By Tom Wood
Victor has been out of the sport for 6 months - yet he's as lethal as ever. He's in Berlin, getting ready for his first project as a CIA contractor: taking away the scout of a infamous crime lord. nobody is meant to die - now not but - yet as Victor tracks his objective, he realises he's no longer the single one drawn to the scout . . . and if Victor goes to do his task, he has to prevent another individual doing theirs.Packed with roaring motion and breathless suspense, this particularly priced, unique brief tale is ideal for enthusiasts of Tom wooden - and for readers who've but to find him.
ISBN contained in the e-book: 9781405513494
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Victor has been out of the sport for 6 months - yet he's as lethal as ever. He's in Berlin, getting ready for his first task as a CIA contractor: eliminating the scout of a infamous crime lord. not anyone is meant to die - no longer but - yet as Victor tracks his objective, he realises he's now not the one one attracted to the scout .
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Additional info for Bad Luck in Berlin (Exclusive Short Story)
Let him go up his Laurenziberg, I won't interfere with him, not even by running away will I interfere with him. And now I shouted: "Out with your stories! I no longer want to hear scraps. Tell me everything, from beginning to end. I won't listen to less, I warn you. " When he looked at me I stopped shouting so loud. "And you can count on my discretion! Tell me everything that's on your mind. " I heard him laugh. "Yes, yes," I said. "I believe that. I don't doubt it," and so saying I pinched him in the calves -- where they were exposed.
So they go on talking while the street lies numb and the smoke from the chimneys falls between the houses. That's how it is. But it might happen that two carriages stop on a crowded boulevard of a distinguished neighborhood. Seriouslooking menservants open the doors. Eight elegant Siberian wolfhounds come prancing out and jump barking across the boulevard. ' "His eyes were almost shut. When I fell silent, he stuck both hands in his mouth and tore at his lower jaw. His clothes were covered with dirt.
I heard someone sob softly from afar. A wind sprang up and a great mass of leaves, which I had not seen before, rose rustling into the air. Unripe fruit thudded senselessly from the trees onto the ground. Ugly clouds rose from behind the mountain. The waves on the river creaked and receded from the wind. I got up quickly. My heart hurt, for now it seemed impossible to escape from my suffering. I was already about to turn and leave this region and go back to my former way of life when the following idea occurred to me: "How strange it is that even in our time distinguished people are transported across a river in this complicated way.