Long Reach (Eddie Savage Thriller)
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Seventeen-year-old Eddie Savage is shocked to learn that the body of his brother, Steve, has just been washed up in the Thames. But he soon discovers something even more disturbing: that Steve had actually been working undercover for the police – and was probably murdered in the line of duty. Determined to avenge his brother's death, Eddie relinquishes his old life and identity to take up where Steve left off, throwing himself headlong into his first mission – to infiltrate a tough south London gang. But as he becomes caught up in the world of crime, Eddie begins to question where his loyalties lie. Then he makes a terrible discovery...
happens,” I managed, uncertain how to respond. “Don’t believe everything you hear,” she said. I sensed that the subject stopped there and didn’t push it any further. We came to a kiosk. “Fancy an ice cream?” I said, smiling. She grinned back at me. Perfect white teeth. My heart lurched. “I had a massive lunch a few hours ago,” she said, rubbing her stomach. She weighed it up. “But, yeah, why not?” “I like a girl with a good appetite,” I said. “Do they have pistachio?” “Flake as well?”
said. We peered out of the window and saw a yacht motoring up alongside us in the dark. I followed Tommy and Bashmakov out on to the deck and saw that there was a crew of four on board, Dave Slaughter among them. “All right, Dave?” Tommy shouted down. Dave saluted in a naval fashion. They tied the yacht by the side of Bashmakov’s and a couple of his staff went aboard and started unloading crates from the lockers. They were cases of what looked like champagne, taped up with polythene to protect
anyone’s say-so.” “I can explain. Jason said…” He couldn’t find the words. “You don’t work for Jason.” “Have a drink.” Brown pushed a bottle of vodka across the desk towards Donnie. “We can talk.” “No, thank you,” Donnie said politely. “I need to keep a clear head while I’m working. Driving, aren’t I?” “Where are we going?” Hyrone Brown’s voice trembled. “Nowhere,” Donnie said. “Not just yet, anyway.” Brown took a swig from the vodka bottle and then threw it hard at Donnie’s head. It
a habit. I stared at the ceiling and thought about Benjy French. He was the only one who had bothered to be nice to me when I’d started at the college. He was a bit of an oddball, sure, but clever and funny. Probably ready to go on to university by now and live the rest of his life. I thought about the hunting knife, covered in his blood. Thought about his nice, middle-class parents up in Blackheath, being woken with the news that their son had been stabbed. I realized that, in the drama of
him. “You all right?” he asked. “Yeah,” I said. “Don’t blame yourself. He had it coming.” He gave me my orders. I was to be at the house the following afternoon. I would be going with Tommy. Paul filled me in on the movement details, ending up at Biggin Hill airport, the little airfield that the Battle of Britain pilots had flown from. He asked me again if I was OK. Said I sounded groggy. “I’ve just had a kip,” I said. “I’m cream-crackered.” He made me repeat the details back to him. “Can’t