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  Miller drops to the ice, his right arm hanging at a sickening angle. Thurston hits him hard in the ribs before driving a short jab into Miller’s face that puts him on his back. Thurston takes the knife and stands above the beaten man, breathing heavily.

  Miller groans and tries to stand but can’t. The effort puts pressure on his broken limbs and he screams again. He pukes into the snow and lies back on the ice, grimacing up at Thurston, his teeth ringed with blood.

  ‘You broke my fuckin’ arm, man,’ Miller spits. ‘Why’d you break my fuckin’ arm?’

  ‘Lasqa,’ says Thurston.

  ‘What? What the fuck is Lasqa?’

  ‘A place in Afghanistan, Miller. Had a lot of little kids there, kids not much younger than the girls you got up in that Nazi sewer of yours. Let’s call the arm payback for Lasqa, and the knee for all the shit you did to the girls.’

  Thurston steps closer and stands on Miller’s nuts. As Miller writhes, Thurston bends close.

  ‘That’s for Sofi,’ he hisses.

  He steps away and in a quick twisting motion breaks Miller’s left arm. Miller howls.

  ‘And that’s for Barb Connors, you piece of shit.’

  Thurston stands over Miller and waits for him to stop sobbing.

  ‘What now, smartass?’ Miller coughs. ‘You can kill me but sure as shit you’ll freeze to death before you make it back to the fuckin’ house, genius. So go ahead, fuckin’ do it.’

  Thurston shakes his head. ‘You got it all back to front, Miller. I’m not going to kill you.’

  Miller looks puzzled and Thurston smiles.

  ‘I’m going to rob you.’

  CHAPTER 76

  ‘MOTHERFUCKER! MOTHERFUCKER!’ MILLER’S agonised screams are muffled by the relentless wind and snow. The blood and snot around his nose begins to freeze solid. His black hair and goatee are fast being covered with a frosting of ice crystals.

  Thurston adjusts the zip on the parka he’s taken from Miller and settles Miller’s goggles across his eyes.

  ‘This is some grade-A gear you got, Miller,’ says Thurston. He waggles the fingers of the gloves and looks down at the snow boots. ‘Toasty.’

  Miller, shivering helplessly on the ice, is naked except for a pair of boxer shorts.

  ‘I’m only leaving those shit-stained drawers on you because I don’t want to see your shrivelled little pecker, Miller,’ says Thurston. ‘That’s the kind of shit you can’t unsee.’

  From somewhere out in the whiteness, sirens wail.

  Thurston bends his face close to Miller and drops his voice. ‘I guess even out here an explosion that big will have attracted attention. Or maybe one of your loyal little Nazi soldiers blabbed. Or, and this is the option I’m going for, maybe it’s my old buddy Nicky Terraverdi at the FBI, coming to make sure your little pet Riggs didn’t sweep all this under the carpet. Either way, you are done, Miller. You shouldn’t have killed Sofi or Barb.’

  Miller’s mouth opens but no sound emerges.

  Thurston holds his eyes on Miller’s. The sirens are closer now. Miller’s heart tolls like a funeral bell as snow settles on his skin, his life dissolving into nothing.

  Thurston waits until he is sure Miller is dead and then, using the rifle as a lever, stands with some difficulty. He’ll have to get the splinter in his leg fixed when he reaches civilisation. There’s a medic in Burlington whom Thurston can trust. It’ll be the last time Cody Thurston calls in an old favour because Cody Thurston will be left out on Lake Carlson, along with Michael Flanagan, both as dead as Nate Miller.

  But there’ll be other names, and other towns. The world’s a big place with plenty of dark corners and an adaptable guy like him can always find work. There’ll be somewhere.

  Limping, the Australian walks away from the closing sirens towards the welcoming spindrift whipped up by the ice storm. In ten yards, he’s nothing more than a grey silhouette, a ghost.

  And then, in ten more, he is gone.

  An anonymous caller has promised to set off deadly bombs in Washington, D.C. A cruel hoax or the real deal? By the time Alex Cross and his wife, Bree Stone, uncover the chilling truth, it may already be too late …

  The new Alex Cross thriller. Out now.

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  Epub ISBN: 9781786531797

  Version 1.0

  Published by BookShots 2017

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  Copyright © James Patterson 2017

  The BookShots name and logo are a trademark of JBP Business, LLC.

  James Patterson has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this Work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

  First published by BookShots in 2017

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  ISBN 9781786531780