The Guru: John Hayes #7 (PAPERBACK)
The Guru: John Hayes #7 (PAPERBACK)
Size: 5" x 8" (147mm x 243mm)
Series: Book 7, The John Hayes Thrillers
Shipping times, after printing, are within 1-3 business days.
My books are printed on-demand by my printers located in the UK and the USA.
Once you place your order, my printers will get to work printing your book.
Each book is carefully printed, checked and shipped and delivered to your door 1-3 business days after printing (excluding bank holidays).
Read a Sample
Read a Sample
The young man stood beside the entrance to the tube station, watching the flow of commuters rushing past.
His leather jacket was zipped to the neck, and his hands were thrust into the pockets, but still he shivered, partly from the cold, partly from nerves. Taking a deep breath, he turned to enter the station, and caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the glass of a shop window. He paused and looked at the man staring back at him. He almost didn’t recognize himself. For the first time in years, his cheeks were smooth and clean-shaven, the skin tone noticeably lighter than the rest of his face. His eyes were ringed with deep-set dark circles, and his cheekbones stood out prominently in a face made lean from lack of food and little sleep.
He had come a long way since his childhood in a country thousands of miles away, not just in distance, but in experience and spiritual growth. He was close to the ultimate goal. He had been chosen, and soon he would be in heaven, reaping the rewards of a life devoted to the almighty creator of the universe and the judge of humankind.
Turning, he walked through the entrance of the station and looked around. People pushed past as they rushed for the train, everyone in a hurry. He wouldn’t do it here—it was too easy for people to escape. It was better to be somewhere enclosed. Crossing to the ticket machines, he bought a ticket, then moved through the turnstiles and rode the escalator down to the platforms. Pausing at the bottom, he glanced at the signs, deciding which platform to head to, but the decision was made for him. Most of the people were heading toward Central London, so with his hands still thrust in the pockets of his leather jacket, he joined them. No-one paid him any attention, all focused on their phone screens, many with headphones, tuned out from their surroundings, and unaware.
At the end of the tunnel, he turned left onto the platform and made his way through the crowd toward the center. The P A system announced the next train arriving in just over a minute, but he didn’t worry. He had plenty of time to do what needed to be done. Stopping beside a glass panel covering an advertising poster, he stared at the picture of a young woman in a sleeveless blouse and a skirt that ended just above the knees. Her hair was loose and tumbled over bare shoulders, and she smiled at the camera through bright red lipstick.
The young man sneered. It was appropriate—the perfect place to start his journey to heaven. The poster represented everything wrong with the Dar ul Kufr, the land of unbelievers and their society, riddled with sinning and fornication. Still facing the poster, his back to the platform, he closed his eyes, and his lips silently moved as he prayed. Opening his eyes, he unzipped his jacket and removed the Glock 17 from his waistband. Turning, he stepped forward, raised the Glock, and pressed it to the back of the head of the man standing in front of him.
“Allahu akbar.” He pulled the trigger.
The man pitched forward and tipped off the platform. For a moment, there was no sound, as people all around stared in shock at the body on the track, then they erupted in screams.
The young man wasted no time. He turned to his left and started firing as the crowd ran for the exits, pushing and shoving, trampling over each other to save themselves. The man walked forward calmly, picking targets. It was easy, what the western crusaders called a ‘target-rich environment.’ He put a bullet in the back of a young lady in a grey tube skirt and heels, her falling body tripping over another older woman who fell on top of her, screaming. He walked past and shot her in the face as she looked back at him in terror. An elderly man with a walking stick sat frozen on a bench, his mouth hanging open in shock until a bullet to the chest made him slip sideways onto his wife, who was clinging to him with her eyes closed. He shot her, too, then turned to shoot a man in a pinstriped suit and a boy in a school uniform. He felt someone grab his arm from behind, and automatically, his instincts honed in combat, slipped free from the grip, turned, and put two bullets into another young man’s chest.
The surrounding area had cleared as people fled, leaving the bleeding bodies of the dead on the platform. He continued walking toward the exit, firing into the backs of the retreating crowd, each bullet finding a target. He heard a whimper and glanced down at a middle-aged woman lying on her back, her eyes open wide as she coughed blood. “Allahu akbar,” he repeated and shot her in the forehead.
Stepping over bodies, he continued firing, finishing off those who were still alive. As he neared the exit, he spotted a young woman huddled over an overturned stroller, her arms covering her head as her body shook in terror. Reaching out with his left hand, he grabbed her hair and pulled her away from the stroller, dropping her on the floor. He raised his right hand and shot her in the chest, a red stain spreading rapidly across her white blouse. Hearing a child’s cry, he turned to the stroller, uprighted it, and looked inside. A girl was strapped inside, perhaps three or four, blond curls framing her face, her eyes and cheeks red as she cried out for her mother. The man felt a twinge of regret as he remembered a child of his own, a daughter he had loved with all his heart... until he found something he loved even more. He shook off the memory. He was the chosen one, and soon, he would be in Paradise.
“Allahu akbar.” He fired. The girl stopped crying.
He raised the Glock and looked back at the now-empty platform, then turned and pointed the weapon down the exit tunnel at the backs of the fleeing commuters. When he pulled the trigger, he felt the firing pin click on an empty chamber.
At the same time, over the ringing in his ears, he heard the rumble of an approaching train. He pressed the magazine release button and reached inside his jacket for a fresh magazine as the empty one clattered onto the platform floor.
Slotting the magazine in place, he chambered a round and walked back to meet the approaching train.