Murder in Milan

By Paul Allen

MURDER IN MILAN
FROM THIS MASTER STORYTELLER COMES ONE OF THE MOST HIGHLY ANTICIPATED THRILLERS THIS YEAR.

Hunter’s holidaying in Milan, Italy, is interrupted when a mafia accountant, on the run, attracts an assassin. Competing Italian mafia families and a corrupt prosecutor want the accountant dead.

Outnumbered Hunter, get the accountant to safety on his ASIS Gulfstream. Instead of landing in Sydney, Australia, they are diverted to the Marshall Islands to retrieve the remains of an undercover AFP officer from a ghost cocaine boat. Hunter and Paolo, the accountant, are imprisoned by a drug-smuggling syndicate led by a criminal ring leader and US MP’s.

THE BEST CRIME THRILLER SUSPENSE MYSTERY WITH DOUBLE AGENTS & A BIOLOGICAL THREAT

at the same time, a rogue Chinese spy intentionally launches a Ronald Reagan missile from the Marshall Islands to test a new Chinese biological weapon. With an Australian ASIS traitor, Chinese double agents, and a devastating undisclosed mission, all hell breaks loose on Hainan island, China.

Working alongside a group of skilled agents, John Moody and Emma Smirnov, and the accountant Paolo, Hunter, makes an impossible choice to shut down a potentially devastating military attack by a rogue Chinese General.

GRIPPING FROM BEGINNING TO STUNNING SPINE CHILLING END.

This gripping mystery is perfect for fans of Peter May, Lee Child, Michael Connelly, Ann Cleeves, John Grisham, David Baldacci, Paula Hawkins, or Val McDermid
Author Paul Allen delivers a frightening novel on international biological terrorism.

BOOK DESCRIPTION

The all-action Hunter Wyatt thriller series 2 continues, written by Australian author Paul Allen.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Paul Allen has five degrees in philosophy, social science, and theology. In his research for the Hunter Wyatt novels, including The Hunt for the Red Banners, he and his wife Janine traveled across Europe and Asia for holidays providing location insights for each book. The author is currently working on a new series entitled – Barker & Belle /Gold Coast Detectives.

PaulAllenBooks.online

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Allen
• Release date: Oct 25, 2021
• ISBN: 9780645220810

Book preview

Murder in Milan

Murder in Milan

Traitors Bad day

Paul Allen

Paul Allen Books

Copyright © 2022 by Dr Paul Allen

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The moral right of the author has been asserted. All characters, names and events in this publication, other than those in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

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All rights reserved.

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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, such as electronic, photocopy, or recording, without the publisher's prior written permission. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.

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Cover Design by PaulAllenBooks.online

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Online ISBN 978-0-6452208-1-0

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Published by PaulAllenBooks.online

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Contents

1. Milan Italy

2. Australia

3. Milan Centrale Platform 12

4. Asis Offices Canberra

5. Milan Centrale Italy

6. Huangpu Shipyard In Guangzhou China

7. Milan Centrale Italy Platform 12

8. Beijing China

9. The Train To Rome

10. Switzerland

11. Confrontation On The Train To Rome

12. Rome One Month Ago

13. Maloelap Atoll Islands, Pacific

14. Standoff In The Province Of Parma, Italy

15. Government Building Rome

16. Confession On The E35 Highway To Bologna

17. Theft At Harvard University, Cambridge, Massachusetts

18. On The Freeway To Hell

19. Surf, Sun And Fiji International Airport

20. Hackers Inside Australia Hqjoq

21. Fire On The Road To Modena Italy

22. Beijing China

23. A Compromised Priest, Modena Italy

24. Harvard University Library

25. Modena Italy

26. Tokyo Japan

27. Driving To Bologna, Italy

28. Government Building Rome

29. Asis Sydney Australia

30. Darwin Australia

31. Sanctuary Of The Madonna Di San Luca, Bologna

32. Conflict In Rome

33. Munich Germany

34. The War Rooms Country Of Taiwan

35. Bologna Markets Midday

36. Manipulation In Rome

37. Inland China

38. Visit A Volcano

39. Asis Gulfstream 700

40. Stromboli Island

41. Gulfstream Diverted To The Pacific

42. Kidnapping Zurich Switzerland

43. Asis Gulfstream Mediterranean

44. Marshall Islands Pacific

45. Don’t Watch, Hainan Island China

46. Death On Ebeye Island, Pacific Ocean

47. Asis Headquarters Sydney

48. U.S. Army Garrison On Kwajalein Atoll

49. Asis Headquarters Sydney

50. Kidnapping Kids In Zurich Switzerland

51. U.S. Army Garrison Kwajalein Atoll

52. Taiwan War Rooms

53. Changchun Hills, Inland China

54. Kwajalein Atoll

55. Hqjoc Canberra Australia

56. Hainan Island China

57. Asis Canberra

58. Murder On Kwajalein Atoll

59. Asis Gulfstream Heading To China

60. Baoden Silo Sanya

61. Hanain Island, China

62. New York, The Usa

63. To The Forest, Hainan Island

64. Mentari Island East Of Cape York Australia

Untitled

65. Hqjoc Canberra Australia

66. Mentari Island The Pacific

67. Yakin Naval Base, Southern Hainan Island, China

68. Mentari Island The Pacific

69. Marshall Islands Radar Station

70. Yakin Naval Base, Southern Hainan Island, China

71. Mentari Island The Pacific

72. Yakin Naval Base, Southern Hainan Island, China

73. Hqjoc Canberra Australia

74. Hanain Island Hotel

75. China

76. Japanese Bunker Hainan Island

77. Hqjoc Australia

78. South China Sea

79. Japanese Bunker Sanya Highlands

80. Sanya Hainan Island

81. Tent City Midnight Sanya Park

82. Beijing China

83. Australian Pm Sydney House

84. Tent City Sanya, China

85. Wuhan Hubei Province China

86. Sanya Beachfront Cleared Building Three

87. During The Typhoon

88. Kwajalein Atoll

89. Beijing Office Of The President

90. Sanya Emergency Tent City

91. Asis Headquarters, Sydney

92. A Truck On Hanain Island

93. Asis Headquarters Sydney

94. Asis Canberra Hqjoc

95. Japanee Missile Bunker

96. Asis Canberra, Hqjoc

97. Japanese Missile Bunker

98. Asis Hqjoc Canberra

99. Chinese Bunker, Hainan Island, China

100. Asis Headquarters Canberra

101. Bejing Television Studio

102. Taiwan National Security Bureau

103. Chinese Missile Bunker

104. Canberra Parliament House Incident Room

105. Chinese Missile Bunker Hanain Island

106. Emergency Operations Center

107. China Military Strategic Headquarters

108. Rocket Man Hunter

109. Outside The Rocket Silo, Hainan Island

110. Parliament House Canberra Operations Centre

111. Hanain Island, China

112. Parliament House Canberra Operations Room

113. Beijing, China

114. Pm’s Office Canberra

115. Post-Winter Olympics High-Speed Rail Station China

116. Pacific Ocean

Book 1 - Hunter Wyatt Thriller

About the Author

117. The Painter

Untitled

One

Milan Italy

He pulled the trigger.

The Milano Centrale is an Art Deco Cathedral to rail transport second only to Rome’s Termini. With its soaring curved glass and steel canopy, streaming sunlight unveils the magnificent marble floors and stairs. The station reminded Hunter of Antwerp Central in Belgium with its twenty different types of colourful marble.

The Roman influenced vaulted ceilings gave Hunter a taste of grandeur when he entered the station. The Café Roma barista winked as Hunter sipped his coffee; he responded with a pleasant, Thank-you, tasted the brew, then discreetly disposed of it. As a coffee snob, he disliked the use of long-life milk.

Last night in his hotel, he had read of the Massacre of Milan where the people of the town sided with the wrong group. Milan was then called Mediolanum. The Visigoths invaded Mediolanum, then the infamous Atilla the Hun sacked the city and only left when given lots of gold. Then the Ostrogothic Kingdom attacked Milan, followed by Mundilas, who enraged the Ostrogothic King, Vitiges, to retake the city. Hunter lost the storyline after some General showed up and sat on their butts outside the city.

A horde of passengers brought Hunter back from his thoughts of tactical mistakes made in the winter of 539 AD to his delayed train from Milan to Rome. Oh well, a roasted turkey sandwich with mayonnaise instead.

The Milano Centrale has twenty-four rail platforms, numbered left to right. As Hunter ate, the sound of footsteps moving and suitcase wheels drew his eyes up to the departure board. ‘Okay, platform twelve, through the archway ahead.’ Hunter’s first-class carriage was at the other end of the platform.

So, the upshot of this, I guess I get to exercise, said Hunter. He was wiping the mayo from his lips with the back of his hand, then ran his fingers through his hair, shrugged and started walking. Luggage trolley cars raced up and down the platform, carrying the elderly. Almost knocked over by one, Hunter arrived at the first-class carriage. He stopped dead in his tracks, sensing he was in immediate mortal danger.

Two

Australia

Born in Brisbane, Queensland, Hunter Wyatt is an Australian Security Intelligence Service agent. As part of his professional development, he completed his Doctoral studies in Security, Terrorism, and Radicalization at Harvard University in collaboration with the FBI and CIA. He refused their job offer returning to Australia to head up a small specialist team of agents for ASIS.

At his core is this ferocious fighting spirit for fair play, no self-doubt, and an impossible mixture of edgy nihilism for those who do wrong. He looked more like a basketball player than a secret agent at six feet six inches, blond hair, lean with a dark complexion.

Hunter had worked undercover in an illegal gun importation racket funded and managed by an overseas western spy agency. The idea was to give the impression that the weapons originated from Australia. Radicals would use the guns to bring down an Asian dictator. When Hunter uncovered the plan, the western spy agency used their operation officers from their Canberra embassy to frame him.

Federal Police found two million dollars of cocaine in his garage. He was relieved of duty on full pay pending an internal investigation. Hunter’s twelve years as a spy had left him world-weary and cynical. Google cynical or sarcasm and his face would appear. He had had enough.

Three weeks ago, he told his direct boss, I taking a holiday, and I may not come back. He handed the ASIS investigation officer a phone tap transcript of a deal made between a foreign embassy operations officer and someone in ASIS.

I will go public with this in the next two days. Hunter turned and left.

Three

Milan Centrale Platform 12

Standing still, realizing he was unarmed, with his internal alarm bell reaching blizzard proportions, he swivelled around, expecting an imminent ambush. But there was no knife or gun or an assailant. The people seated inside the second-class carriage to his right paid him no attention—no counter-surveillance. There was nothing. Hunter spun to his left, facing the carriages on platform eleven. 

‘What triggered my alarm?’ He still felt the twist in the gut, the unease. The winter wind whipped through the station canopy. Hunter closed his eyes for a second to avoid the swirling dust. The faint yet familiar sound of footsteps exploded behind him to his left, platform eleven. He heard the loud prattle of people as they escorted their oversized luggage, wheels rumbling across tiles—normal familiar sounds. He turned those sounds off in his mind, like turning off a television. 

What the hell was it? His uneasiness felt like an oncoming out of control truck. He knew it, felt it but couldn’t define it. A porter asked if he needed help with his ticket. No, I’m fine, thanks. Hunter gave a theatrical smile. The whisper of death was close.

Four

Asis Offices Canberra

I’ll put the kettle on, Matthew said, turning to his office kitchen. He poured a cup of tea and two coffees. With his back turned, Matthew said, I expect you realize this mission has some problems. Matthew was an ASIS senior officer and mission agent coordinator. He worked out of a small office in Darwin near the food precincts. Disabled by the 2020 ammonium nitrate explosion in Beirut, Lebanon, Matthew’s espionage days were long gone.

I agree with you, Matthew, but I believe we can handle it. We’ve covered this several times, okay? said the first agent.

What alternative strategies do we have? replied the other agent. Correct, none.

Matthew handed him a mug of coffee. The other agent sipped his coffee and asked, Is there any word back from operations on the two packages?

They have assured us it’s all good. Matthew nodded, relieved.

 Matthew, we do not have the slightest doubt about this mission, replied the ASIS agent. Matthew didn’t believe him. He knew it could go bad very fast.

It is important we get to see the lay of the land…. He didn’t bother to finish his sentence because he knew full well; that’s what they were about to do. He stared at Matthew, wondering if he would pull the pin on the mission. They waited.

Matthew turned his head and looked out over the milky ocean, the vibrant blue sky and came to a decision. It is critical not to be exposed, reinforcing his concern by tapping his finger on his desk, like that incompetent President. Then pointing his finger at both men, he repeated himself, It is critical, you leave no trace, nothing, is that understood, especially if the plan fails. Matthew stared at his two agents. He knew his lack of confidence at the scale of the mission influenced his decision. He knew it, and it was unhelpful. The two agents knew it and recognized it.

We will leave no trace behind Matthew, the agent replied, But you know as well as we do, there are no guarantees.

There are no guarantees, Matthew said flatly, drinking his tea. I’m not trying to be negative. You don’t need that. Look, I admit I have trepidation for you both. You are walking directly into a hornet’s nest.

Don’t bother Matthew. We chose this and agreed to it, remember? said the more senior agent. Matthew nodded his head in agreement. He poured rum from his flask into their cups. Gentlemen, to success!

Five

Milan Centrale Italy

Three hundred thirty thousand people use this station daily, but at the moment, few were catching his express to Rome. Hunter pivoted back to gaze down through the glare outside the platform canopy. He saw a shimmering spark of light from the disused signals building. The odd structure was built like an upside-down letter ‘U,’ with dozens of rail lines running under and around, like twisted spaghetti on a dinner plate. He saw its flaking paint and dirty windows, used by past rail engineers to direct trains to the right tracks. Rail engineers would follow trains through the dozen or so wood-panelled glass windows in the past. Now somebody did the job digitally in an office.

Hunter focused on one open window. With his hands cupped over his eyes, he squinted through the midday glare. The blurred shape of a rifle emerged out of the window.

Six

Huangpu Shipyard In Guangzhou China

President Yi shook the hands of the CEO of the shipyard. Together they watched the 60th and final Jiang-do-dong Class Type 056 corvette naval boat launch. It slid sideways into the water channel.

A great success, President Yi said, clapping his hands along with guests and the media. Turning to the company CEO, Did the frigates excel in the Sino-Russian maritime exercises? asked the President.

The CEO smiled in agreement, They performed beyond expectation. He lied.

This will be the last of the light missile frigates? asked President Yi.

This corvette will go to the southern naval base on Hainan Island, replied the CEO. It will then join the South Sea fleet deployed to the Xisha Islands. President Yi, we are ahead on project BZ-TW. We are excited to have the honour to build larger blue water warships. 

The CEO asked the President to turn around. Multiple red curtains were opened, revealing two destroyers and an aircraft carrier in a dockyard under construction. The shipyard workers were clapping as the curtains fell. The crowd of dignitaries were astonished at the progress. The CEO knew they could now deploy two carrier strike groups simultaneously. The stunt guaranteed further contracts, but he was cautious with Yi.

When will they be ready? asked President Yi.

Two months, the CEO said, Made from Australian iron ore. He smiled, as did President Yi. The CEO knew they did not yet have the eco-system, the naval know-how that brings these ships to life. That would take time and hard work, but the CEO chose not to voice that concern.

Seven

Milan Centrale Italy Platform 12

Hunter taps the steel beam with his fingernail to guess the metal thickness. Then he places his fingers along the edge.

‘It is quarter-inch plate steel. If the sniper used a 38/160-grain copper-tipped lead-alloy bullet, I might be in trouble,’ thought Hunter. He tucked himself further into the vertical steel H-beam, then turned his head to the right to watch the approaching passengers.

Nobody knows I’m here. I only bought this ticket minutes ago, said Hunter. He ran his hand over his mouth. ‘Was I followed?’ His passport was in the name of Daryl Farrell. It was fresh, unused and without history. He had also performed a complex surveillance run arriving at the station. ‘It didn’t make any sense,’ thought Hunter.

There was only one conclusion, ‘I just wandered into someone’s assassination.’ The intuitive foreboding vanished like a block of milk chocolate. ‘So, who was the target?’ Boarding passengers on platform twelve were in a direct line of sight. Almost too perfect for the sniper.

‘I could warn people. No one would believe me. I hope this bloke doesn’t start blasting people indiscriminately. He disliked the deranged extremist tactics of those with death wishes who attach bombs to themselves,’ thought Hunter.

He looked for nervous men with freshly shaved faces, lighter coloured skin. He saw no men fit that category. There were no women with bulky clothes hiding semtex. There were no raw blank expressions of fear, hands shaking, and sweat flowing down their faces. Perhaps it is a single target, a single hit job, a particular person. ‘But who?’ thought Hunter.

A clean-shaven man, early forties, was well dressed with white, matted hair, revealing splotches of reddish flesh with dark patches, stooped, gaunt, possibly returning from his chemotherapy, struggling to board his carriage. ‘No, not him, unless he is some mafia boss. He’s too frail.’

It could be her, whispered Hunter. He watched a young businesswoman wearing dark suit pants and white top, dark hair, thick plastic rimmed glasses, and lips painted bright red. She entered the second-class carriage. A loud, echoing audio announcement in Italian intruded into Hunter’s thinking. 

As he watched each passenger, he thought about the sniper. It would have a decent scope, commercially available weapon, like a Tikka T3x. It would not be a signature custom gun giving Police any ballistics advantage. No, it would be a disposable gun on the open market. A weapon you drop and leave. Passengers kept walking on the platform then entering their carriages.

Time slowed down.

‘Maybe the sniper is a she.’ Hunter knew there were only ten female snipers in the US Army, five in Australia. ‘The odds point to a male perhaps,’ surmised Hunter. That thought triggered a memory as he continued to scan each passenger.

‘Who were the three best WWII snipers?’ roared Hunter’s Australian instructor Slim Rusty.

We hollered back - ‘Lyudmila Pavlichenko, Vasily Zaytsev's, and Simo Hayha.’ 

Two Russians; one woman and one man and a Fin, shouted the instructor Rusty.

The verbal interrogation continued, ‘What were their kill numbers?’

We shouted, ‘Four hundred, three hundred and five hundred.’

How many bullets did the US and allies fire in Vietnam? bellowed Rusty. 

Thirteen million, said Hunter, watching each passenger.

Slim Rusty shouted, ‘You are snipers, one bullet for one target.’

Hunter snorted, ‘Thirteen million bullets.’ The memory vanished, like his bank account balance. Taking a quick look at the signals building, he noted an error.

‘The rifle should be inside the window, invisible, not sticking out. A professional would have removed a glass panel and shot from inside the building, reducing exposure. Okay, this is a cheap contract for a low-level person. He’s not military, nor is the sniper a professional.’

Hunter tapped his first-class train ticket against his leg, with a better focus on the final fifteen passengers; seven women and eight men. 

‘This could be a low-level political assassination.’ Hunter knew women politicians had increased from 10 to 35% but didn't know if any of the seven women were politicians or policewomen, nor any statistics on female assassination targets. He knew femicide sex-based hate crime mainly happens at home. ‘No, think again.’

‘I have to dismiss the seven women for the moment,’ thought Hunter. I hope I am correct. He focused on the eight men.

Here we go, mate. Hunter saw the first-class ticket in the suit coat pocket of a male passenger, stumbling towards him. Hollow red eyes, dark stretched skin—too little sleep, his face taut. This bloke had unwashed black hair with strands of grey, brushed straight back with his hand, a four-day stubble attached to a frightened face, and an outrageous expensive suit now loose and rumpled.

‘Weight loss because of anxiety.’ Hunter made a mental note the guy might be unstable, even unpredictable.

‘The target has a first-class ticket heading to a first-class death ready to receive his comeuppance, he thought. Hunter glanced at the first-class carriage. Three businessmen were seated in the first-class coach, and they were not dissimilar from the quarry. ‘They’re off to a conference or golf. Their suit jackets and hand luggage occupied the empty fourth seat. No expectation of a fourth person.’ This bloke is on his own.  

The coach doors open instantly upon touch, then passengers climb one step, dragging their luggage behind them. He turned his gaze back to the target. ‘No luggage, this bloke is on the run. The shot will happen as the target stops to check the carriage number or before he turns sideways to open the door,’ thought Hunter.

Hunter timed the target’s footsteps. The bloke had three strides left. Hunter launched out from behind the steel post like the start of the Olympic one hundred metre race. He rammed the door button with his right hand, and Hunter’s body propelled the target into the carriage.

The sniper pulled the trigger.

The rifle’s muzzle flash registered in Hunter’s peripheral vision. The bullet ripped through the top of Hunter's leather shoulder bag, lodging into the door frame.

Damn, not an amateur! Hunter felt the wrench of the slug seeking to drag him to death’s door. The prey lost his balance and footing, twisting then falling hard and sliding across the floor with his head hitting the opposite coach door.

You okay? Hunter asked, glancing momentarily back at the embedded bullet, then hearing the whoosh of the door closing. A sudden suspicion inundated the prey. He swore in Italian. The target groaned, tried to pull himself up on his right elbow, then fell back down. Ah, my nose is bleeding, anger flared; in pain, the target’s mouth formed a big circle turning to see who shoved him and then lost it. He clenched his fists, and his face turned bright red with rage sprouting multilayered Italian profanities. Hunter got the general drift.

My nose is bleeding; it's all over my suit, he remonstrated, his tone strong, accusing, expecting an apology. Hunter ignored the guy removed his shredded shoulder bag, removed his passport and wallet, then dumped the bag in the toilet bin.  

Use these paper towels. Hunter handed them to the now red-faced target, bathed in golden light from the restroom like Rembrandt’s ‘Night Watch.’

What is your name? asked Hunter. Hostility vibrated from the guy like a belching volcano. No response. Have it your way, said Hunter. Halfway down the carriage, one business executive turned when he heard the disturbance, shrugged his shoulders, and turned back to his friends.

Paolo. My name is Paolo. Why did you push me? He feigned innocence and kept looking around the coach, through the glass panel in the door, then inside the coach, before settling on Hunter. Paolo’s voice wobbled, You’re here to kill me, aren’t you? His escape had failed. He closed his eyes, then said naively, I know what I did was wrong. I'll give it back. I can fade away, disappear. Please don’t kill me. I’ll give it back, okay? 

‘I was correct,’ thought Hunter. Paolo was coming unglued, crawling backwards, mind racing, thinking he was about to be executed. He was sweating and going off the deep end. 

Mate, I don’t know what you have done. Hunter said, You need to calm down. I‘m not who you think I am.

Paolo gathered his thoughts but knew something dreadful was about to happen. You’re the new consigliere, he shouted. Please, don’t kill me!

I’m not here to kill you. Hunter now understood Paolo’s panic. So a mafia underboss wants to kill you because you stole something? Is that the deal?

All three businessmen heard the shouting, stopped talking, turned around and stared, all displaying the depth of emotions of a filing cabinet. Saying nothing, they turned back around.

‘Why get punched in the face when you don’t need to?’ thought Hunter. He looked back down at Paolo.

What, what deal? You’re insane, completely nuts! Pushing people over, that’s assault. He sent you, didn’t he? ramping up again and looking for an escape. 

‘The stampede of swinging emotions.’ Hunter thought. He would need to be wary of Paolo’s reckless and impulsive behaviour. The train jolted, then slid out of the station. Hunter said crisply, The sniper’s bullet went through my shoulder bag and not you.

Hunter was calculating when the carriage would pass the signals building. Paolo creased his bow, not believing a word Hunter said. He broke the stare and leaned back, What? You’re joking. You are wrong. Misguided twat! Paolo tried to look the other way and brush aside his assailant. Hunter grabbed then hauled Paolo by the collar, away from the doors.

Get your hands off me! Paolo screamed. Hunter responded, Stay down! The train will pass the signals building in about five seconds. Hunter stepped back against a solid structure, turned his head and yelled out to the three business executives, Get down, gun! He repeated the warning. Their response was to spin around again and look at him with a vacant expression. Hunter realizes they didn’t understand English.  Gun!

The all too familiar sound of bullets was pillaging the train carriage windows, pulverizing the interior walls of the coach. Hunter was keeping as low as possible, pushing Paulo’s down to the floor. The turbulence of armour piercing bullets was passing within inches of them, with ominous dull thuds.

Stay down, shouted Hunter, as more gunfire was thrashing the carriage, What the hell weapon is this bloke using? Hundreds of bullets were pouring through smashed, entombing themselves into the carriage furniture frame.

The incoming fire faltered. The trajectory angle changed as they passed the railway signals building. Full-auto spray, different gun, at point-blank range. The sniper failed and determined to salvage his assignment by covering his tracks. Hunter glanced at the three dead business executives. Annoyed he should have done better. The sniper’s final assault, his hail Mary was a Russian RPG-16 anti-tank rocket-propelled grenade. It flew inside the coach at an angle, lodged itself into one dead business executive, and didn’t explode.

Hunter waited and wondered.

Eight

Beijing China

President Yi glanced briefly at two of his PLA Generals, then returned his sight to the presentation. Both Generals were under discreet surveillance. The Xuan K-30 stealth bomber's presentation built by China's Airspace Corporation drew back his attention. The exhibition was inside a vast aircraft hangar with the Xuan K-30 lit up by spotlights and a large LED screen in the background showing animations of the aircraft and live footage of its capabilities.

‘Very awe-inspiring, over budget and behind schedule,’ thought Xi. The President sat on plush stadium seating overflowing with red carpet. He had no challengers to his leadership but remained guarded, even wary of some of his generals. President Yi had attached informants with all of his PLAN Generals. These informants were friends or members of the Ministry of State Security. A close friend in the Department of Intelligence kept him updated on the CEO managing the K-30.

The Xuan K-30 will improve our ability to hit distant targets, such as those in Australia, Guam, Hawaii and in time the western seaboard of the United States, said the representative from Airspace, who knew that Australia’s over-the-horizon radar technology could easily watch the aircraft’s approach. He also knew Australia depended on the Americans assistance for naval and ICBM protection. Few trusted the elderly incoherent US President who abandoned his people and children in Afghanistan, plus billions of dollars of military equipment for the resurgent Taliban.

The presentation concluded. President Yi spoke privately with the presenter without his supervising General hovering over his shoulder. They walked around the full-scale model Xuan K-30. The presenter pointed out features of which the President showed much interest.

President Yi asked, When will the first test flight happen?

The presenter knew what President Yi was asking. The aircraft was five years behind schedule, overrun with technical problems.

I expect it will be ready in fifteen months, the presenter smiled. The design, an all-wing blended wing-body without stealth degrading surfaces, will be the world’s first and greatest long-range bomber with a four-thousand-kilometre strike radius.

Weapons? asked the President.

Two nuclear hypersonic missiles travelling at speeds up to two miles per second, replied the presenter. There are no missile defence systems anywhere in the world that can catch them, said the presenter.

They stopped walking, and President Yi, with a smile, said, I will be back in three months, and they will be ready. Do you understand?

Nine

The Train To Rome

He sat up and looked down through the coach. Are they dead? Who are you? Paolo was maniacal. Do you work for the Sicilians? I can’t stay here! I need to get off this train. Momentarily, the ungovernable hysterical target pushed himself up off the floor, staggered, then attacked the emergency stop button. The train threw him sideways, hitting the wall. He tried again. Take your hands off me! Paolo screamed. Who the hell do you think you are?

Who am I? Who are you? Hunter demanded. Three people died because of you. It didn’t perforate the supercharged panic. Paolo’s confusion didn’t abate.

Stop! Paolo, calm down! said Hunter.

How do you know my name? he asked.

You told me, replied Hunter.

Paolo mumbled unintelligibly, I’m nobody. I’m not the person you are after. What the hell happened back there?

You’re a terrible liar, Hunter said, lifting an eyebrow.

Am I! declared the target projecting conviction and certitude, again. Hunter waited to let the guy run his justification. But Paolo went quiet, uncommunicative for a moment, thinking about his next move to leave.

Don’t! said Hunter.

What’s your problem? ignoring Hunter’s instruction, Paolo’s eyes were now seeking an escape. 

Stop. What’s wrong with you? Hunter repeated his warning, I told you what happened. You were the target! What is the next station?

Paolo stared at Hunter,