Spark: A Novel by John Twelve Hawks Read Free Book Online

Champagne is a popular gift right now because of the holidays and—”
    “Open up the box.”
    “I am sorry, Mr. Mallory. But it is against procedure for employees of Jolly Good Fellow to—”
    Five seconds of cursing emerged from the speaker box, followed by the statement: “You are one more example of why this whole bloody country is not competitive in the global economy!”
    “We at Jolly Good Fellow are proud of our high level of service.”
    There was a buzzing sound and the gate glided open. The sawed-off shotgun was hidden beneath the waterproof smock and I shifted the weapon to my right side as I drove up the gravel driveway.
    Mallory’s house was on the top of a hill with oak trees dotting the landscape. I drove past flower beds covered with blue plastic tarps and leafless trees that looked like twisted strands of rope that were reaching toward the sky.
    The pale-yellow house had a domed rooftop pavilion and arched pediments above the ground-floor windows. As the van entered the circular driveway, the door opened and Victor Mallory came out wearing a brown tracksuit.
    I got out of the van, loaded the gift box onto a hand trolley, and wheeled it over to the door. I had seen Mallory numerous times on my computer screen, but I now encountered the three-dimensional reality. My target had stained teeth and a dissipated face, but his eyes were alert and focused. Smiling broadly, I stopped in front of him and made a grand gesture to the gift box.
    “Good morning, Mr. Mallory. Jolly Good Fellow is pleased to deliver you a Special Holiday Gift.”
    “Yes. Good. You told me. Champagne. Bring it inside.”
    He turned away and I followed him through a row of ground-floor rooms. Mallory didn’t own the house; he had rented it from a former member of Parliament who lived in Ibiza. The rooms were decorated in the English country style with solid, well-padded furniture and paintings of dogs on the wall. There was an artificial Christmas tree with twinkling lights set up in the study, but no sign of any gifts.
    We ended up in a large kitchen connected to a breakfast room. A half-filled teacup and plate with pastry crumbs was on the breakfast table as if Mallory had just finished a snack. But the most important feature in the room was a computer monitor that showed four images from the estate’s surveillance cameras. Once I had completed my assignment, I would have to find the video recorder and take it with me.
    I wheeled the dolly over to the sink area and placed the gift box on the counter. Watching me carefully, my target retreated into the breakfast room. “Open the box,” he ordered.
    “I beg your pardon, sir?”
    “Open it. Take out the champagne.”
    “But this gift is for you, sir.”
    “Make a presentation. It’s part of your job.”
    Was Mallory afraid of me? No. He was focused on the box. Perhaps he thought it was a bomb. I shrugged, untied the red ribbon, and opened the box. Four bottles of champagne had been packed in shredded newspaper along with a sealed envelope containing the gift card. Mallory relaxed when I pulled out one of the bottles and placed it on the breakfast table with the envelope.
    “There you go, sir. Please thank your friends for having the good taste to pick Jolly Good Fellow as their Executive Gift Provider.”
    “Executive Gift Provider?” Mallory muttered. “Bloody nonsense …” But his attention was now on the gift card. First, I examined Mallory’s photograph on my phone and confirmed that I was in the same room with my target. Then I turned away from him, unzipped the navy blue smock, detached the carrying cord, and pulled out the shotgun. I pivoted on one heel and fired both barrels.
    Blood sprayed out of Mallory’s body and he fell backward onto the floor. I snapped open the gun’s breech, loaded two more rounds, and then strolled over to the breakfast area. My target was pressing his hands against the bright red wound in his chest as if he was trying to force the