Tidal Rage by David Evans (bill gates books to read txt) 📕

in the UK, and as we speak, half a dozen sociopaths are on the way there to dismember your useless body!” Cutler was getting angrier by the moment.

“I have to go out, shopping, a quiet drink. How could they know I’m here?” Dietmar said quietly.

“Don’t you lie to me, you piece of shit! I need to know where you’ve been, so I don’t send you somewhere you’ve been spotted. Now tell me the truth, or I’m cutting you loose.”

“Last… last month I went to Edinburgh and visited a pub called the Three Headed Man. I met a girl… I didn’t know she was a call girl,” Dietmar stuttered.

“You thought she was after your body; you deluded idiot? What did you tell her?” Cutler demanded.

“In the passion, I may have told her I was a German gangster in hiding.”

“Couldn’t impress her with your tiny cock, so you played it big. You are a moron, and I should leave you to the consequences!” Cutler stormed.

“Please, Herr Cutler, I’m sorry. A man has needs. Please, Herr Cutler, you must come and get me. Werner’s men will tear me apart, and under pressure, I may have to tell them what we did with the money,” Dietmar declared, gaining a little of his composure back.

“You can’t blackmail me, Dietmar. There is no trace of the money, and they will think you are lying to save your skin. The next time you try that ploy with me it will be me you are running from. Now I want you to go to the Thistle Hotel in Glasgow, between Hill Street and Sauchiehall. Register under the name Smith and order room service. Make sure you do not leave your room until I get there; do you understand?”

“I understand, Herr Cutler. Thistle Hotel in Glasgow, between Hill Street and Sauchiehall. Mr Smith, and stay in my room,” Dietmar repeated.

“Go, now!” Cutler said as he slammed the receiver down.

Cutler walked the short distance to the hub and calmed himself down. On entering the hub, he saw Fabienne looking lovingly at a slice of tarte tatin, the slice bulging with apples entombed in caramel, and then it was gone.

“Fabienne, concentrate on Uebering. Look at bank accounts and assets and see what you can come up with.”

Fabienne just nodded, as she was still masticating the tarte tatin.

Chapter Nineteen

Operation Muscat was to be accomplished with some slight changes. Delegate Frau Uebering was sitting on top of the naked Von-Baer. She was still dressed in her houndstooth dress and leather boots; the only item missing was her cotton underwear that Von-Baer thought, but dared never to say, looked like granny knickers.

She gripped the top of the red velvet headboard and rode him slowly and deliberately. Apart from the intermittent shudder of her body, she articulated the plan to her young lover. She ignored the limpness she felt inside her and forced herself down harder, grinding on Von-Baer’s manhood. He knew he could not pull out or he would face the ire of the delegate. Von-Baer heard only intermittent parts of her plan as he concentrated on fantasizing that it was Ursula, the blonde, slim, and beautiful Polish teller from his local bank that was swelling his aching and friction-burnt member back to life.

When she had finally sated her lust, the delegate stood up and removed a wet wipe and cleaned her private area. She threw the used wipe at Von-Baer and told him to clean himself and meet her in the kitchen.

She ignored the pain-grimaced face and hobbled walk that Von-Baer had to undertake.

“Operation Muscat will take place this afternoon. The team is in place, and Werner will be moved from the hospital wing. This is the best part of being who I am. It is exciting, and it makes me horny. You have been reticent, my sexy lover. Your mouth has been at rest. On your knees and finish me off,” she said, as she lifted the hem of her houndstooth dress.

***

Kurt Bauer, ex-Stasi agent and now freelance killer, had spent three years as a sniper for the Stasi. Many times, he crossed over to West Germany, where he would stalk dissidents and kill them, sometimes from as far as a thousand metres, such was his expertise. He had a variety of weapons but preferred the US ArmaLite 50 circa 1997. His second weapon of choice was not a sniper’s rifle but a get-out-of-shit weapon, the Barrett XM109 semi-automatic 25mm grenade launcher.

He had trained up several snipers over the years, both before and after the Berlin Wall came tumbling down. His longest-serving compatriot was Roderick Friedman, whom he had met and trained during his Stasi days. Friedman was tall and gangly, with sparse tufts of hair. But the most distinguishing feature was the glass eye in the left socket, with a thick, rugged scar running down the length of his face. The loss of the eye and acquisition of the scar came after a run-in with an African American Marine, who did not take it lightly when Friedman had spat the N-word at him. Friedman was a bigot and a racist and took extra pleasure when his victim was non-white. Friedman’s choice of weapon had changed in 2005 from the German DSR-1 to the Canadian C14 Timberwolf rifle from the Prairie Gun Works.

Lothar Gottschalk was another oddity in appearance. He had been born with the hereditary disease albinism. The traits of the condition were the lack of pigment that normally gives colour to the skin, eyes, and hair. He had ultra-white skin and white hair, and his eyes were white. Normally an albino has eye problems, and Gottschalk was no different, which made him an unlikely sniper. He had 20/20 vision, which was rare in albinos, but suffered from photophobia: light sensitivity. In normal day conditions, he could not hit a bus with a shotgun. This meant you