The Old Man

by Thomas Perry

Once a man has stolen something he is a thief. If what he stole is big enough, then always and forever, no matter what else he’s done, he will always be a thief.

At one time he would have said it was a shame for a shooter to die for something that had so little to do with him. Now he knew that the reason didn’t matter very much. Everybody died for nothing.

Are they small dogs?” He smiled. “Better than that. They’re good dogs.”

“Most of the people who don’t believe in coincidences are still alive. That’s not a coincidence, either.”

🙌

“He was living under the name Daniel Chase.” “What’s his real name?” “That’s classified.” “His name is classified?” “Yes.”

Old special ops men were like vampires. Every time a man like Chase killed another adversary, he knew something he hadn’t known before. He knew what one more fighter had done when his life depended on using his best tactic, making the right moves perfectly. Each one added another secret to his knowledge, and each one extended his life span and made him harder to kill.

Nobody in any intelligence organization had any particular attachment to the truth. The truth was just one of many versions that was not necessarily superior to any of the other versions.

Truth, all pun intended. Lol

He wondered about diamonds. But he knew there was a huge markup on jewelry,

So true

This wasn’t a normal target, some guy who had been a shopkeeper until he got obsessed with a fanatical movement and went off to another country for a few weeks of half-assed military training. The old man had been trained when a member of the special forces was an expert at moving unnoticed not only through jungles, but also through foreign cities.

He had told them a couple of times that the old man wasn’t just an old man, like somebody’s uncle. He was old in the way a seven-foot rattlesnake was old.

Damn straight!

Inside the cargo bay there were three men sitting on a bench wearing UPS uniforms, but two of them held MP5 rifles with thirty-round magazines.

of our own intelligence guys who’s turned into a monster. In order to help, we ignored the rules. A lot of the methods we used are illegal.” “I won’t compromise your methods,” Julian said. “I know you won’t,” said Goddard. “I didn’t tell you enough for that.”

Maximum force meant less likelihood of casualties. And Julian knew that if he went through the soldiers’ equipment, he would find body bags. He doubted that he would find handcuffs or restraints for moving prisoners.

Buying Marcia a diamond engagement ring and a wedding band seemed likely to make the Dixons look more like who they pretended to be, and therefore safer. Buying a long-range rifle in .338 Lapua and a good scope would allow Hank to take a position in an upper window of the cabin and shoot an attacker from a thousand yards.

Choices, choices.

He had learned over the years that things that didn’t seem right often weren’t.

Julian noticed that they towed short plastic sleds, the sort that were used for towing game home from a hunting trip. Julian didn’t have to strain his imagination to know what those were for.

No bueno

Julian spoke even less than the other men. He volunteered no opinions, which seemed to him like offering medical advice in a morgue.

Hank said, “You found two strangers you thought were helpless, and decided to do us harm. You’re going to die for it. Take a second to say your prayers or whatever you do.” He aimed the Colt Commander at Derrick’s head and moved his finger onto the trigger.

If you had to change your nationality, Canadian wasn’t a bad choice.

😂

In Libya, power meant military power, religious power, or factional power. Hamzah had not been a soldier, and had never been even remotely pious.

Julian looked at the other two men. “How much is redacted?” Mr. Ross said, “This isn’t some copy released under the Freedom of Information Act. This is the real thing. Nothing is redacted.”