The Suppressor Erik Carter (books suggested by bill gates TXT) 📖

bed. “And you’ll know her as Nakiri. You’ve no need for her name, just her codename.”

Nakiri’s eyes gave a dark sparkle as she grinned at her new protege. “We’re going to have a lot of fun training, Suppressor.”

Suppressor tilted his head, eyes narrowing to cautious slits, as though confused by Nakiri’s stony countenance.

But Laswell understood. He knew exactly where Nakiri’s dark revelry was coming from.

He cut in before she could say anything else. “And after that, you’ll start your first assignment, your trial run.”

Nakiri cleared her throat. Obnoxiously.

Laswell glanced at her, then back to Suppressor. “Correction: you’ll finish the assignment that Nakiri started. Clearly her cover was blown when she started shooting people at Lukas Burton’s place. You have a new face, an inside understanding of Burton, and a strong desire to eliminate him. You’ll be finishing the Pensacola assignment.”

Nakiri shot Suppressor a frigid glare.

“But don’t think that we’re simply giving you a chance to finish your revenge,” Laswell continued. “Burton’s goal is a lot bigger than we originally thought. Huge.” He waved a hand at Nakiri. “Get him up to speed.”

She bristled, doing little to conceal it. While Nakiri wasn’t the most difficult Asset he’d ever commanded, she was at the apex of the list. Copious spirit. Ponderous pride. And this situation bruised that pride a deep shade of purple.

She retrieved a file folder from the canvas messenger bag she was carrying and took out the photos she’d shown Laswell earlier in the day, those of Keith Sutton. One was a security photo of the lean, baby-faced man in his corporeal state; the other showed his bullet-riddled corpse after the police fished it out of Pensacola Bay.

“This is the man I told you about back at Burton’s beach house,” Nakiri said to Suppressor. “Keith Sutton, the guy who tried to buy arms with counterfeit bills in Boston, found a couple days later bobbing in the water outside Pensacola like a bloated human buoy. Originally we thought Sutton was just your average workaday thug, but since you’ve been asleep, we’ve discovered he has more significant criminal ties than the Farones and Burton’s new gang.

“He worked for a criminal syndicate out of Warsaw with connections all over the globe—Europe, China, the Middle East. Wanted by Interpol, the EU, several individual nations. Why he’d gotten his counterfeit cash from Burton and not someone more established, we’re not sure. But Burton’s counterfeiting operations are expanding. He’s printing documents worth a hell of a lot more than paper money—passports, birth certificates, death certificates, forged contracts.”

Laswell stepped beside her. “Which means we need to move even faster than originally thought. Because whatever Burton is doing, it’s escalating rapidly. Not only has he upped his game with counterfeiting, but he’s consolidating power. He’s having his second-in-command, Clayton Glover, wipe out all the low-level groups that had ties to the Farones. Now there are only two more contingents remaining in the Pensacola region. We don’t know where they’re hiding, but we believe Burton does, and intel says he’s closing on those groups tonight. Once he’s eliminated them, there will be no one left to challenge his power.”

Suppressor swallowed, a pronounced movement. The new Asset was adapting quickly, learning how to lubricate his rotten throat.

“And then?” Suppressor said.

“Then he moves onto his ultimate goal, whatever he’s doing with all his sophisticated counterfeiting,” Laswell said. “Burton’s meticulous about covering his tracks, but our Specialists are just as meticulous. We’ve been able to glean some particulars. Whatever Burton’s planning, it’s huge, and it’s happening in approximately five weeks. Which means we need to get you back to Florida with some time to spare; which further means that your training will be only three weeks. Fast and brutal. All while you’re still recovering.”

Nakiri rapped a knuckle on the bed’s handrail.

“Fun and excitement await you, cupcake.” She gave Suppressor another devilish grin. “Let’s begin.”

Chapter Fifty-Two

Glover waved a hand, and four men moved out of the trees and toward the house.

This was great. Simply amazing. The power, prestige, and respect he’d wanted and deserved for so long.

It was all because he’d chosen to follow Lukas Burton, the smartest decision he’d ever made.

Everything was changing for Glover. Changing fast. Even his clothing, of which Burton had given him advice. He wore an expensive pair of gray pants and a striped, button-up shirt. He’d rolled the sleeves up. Uber cool. He felt sharp and intelligent and powerful.

Before him was a two-story, old-fashioned house. Something very Southern looking, which seemed appropriate, as it was on the outskirts of Biloxi.

He watched.

There was a pause. A breeze teased the branch in front of him.

And then shots from the building, cracking through the night. Little blasts of light in the windows.

Glover smiled.

And quickly the smile dropped.

Because someone ran from the house into the small wooded area to the side. It wasn’t one of his men.

Glover gave it a moment. None of his men emerged from the house.

Shit.

Evidently he was still going to have to do some dirty work from time to time. That was fine by him. He would’ve missed it, anyway.

He took out his gun and ran to the edge of the trees. Stopped. Listened.

Rustling leaves. Footsteps, getting away. There was an open parking lot on the other side of the copse. No time for stealth, so Glover just crashed right into the trees. The man was before him, almost to the parking lot and its lights.

Glover raised his gun and put two rounds into his back. The man fell into a pile of branches and leaves, a crunching sound that registered surprisingly loudly after the bark of the gunshots.

More footsteps, coming from the house. He turned.

It was his men, scrambling for the car.

Then distant sirens.

He pivoted, about to dart to the car, and felt something on his shin, looked down.

His nice pants had ripped. A one-inch tear at the cuff.

“Damn.”

Later, he had the same group of three men with him. They’d become his personal squad, another sign of his growing prestige, his upward mobility.

Not