BooksBarbecue
Back Angels of Vengeance Save as PDF
Chapters (68)
  1. Blurb
  2. CONTENTS
  3. Dedication
  4. CHARACTER LIST
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. TWO MONTHS LATER
  60. ONE YEAR LATER
  61. TWO YEARS LATER
  62. FOUR YEARS LATER
  63. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  64. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  65. Also by John Birmingham
  66. ALSO BY JOHN BIRMINGHAM
  67. Copyright
  68. Cover

Caitlin swapped out her magazine for a new clip. This time, a fifty-round drum mag, in the same arrangement she had just used. Before turning back towards the old police station, she shouldered the 417, unholstered her pistol and half slid, half jumped down the wide path cut through the brush by the uncontrolled passage of the vehicle. She knew both men had taken at least one round to the head, but she was nothing if not thorough.

Reaching the cabin of the trashed utility, she swung into an awkward shooter’s stance on the steep incline, pointing the Kimber Custom pistol at her targets. The windshield had deflected her rounds a bit, but no coup de grace was necessary.

Caitlin knew of men and a few women in her profession who marked every kill with ceremony. Some were religious, others merely cruel. A couple were borderline psychotic. It wasn’t a need she had ever felt.

She didn’t pause to consider the life paths that had led these men to their deaths at her hand. Nor that they may’ve had full, even worthy lives outside of the hours each day when they wore the uniforms in which they’d died.

She merely killed them and moved on.

5

CENTRAL SYDNEY, NEW SOUTH WALES

Jules scoped the hitter well before he made his move. She caught him watching her in the mirror behind the bar of the small neighbourhood dive. At first she thought he was just an old perv, eyeballing her in her fabulous new silk shirt. She had tied her dark hair, recently dyed black, into a ponytail, and he wasn’t the only man whose attention she’d caught. His was definitely unwanted, however.

She’d been drinking here at the Idler Bar for the past three weeks and had come to know most of the regulars, at least on a nodding basis. It was a local haunt, the clientele drawn from the warren of streets and back alleys of The Rocks, all within a five-minute walk: Australians, younger Brits and other travellers who’d overstayed their visas after the Wave had hit in March ’03 and who’d lucked in when the government granted an amnesty a few weeks later.

And there were Americans, of course. Everywhere she went here, always Americans. Enough of them that Sydney was now the third largest American city in the world. Bigger even than Darwin. That’s why her Romanian hitman stood out. She recognised the fierce guttural accent when he demanded the waitress bring him a glass of Palinca, cursing the poor girl when she didn’t have a clue what he was talking about.