Predator

Predator
Wilbur Smith

Cain Cain

LET THE HUNT BEGIN.HECTOR CROSS, ex-SAS officer, private security expert, widower. His wife was taken much too soon, by a cruel man with evil intentions.JOHNNY CONGO, psychopath, extortionist, terrorist, the man who murdered Hector’s wife. Cross wants him dead. So does the US government.Congo is locked up on Death Row in the most secure prison in the free world, counting down the days until his execution. He’s got two weeks. He wants out. He’s escaped before and knows he can again.Cross, still licking his wounds from his last bruising encounter with Congo, is back and ready for work. In the middle of the rough Atlantic stands oil supertanker Bannock A. Terrorist activity in the area has triggered panic and there’s only one person they can trust to protect her.What is promised as a cakewalk turns out to be much more, a mission that will test Cross to his emotional and physical limits. But a life spent in the SAS and private security has left Cross hard-wired for pain and as he is thrown into the fire once more, he will not stop until he has snared his prey.Hector Cross is Predator.

Copyright (#u58490300-3eb9-5516-a5a5-fe8b4b60f0b4)

HarperCollinsPublishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers 2015

Copyright © Orion Mintaka (UK) Ltd 2015

Cover layout design by Richard Augustus © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2016

Cover photographs © Justin Carrasquillo/Gallery Stock (figure in landscape); Ballyscanlon/PlainPicture (background)

Wilbur Smith asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it, while at times based on historical figures, are the work of the author’s imagination.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books

Source ISBN: 9780007535798

Ebook Edition © 2016 ISBN: 9780007535781

Version: 2017-05-08

Dedication (#u58490300-3eb9-5516-a5a5-fe8b4b60f0b4)

I dedicate this book to Niso who is the Sun that lights my days, and the Moon that glorifies my nights.

Thank you for those countless delights, my darling girl.

Contents

Cover (#u7e24a1cf-03e6-5fa3-a888-41c0d192ecc8)

Title Page (#ubbb229d5-2a78-58c7-a25a-62f6509e76ec)

Copyright

Dedication

Predator (#u7830d131-bb37-5e52-87bb-35caa9469d22)

About the Authors

Also by Wilbur Smith

About the Publisher

Hector Cross woke with a sense of dread and lay for a moment, trying to orientate himself. Then he reluctantly opened his eyes, not knowing what to expect, and he saw it through the open double doors of the bedroom coming down the veranda towards him. The moonlight glinted in shifting patterns of silver over the ridges of its wet scales. It waddled towards him with its claws scraping softly over the concrete floor. The brute’s tail swung from side to side with every ponderous pace. Its yellow fangs overlapped its lower lip in a cold humourless grin. Hector’s throat constricted and his chest tightened as a wave of panic swept over him. The crocodile thrust its head through the open doors and paused. Its gaze focused upon him. Its eyes were yellow as those of a lion, with black slits for pupils. Only then did Hector realize how massive the creature was. It blocked the doorway completely and towered above Hector as he lay on the bed, cutting off any chance of his escape.

Hector recovered swiftly from the shock and rolled off the mattress. He seized the handle of the drawer of the bedside table in which he kept his 9-mm Heckler & Koch pistol and yanked it open. His fingernails scrabbled frantically over the woodwork as he groped for the weapon, but it was gone. The drawer was empty. He was defenceless.

He rolled back to face the gigantic reptile, coming up into a sitting position with his legs folded under him and his back pressed to the headboard of the bed. His hands were crossed at the wrists in front of his face in a defensive karate posture. ‘Yah! Get away from me!’ he yelled, but the beast showed no sign of fear. Instead its jaws gaped wide, exposing the rows of jagged yellow fangs, as long and as thick as Hector’s own forefingers. Between them were packed the shreds of rotten meat from the prey it had devoured. The stench of its breath filled the room with a choking miasma. He was trapped. There was no escape. His fate was inevitable.

Then the head of the crocodile changed shape again and began to assume a monstrous human form that was even more horrifying than the reptilian image had been. It was mutilated and decomposing. Its eyes were blind and milky. But Hector recognized it instantly. It was the head of the man who had murdered his wife.

‘Bannock!’ Hector hissed as he drew back from the hated image. ‘Carl Bannock! No, it can’t be you! You’re dead. I killed you and fed your filthy corpse to the crocodiles. Leave me and go back into the depths of Hell where you belong.’ He was gabbling hysterical nonsense but he could not prevent himself.

Then he felt disembodied hands reach out from the darkness of the room to seize his shoulders and begin to shake him.

‘Hector, darling! Wake up! Please wake up.’

He tried to resist the sweet, feminine voice and the pull of the hands but they were insistent. Then with burgeoning relief he began to untangle himself from the coils of the nightmare which had enmeshed him. At last he came fully awake.

‘Is it you, Jo? Tell me it’s you.’ Desperately Hector groped for her in the darkness of the bedroom.

‘Yes, my darling. It’s me. Hush now. It’s all right now. I am here.’

‘The lights,’ he blurted. ‘Switch on the lights!’

She wriggled out of his arms and reached for the light switch above the headboard. The room was flooded with light, and he recognized it and remembered where they were and why.

They were guests in a medieval castle in Scotland on the banks of the River Tay on a chilly night in autumn.

Hector picked up his wristwatch from the table on his side of the bed and glanced at the dial. His hands were still shaking. ‘My God, it’s almost three in the morning!’ He reached for Jo Stanley and held her to his naked chest. After a while his breathing settled. With the reflexes of a trained warrior he had shaken off the debilitating effects of the nightmare, and he whispered to her, ‘I do apologize for the alarums and excursions, my love. However, the damage is done. We are both awake, so we might as well take full advantage of the moment.’

‘You are incorrigible and indefatigable, Hector Cross,’ she told him primly, but made no effort to resist his hands; rather she clung to him and sought out his lips with hers.

‘You know that I don’t understand big words,’ he told her and they were silent again. But after a moment she mumbled into his mouth without pulling away from him.

‘You frightened me, darling.’

He kissed her harder, as if to silence her, and she acquiesced as she felt his manhood stiffening and swelling against her belly. She was still lubricious with their earlier lovemaking and almost at once she wanted him as much as he did her. She rolled on to her back with her arms locked about his neck and as she pulled him over on top of her she let her thighs fall apart and reached up for him with her hips, gasping as she felt him slide deeply into her.

It was far too intense to last long. They mounted together swiftly and irresistibly to the giddy summit of their arousal; then, still joined, they plunged over it into the abyss. They returned slowly from the far-off places where passion had carried them and neither of them could speak until their breathing had calmed. At last she thought that he had fallen asleep in her arms until he spoke softly, in almost a whisper: ‘I didn’t say anything, did I?’