By Tom Cain
A people-trafficker bites the airborne dirt and dust in Dubai and a gangland money-launderer has a deadly motor vehicle twist of fate in San Francisco: either deaths undergo the hallmarks of a Sam Carver 'accident.' yet Carver is not any longer imagined to be within the video game. He'd sworn to go away that existence at the back of. So his outdated contacts at MI6 need to know why Carver has long past off the reservation. who's paying him? And who can be his subsequent objective? yet somebody is surroundings Carver up, framing him for crimes he didn't commit—a copycat killer, inspired through revenge. He desires to overwhelm Carver after which beat him at his personal video game by means of hitting the world's such a lot famous objective, the hot president of the U.S.. Now Sam Carver must use all his crafty and tradecraft to trace and prevent this lethal opponent. on my own and at the run, he needs to struggle to transparent his identify. yet first he needs to cease a deadly shot that might be heard world wide.
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Additional resources for Assassin (Samuel Carver, Book 3)
Tienne smiled. "Raft, trek. I want to do something different, and everybody wants to do something different. But we all do the same thing. " He pointed around the corner of the police station, towards the Khao San Road. " Étienne paused for a moment, frowning slightly, then he said, "This man who died. He was very strange. We would hear him late at night. " To my irritation I blushed, remembering the sound of Étienne and his girlfriend having sex. I took a deep drag on my cigarette and looked down at the steps we were sitting on.
I lay on my back with my hands behind my head, content in the knowledge that the muffled sound of the wheels on the tracks and the rocking movement of the carriage would soon send me to sleep. Most people find it easy to sleep on trains, but for me it's particularly easy. In fact, I find it almost impossible to stay awake. I grew up in a house that backed on to a train line and night-time was when you'd notice the trains most. My version of the Sandman is the 12:10 from Euston. While I waited for the Pavlovian response to kick in, I studied the clever design of my bunk.
Tienne shifted over on my bed and patted the space he had made: Françoise stayed in the doorway. "I did not wait for you," he said, presumably speaking in English for my sake. " She didn't follow the language lead and began rattling away in French. I couldn't follow their conversation past recognizing the odd word, including my own name, but the speed and forcefulness of the exchange made me think that either she was pissed off that he'd left without her, or she was just keen to fill him in on what had happened at the police station.
Assassin (Samuel Carver, Book 3) by Tom Cain