Excerpts from Spy Hunt


A big fist hit Leroy’s right arm in mid-bicep, causing a loud snap of the bone, just as an arm intersected Leroy’s forearm with violent velocity, causing the opened blade to be swept back and into Leroy’s neck, severing his right and left carotid artery as well as his trachea. Leroy fell to the sidewalk face first in an expanding pool of blood.

“Should have taken the bus, Leroy,” the shadow said as he walked away into the night.


“Well, first, I tried to chase down that bike last night, but I have never seen anyone do what he did or be as fast. Couldn’t get even a good glimpse of him before he was totally out of sight. I called in for some help, but he got away too quickly.”


“Sergeant, for the reasons that you are a singularly fit and well-trained soldier and the fact that you no longer have any kin, I am recommending you for missions which may be considered higher risk. Do you understand?”


Anna reached across the table and patted him on the back of his hand. “No, Mick, I’m not leaving until I lose the attraction I have for you. By the way, you are not a moose. You move more like one of those big cats in the zoo.”


“If I was monitored by our Intelligence people for some time, as it appears that I was, how come they didn’t see someone spying on me and planting bugs and so forth?”

“Good question, Lieutenant. I have no answers for you.”

“Another thing, sir.  Can I trust the CIA to monitor me? After all, our mission was directed by them, and it was a massive failure.”


“I know what you are thinking, that you want a chance to kill some Russians. Forget it for now, and just get better. Come live with your Grandmother Triska for now and let me fatten you up and spoil you for a change.”


The Director answered in a stern voice, “Detective Grover, I want to make clear that Deputy Marshal Grundy was a fine member of our service. He could always be counted on and was absolutely fearless while doing his duty. We never felt that there was any hint of corruption about him. His extensive military experience made it hard for him to be in law enforcement, and we felt that he might need more time for adjustment before continuing with us. The other thing that you should know is that he can be very dangerous, and he tends to see things in black and white, never in shades. If you encounter him, you need to make sure he knows whose side you are on.”


“Detective Grover,” a strange voice said. The voice was deep but throaty and spoken with some effort, and it froze Simon like he was dropped in the Arctic.

“I’m Grover,” Simon answered. “Who are you?”

The man moved closer and said, “I am Mick Grundy. You wanted to talk to me.”


The bike moving toward him and Sally had no headlights. There was no time to think this out as Simon jumped from the doorway and rushed toward the girl, who froze in fear. Behind him was the shriek of the oncoming motorcycle, mixed with some other sound his brain was too busy to process.

The cell was about twenty feet in length and roughly ten feet wide and had scattered chairs and beds. In one corner, lying on a cot with his back to the room was Mick Grundy. The other nine fellows were crowded together against the far wall. They looked at the two policemen like they were coming to the rescue instead of just retrieving a prisoner.



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