like hell,ā Jake said, which was a stupid thing to do. A fresh thrashing from the thorns, pain sharp enough to water his eyes.
The other manās mustache twisted into a little grin. āAnd it will continue to hurt. The medical staff tells me itāll get somewhat better with time, but youāll always feel it.ā
Jake rolled his head back. āGreat.ā
A shot of pain. He grimaced. Swallowed.
Just shut up, he told himself.
The man stepped closer. āI havenāt introduced myself. You can call me Falcon. My organization saved your life. Weāre the ones who run this facility.ā
He pulled a hand from his pocket and gestured to their surroundings.
āAnd we want to offer you a second chance at life. Or, to put it more accurately, weāre offering you a second life altogether.
āIāll cut to the chase. As youāre someone who works in bureaucracy, Iām sure you can agree that there are plenty of ways individuals elude justice, plenty of cracks to fall through. If a person knows the right people, if a person has enough money, he or she can get away with murder. Literal murder. But other horrible things as well. Often itās the system itself that allows it. Corruption.
āAnd so individuals like me have set up an underground operation to right wrongs, to dole out justice to people who have escaped it. A secret group hidden in plain sight, watching it all, monitoring the governmentās actionsālocal, state, and federal, even foreign affairs, things like CIA operations. When someone eludes the justice they so sorely deserve, we go in an administer that justice. Usually as a death sentence. We call ourselves the Watchers.ā
Falcon looked at Jake now, awaiting a response.
It was a lot to consume at once, this concept of a secretive group embedded throughout American government with a mission of righteous murder, and Jakeās immediate reaction was one of loyal skepticism.
He worked up some saliva, swallowed. āTreason.ā
The word hurt his throat, but not as much as the previous times heād spoken. Heād lubricated the thorn bush more effectively.
Falcon chuckled. āTreason, you say? The first case I worked was a small-town mayor in North Carolina who tortured and killed the brother of his political opponent and had the police chiefāhis father-in-lawāpin the murder on his opponent. One of our men broke his neck. Is that treason?
āJust last month, we uncovered a human-trafficking ring in Oklahoma, operating out of a Native American reservation, using legal loopholes regarding what is and isnāt federal ground to transport people. This had gone on for almost a decade. We ended it in one night. With two bullets. Treason?ā
The man had a point. Even in Jakeās brief tenure as a law enforcement officer, heād experienced the foggy gray areas within the lawāpeople who should have been arrested but werenāt; corruption and injustice.
āWhat do youā¦ā Jake said and stopped to swallow. āWantā¦ā Another swallow. āFrom me?ā
His throat crackled with pain. He needed to learn to use less syllables.
Falcon rocked on his heels and mugged broader. āWe want you to be an assassin, Mr. Rowe. What we call an Asset. Youāve proven that you can kill. Four men in one night. Shit, man.ā
Even with all the pain in his throat and the numb quality throughout the rest of his body, Falconās request made Jakeās stomach instantly roil with anxiety.
An assassin?
When he killed four of C.C.ās murderers, it was an act of passion-fueled rage. One night. And it ended with Jake himself being killed.
Since then, heād been brought back to lifeāa life drifting in and out of drug-filled memories and dreams. Heād had no chance to come back to himself, to reacquire reality.
But he didnāt need to have his full wits about him to understand that he was no professional killer.
The very thought of itā¦
Insane.
There was a look of recognition in Falconās eyes, as though he could see Jakeās hesitancy, and before Jake could respond, he continued.
āThere are four tiers to the Watchersā organization. Let me show you.ā
He stepped to the side of the bed, to a table, and picked up a small book. Jake recognized it. It was his PenPal notebookāyellow plastic cover, inky bloodstain on the back. He hadnāt seen it yet during any of his conscious moments in this medical room, as the table was hidden behind one of the larger pieces of medical equipment.
Falcon made an eww face at the bloodstain, carefully avoiding it as he opened the notebook with only two fingers. He took the mechanical pencil out of the spiral binding and started writing.
Jake didnāt appreciate him marking up his personal belongings. But given the situation, he decided he should remain quiet. It was good practice, anyway. He would need to stay silent as often as possible with this painful throat of his.
After a moment of writing, Falcon put the pencil back in the spiral binding, smiled at his handiwork with over-the-top pride, and handed the notebook to Jake. There was a simple diagram with words connected via lines.
It reminded Jake of the mind mapping technique C.C. had taught him.
Falcon put his hands back in his pockets. āEveryone in the Watchers, aside from the lowest tier, the Assets, has a day job. āHidden in plain sight,ā remember? At the top of the pecking order, we got the Captains, the big guns. There are only a few of them, and they all work in government.
āBeneath the Captains are the Prefects, like me.ā He patted his chest, smiled with more of his animated pride. āAlso members of government. We supervise the Specialists and the Assets. If we do well enough, and if a
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