Audiobook Reel
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Vocal Characteristics
Language
EnglishVoice Age
Teen (13-17)Accents
Irish (General)Transcript
Note: Transcripts are generated using speech recognition software and may contain errors.
50,000 people had come to the Suffolk Air Show on the east coast of England, but only one of them was there to commit murder. It was the end of August, the last week of the summer holidays. The schools were closed on whole families had taken advantage of the fine weather to arrive at the old Air base less than a mile from the sea. They had strolled around vintage planes from the 1st and 2nd World Wars single seat biplanes parked next to Spitfires and hurricanes. That morning, the red arrows had put on a dazzling display, twisting and criss crossing each other in the sky before swooping down, trailing plums of red, white and blue. There had been fly pasts by the Tornado G or four, the two seat attack aircraft that had been used in Iraq and Libya on by the Lightning to Joint Strike fighter, one of the most sophisticated on at £100 million.1 of the most expensive aircrafts in the world. The grounds were packed with simulator rights, motorbike displays, drones face painting, unfair grand stalls. Everyone was having a good time. As with every public event in the UK and extensive, almost invisible security net had been put in place. It was impossible to stop and search. All the cars with CCTV cameras recorded every arrival, and every number plate was instantly cheque. People might notice police and even a few Smith dogs moving among them. These were a common sight, but they would be unaware of the plainclothes policeman, many of them with concealed weapons mingling within the crowd. In fact, the Joint Terrorism Analysis Centre, G T A. C. Had met in their offices close to the houses of Parliament just a few days before on had agreed that the threat level at the Suffolk Air Show would remain at moderate. They weren't expecting any trouble on, so nobody paid very much attention to the woman who arrived just after three o'clock. She had driven into the car park in a Ford Transit van, which, according to the automatic number plate recognition system, belonged to the ST John Ambulance service. This is the country's leading first a charity, and indeed the woman was dressed in the green and black uniform of a local volunteer. She was carrying a nylon bag marked with a white cross, which, if opened would reveal medicine and bandages. She was short and round shouldered, with dark red hair that had been cut so badly that it stuck out straight on one side of her head and curled in on the other. There was something quite aggressive about the way she walked. Like a boxer about to enter the ring. She was overweight, breathing heavily with beads of sweat on her upper lip, She put on a pair of cheap sunglasses. They conceal the smouldering violence in her eyes. The woman's real name was Dragon and Novak. She was 46 years old on until recently, she had been a lieutenant colonel in the Serbian Air Force. Ah, High Flyer in every sense of the word. Her career had ended following a drunken fight with another pilot. He had been twice her size, but even so, she had put him in hospital. In fact, he was still there. Inevitably, there had been a court martial, and she had been looking at an uncertain future, perhaps returning to the turn of firm where she had been brought up. That was when she received the telephone call. There was a unique job opportunity. It would pay £200,000 for two days work. What's she interested? Trigana didn't need to think for a minute.
Tags
Narrator, Aloof, Authentic, Calm, Dynamic, Mysterious, Irish (General)