Free The Storm Giants by Pearce Hansen Page A

can kill this one, take the family and drop off the map all the way.”
    “In that case I would submit your mother’s DNA samples to the authorities as a concerned citizen, and you will have an APB that you cannot outrun without hiding forever.”
    “Makes for a stalemate ,” said Everett, “My freedom of action is curtailed, and yet you don’t get use of me to recover your gold. Unless . . .” He stopped and waited.
    “What did you have in mind?” the Widow finally asked, in a tone like he was pulling teeth.
    “As a gesture of good faith , your surviving operative goes free,” Everett said. “She proves we’re on the same page and that you’re being obeyed. On your end, you don’t plant anyone on this house again. You trust me to play ball.”
    “Trust ,” she said.
    Everett continued. “Don’t work for free no matter what kind of threat you make. One million dollars, small bills cash, used and non-sequential, payable in full upon delivery of the bullion to you or your designated agents.”
    “What would prevent you taking it elsewhere to sell?” she asked.
    “Don’t be stupid ,” he said, voice raised and cold. “This is a specialty item. Big ticket number like this needs a big player in place to unload it fast. You’re convenient and available. Path of least resistance. Smartest move for me.”
    “You bend a bit , makes for a win-win situation,” he said, soft and reasonable like she was a trusted old associate. “This is biz, nothing personal – no beef between us if you back up a skosh.”
    “Very well,” the Widow said, and hung up.
    Everett ’s hostage still had her hands pressed to the top of her head. He said, “Your boss seems unconcerned for your welfare. Maybe you and her aren’t as close as you thought?”
    She stood with her hands still atop her head. She thought he was toying with her before the kill.
    Everett said, “Take your hands down.”
    She lowered her hands slowly, still suspecting a trick. The Widow’s driver said. “She’s a great woman and she serves a great cause,” she said. “Great causes require great sacrifices. I’m prepared to do whatever I have to for my race. How can you stand by and let the mud people overwhelm your fellow Nords?”
    Everett had met enough Aryan types that he could preach a racist sermon right back at her if it had been useful. The supremacists always thought Everett a good recruiting candidate for their drivel.
    What was her story? How had she gotten mixed up with the Widow or Quiverfull? She’d probably tell him if he asked forcefully enough. But so what? Even if the player was different, the story was always the same.
    He shooed her ahead of him and they headed toward the tree line where his victim’s corpse awaited. As he walked, he pulled the entrenching tool from his belt, folded it open, and started tightening the shovel blade’s retaining ring.

Chapter 15 : Fate’s Cruelty
    The Widow’s driver stood waist deep in the grave, flinging shovel fulls of dirt over her shoulder. The miniature military shovel wasn’t the most convenient digging implement in the world, and she quickly tired of moving earth with it. Already warm from the hump through the woods and the gunplay, making a hole to hide the leavings was making her sweat.
    Everett couldn’t shit this close to where he lived and just walk away from the mess. The damage control and cleanup afterwards were the hardest parts of a killing.
    Maybe it was good the aftermath of murder was so inconvenient. Otherwise more people would do it, most of them unqualified amateurs. Things would get messier than they already were.
    Somebody cleared their throat in the tree line, and Everett and the Driver’s girl both froze. Everett’s shotgun only had one shell left, but the grave would make a good breastwork firing position if he jumped in, and he could strip the entrenching tool from the Widow’s driver if it came up hand to hand.
    Like in one of those opti cal illusion