Free The Immortal Game by Mike Miner Page A

Understand?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good. Keep your phone close. You will receive instructions.”
    *
    The German put her phone in his pocket and sighed. He did not enjoy involving civilians in his work. Too unpredictable. He stood.
    “You heard?”
    The woman nodded. Beneath the fatigue and the fear she was quite beautiful.
    “Do what you are told and everything will be fine for you and Dylan.”
    “Who is the boy?”
    The German punched her, hard, in the stomach. She crumpled to the ground, gasping for breath.
    “The boy does not concern you. You will ask no questions. You will do as you are told. Understand?”
    The woman nodded and wept.
    So beautiful. Such a waste.
    “Sit, please.”
    She did it quickly, like a well-trained dog, eager to please.
    The German nodded in approval. He lifted a case and opened it. His long-range rifle. A DSR-50. He had never missed with it. He quickly checked all the parts, made sure he had his .50 caliber bullets. Then he closed and latched the case. As always, he felt comforted by the sight of the well-oiled machine.
    The boy would not be there. The German understood this. A clean shot at Lonagan was all he wanted. Perhaps the Italian would be there as well. Then this woman, unfortunate, but necessary. No loose ends.
    Then the German could locate the boy. With no interference.

    *
    Whitey answered on the first ring.
    “Trouble?” he said.
    “The German,” Lonny said. “He has my wife.”
    Whitey absorbed this, then said, “And he wants to trade.”
    “Yes. For the boy.”
    “He can’t have the boy.”
    “I know that.”
    “Good. Where’s the meet?”
    “Quincy Market. The north steps.” Lonny rubbed his face, tried to control the panic buzzing at the back of his brain.
    “Where does she live?”
    “Beacon Hill.”
    “Okay. We’ve got time.”
    “For what?”
    “Where are you?”
    “Northeastern.”
    Whitey’s heart surged as he explained how to proceed. The life of a hero, he thought. Someone needed saving and Lonagan had called Whitey.

    The German and Kelly walked from her apartment. It was a frigid day. The wind bit at the tears in her eyes.
    There was no talking. They both knew the way.
    The German kept his hands in his pockets. His right hand held a small firearm. Smaller than anything Dylan had owned. But in the bag over his shoulder was the biggest rifle she’d ever seen.
    “You will wait at the steps. If you leave—” the German shrugged apologetically— “I must kill the boy. And your Dylan.”
    My Dylan, she thought and sighed.
    They passed a policeman.
    Kelly tensed as if she might not be able to control herself.
    The German smiled, as if amused by her thoughts.
    They walked. Past the old capitol building with its gold dome shining. To their right, in the Boston Commons, Kelly could see a skating rink, could hear the sounds of children on the ice. Cruel noises to her ears.
    They took a left through Suffolk University. College kids rushed to class, their breath steaming from their mouths.
    None of them knew, not a soul, how much trouble she was in, how dangerous the blond man next to her was.
    How could they?

    Lonny spotted them, walking past Government Center.
    He dialed Whitey. Herd ringing in his earpiece.
    “Go,” Whitey said.
    “I’ve got them. Coming down the steps next to Government Center.”
    As Lonny watched, a crowd of business folk crossed in front of them. The German was gone. Kelly kept walking down the steps.
    “Dammit, I just lost him.”
    “I’ve got him. Go get Kelly out of here.”
    Lonny stepped out of the coffee shop, scanning the crowd for either the German or Whitey. Both were ghosts. Instead, he spotted Vincent, Red’s well-dressed lieutenant.
    Kelly was halfway down the steps.
    Vincent was moving away, back turned to Lonny. He moved like he dressed. Smooth, elegant, gliding through the thickening crowd like a dancer. He did nothing to call attention to himself.
    Over Vincent’s shoulder, Lonny spotted Whitey, who was as