Verhoeven waved his hand to guide the ship towards him; in the other he held a rope to tether the two crafts together. Through the darkness of the night he saw a small silhouette of a figure stand up. Judging by the man"s size, he guessed it must have been Gioradze. “It"s about time! You"re late. Where are the others?”
He was answered with the blast of a shotgun. In the vastness of the ocean, it would have caused no more than a pop sound and the brief flash from the muzzle radiated out no more than a few feet. The round took Verhoeven in the head, killing him instantly. His body sagged back onto the deck.
To all intents and purposes, and with the last of the mercenary team killed, the attempted hit against an old man living on the coast of Cornwall might never have happened. Certainly, t
