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

Next to him, Nakiri was also decked out in black tactical gear. Hers was formfitting and sleek. Like Silence’s clothes, hers could easily be adapted to night-out-wear if she tossed on a belt or a scarf.

They approached the fence—ten feet tall and topped with barbed wire. Beyond were warehouses and a pair of big ships and lots of big, metal machinery covered with chipped paint and illuminated by bright lights. Though he couldn’t see it, Silence knew that in the distance—the southwest corner—was the area that stored the intermodal shipping containers. His objective.

A green metal sign with white text stared at Silence from its position, secured on the chainlink fence.

NO TRESSPASSING

The Port of Pensacola is a Border Entry Point. All Persons, Effects, Vehicles, and Vessels are Subject to Search in Accordance with State and Federal Statutes.

Nakiri held up a black, scratchy looking blanket.

“Did you bring one?” she said.

Silence shook his head.

She tugged at the top of the blanket, which was actually two blankets, and threw one hard at his chest.

“Figured you wouldn’t,” she said. “Be prepared, dummy.”

They shook out the blankets and tossed them over the barbed wire, climbed, and threw themselves over the fence. Silence landed with a thud, his impact absorbed by the thick rubber soles of his boots and the tuck-and-roll technique he’d learned both at the police academy and through Nakiri’s instruction.

Silence pointed across the facility. “Cargo containers.” He swallowed. “Southwest corner.”

Nakiri nodded and pointed in the opposite direction, to a large warehouse.

“I’ll be watching.”

Silence headed toward a patch of shadows behind a fenced cluster of machinery, big, round, metal things. The shadows fell to—

Nakiri’s voice. “Wait.”

He stopped, turned around.

“Good luck, Suppressor,” she said.

He nodded, and for a moment they looked at each other. The warm breeze was strong, and it blew the long bangs off her forehead, completely revealing her gray eyes.

She blinked, and for a moment it looked like she was going to say something else. Instead, her chin dipped, and she turned, darted toward the warehouse.

Silence watched as she slipped behind a metal shed, then he took off. He traced the edge of the fence and looked into the sprawling facility, scouting his options. A pool of orange-ish light to his left. A pool of fluorescent light with a blue hue to his right. Neither of them were great options, but the patch of fluorescent lighting was smaller, so he headed in that direction, staying as close to the water’s edge as he could, as the cargo containers he was headed toward were right off the water.

Strange machinery and devices everywhere—large mechanical things he didn’t understand. Though he’d lived near the sea his entire life, he’d spent his time splashing in the waves, not floating on the surface. He had very little nautical knowledge. It was a deficiency he would need to address for his new career.

As he rounded a building, his destination was before him: the back corner of the port, which was filled with shipping containers. Massive rectangles of corrugated metal—browns and greens and blacks—all of them about nine feet tall, most with patches of corrosion. The grid pattern in which they were arranged created a little, rusty city—complete with streets and big, flat walls—and the system was so efficient that it only took him moments to locate container CG247. Its metal surface had originally been painted red, but there was as much rust as paint now. It sat two containers away from the water’s edge.

Here was where Silence would wait.

Here was where it would happen. His revenge.

No.

Not just revenge. So much more than that.

Here was where he would stop Burton’s plan, his dealings with international terrorists.

C.C. would tell him to not let his ego rule him, to think about the greater good before himself. Mrs. Enfield would tell him to be sharp and stay safe. And Nakiri would tell him to get his shit together.

Focus, he told himself.

He unholstered his Beretta, then took the suppressor from his pocket and screwed it into the barrel.

Chapter Sixty-Seven

There were drunks everywhere.

“Oh, God,” Tanner grumbled.

He had both hands on the steering wheel of his Lincoln. It was his personal car—Martha’s car, really—but he kept a removable dash-mounted blue light in the back seat at all times. Just in case.

The Lincoln slowly crept down Jefferson Street, a road that ran parallel to Palafox Place, which was the main drag through downtown. Palafox was closed to vehicles for the night.

And with good cause.

The second evening of the festival was still a few minutes from its official beginning, but the ruckus had clearly been going on for quite a while. Hours, it would appear. Even Jefferson Street was creeping with traffic, slowed by laughing beverage-clutching goof-offs.

He passed over another cross road and leaned forward, looking past Pace in the passenger seat toward Palafox. A solid mass of bobbing heads, many of them stumbling. Lots of shouting and slovenly laughter. People hanging off the second-story, New Orleans-esque balconies. Beads and noisemakers and neon glow necklaces and plastic yard glasses.

Bunch of drunks. It seemed like the drinking started earlier every year. They could at least hold off on the booze for a few hours for the children’s sake. Fortunately, Tanner didn’t see too many youngsters in the crowd.

An oversized, ten-foot beach ball bounced past, skipping along the blanket of people to the sound of delighted squeals.

Tanner grumbled again.

Idiots.

All Tanner needed was a beer on Friday nights. And coffee throughout the week. It kept a guy out of trouble.

The smartass in the passenger seat wasn’t nearly as disgusted as him. “Looks like a good time,” Pace said through his stupid smile.

Tanner pointed through the windshield at a guy a few feet ahead, waving a bright orange plastic flag at the corner of a gravel lot loaded with cars. At his feet was a sandwich sign.

“Look at that,” Tanner said. “Ten dollars to park in Pensacola. Gah!”

Pace finally wiped the stupid smile off his face, and his eyebrows knitted as he took in the festival’s surroundings with a more