The Assassin's Wife

by Roger Weston

  Gunshots from the pursuing boats cracked and bullets ripped holes in the clear canvas top. Meg sunk down on the floor like a coward and felt no shame. She wanted to get out of Hells Canyon alive.

  Russell was the first to return fire.

  Covering her ears, Meg rose high enough to look over the seat. The rear canvas had many holes, but as Russell unloaded his combat shotgun, the canvas seemed to shred before her eyes. Suddenly, Russell jerked and dropped to the seat.

  “He’s been hit,” Meg said. “I need a flashlight.”

  “Take cover,” Lomax said. “No time for that now.”

  There was enough moonlight for Meg to see now that Russell was holding his left arm. She could also see that the arm was mostly intact, so she guessed Russell’s injury was not critical. She snatched his combat shotgun and pumped it. She unloaded three shots at the nearest pursuit boat, and it fell back by twenty yards.

  She was about to fire again when a massive hand wrapped around the barrel and took the shotgun away.

  Russell was back in the fight. He wasn’t even holding his arm now, but his shirt was off and tied around his wound.

  Lomax squeezed off bursts with his M-16.

  “Shoot those bastards,” Wagner yelled. At that moment, their own boat hit the rapids at high speed, and the contour of the river transformed into a graph of chaos. The boat lurched, lunged, and leaped over the whitewater. The river churned like a giant mixer while bullets from behind shredded the canvas and return fire boomed.

  Meg drew her own pistol now and fired a few shots, but as both crafts were bucking the rapids, she doubted she hit anything. The incredible power of the river seemed to enclose upon her as the rapids got more insane. She ejected a spent clip and slammed another into her pistol. She didn’t bother shooting but grabbed onto the seat and held on while keeping down.

  Their boat was moving fast, and warm wind roared through the shredded canvas. The noise from the snapping canvas was almost drowned out by the churning engine of the river and the marine engines.

  The rapids played out and the shooting resumed, bullets slamming into the reinforced steel on the backside of the rear seat and the aluminum hull.

  “We’ll see how they like these,” Lomax said.

  Meg glanced over at Lomax as he slammed a new magazine into his gun.

  He smiled at her. “Armor piercing bullets.” Lomax opened fire on the boats, and Meg watched the tracers slam into the hull of the leading boat. Lomax squeezed off another burst, and this one shattered the windshield. At high speed, the boat shot straight into the rock wall along the edge of the river. Due to the rapids, the boat made impact with its nose down, and the momentum caused the back end to flip up with the result that the top of the boat smashed against the rock with crushing force. In the moments that followed, the uncaring river pulled the capsized boat into the current.

  Meg lost sight of the wreck because their own boat hit another set of rapids. After passing through these, Meg felt relieved when she saw that the second boat was no longer in pursuit.

  “They must have tried to rescue their comrades from the wreck,” Meg said.

  “I don’t know,” Lomax said.

  Evidently, Russell was skeptical, too, for he held his gun at the ready.

  “We’re lucky to be alive,” Wagner said. “I’m slowing this baby down. I’ve never taken this river so fast at night and for good reason.”

  “Don’t slow down much,” Meg said.

  “Don’t tell me how to drive a boat, lady.”

  “Remember who’s in charge now.” She pointed her gun at him. “Keep going.”

  Wagner sunk down in his seat and held on to the wheel as the boat lurched and lunged. Cold water splashed in through the damaged canvas.

  Less than a mile down river, the pursuing boat showed up again, but at full speed and Meg thought certain to crash.

  “They’re back,” she said.

  Russell blasted off two rounds with his shotgun.

  Somehow the pursuing boat soared over the rapids and rocks without crashing. It screamed with such speed that it seemed to bounce across the rapids. Within thirty seconds of Meg’s spotting the running lights, the boat closed the distance. Russell fired twice at point blank range and Lomax squeezed off a burst as the craft approached within five feet behind. Both men then took cover. Their shots were answered with automatics as the boat leapt alongside. Three assassins sprung across the void, breaking through the remaining threads of the canvas. One landed next to Meg, the other two crashed into Lomax.

  Just as the assassins transferred vessels, their captain paid for his insane sprint. His leaping vessel came down nose heavy against a shallow rock and flipped end-over-end, cart-wheeling alongside. Her gun out of bullets, Meg dropped to her back and raised her legs. She halted the first assassin’s momentum with a heel to his stomach. The killer groaned in pain. He swiped at her with a huge blade that flashed in the moonlight. She heard the blade whisper past her throat. Arching off her back, Meg slammed the bottom of her other foot into his stomach with the idea of kicking him into the river. He fell back, but stayed in the boat, his knife flying overboard.

  As if pain did not affect him, the assassin stunned Meg by jumping up and reaching for his ankle. As his hand came up, she grabbed his wrist and shoved the gun barrel down at his groin. She held it there while she punched his throat twice. Stunned at his collapsed wind pipe, the man groped desperately for air. Meg’s brain flashed back to Eric’s self-defense tapes, and she reached down under the gun and grabbed the hammer. Using her leverage, she twisted the gun under and up. As she did so, she heard his finger bone snap in the trigger loop.

  As he tried to jerk his hand free, the violent movement discharged the gun into his thigh at close range. The man collapsed with a scream in pain. Meg was pulled off balance and fell with him. At hitting the floor, she released the pressure on the broken finger by twisting the gun back. As she pulled the gun free of his hand, she jumped up and leveled it at him. The boat slammed into a rapid, causing her to stumble. As her face slammed into a bar, she dropped the pistol.

  Dazed from the blow, Meg got up, keeping her eyes on the attacker.

  The man rose onto one knee. He looked down in shock at having shot himself in the thigh, then glanced at Meg, a look of fury on his face. She lifted her foot off the deck just as Eric had demonstrated in the video. As her leg muscles tensed, the sole of her shoe impacted his chest. He fell backwards, his head slamming into the rail.

  Meg was stunned that she was still alive and that the defensive move had worked. To her left, Meg was aware of a furious struggle, the men in hand-to-hand combat. A fast movement caught her attention. Meg saw her attacker’s hand reaching for his machine pistol. She tore a mini fire extinguisher from the upward support beam and brought the butt end of it down on his eye. A hand slammed into her chest so hard that she was thrown against an aluminum bench. Ignoring a flash of pain in her skull, Meg scrambled for the machine pistol, but the killer was feeling under the seat for it and she couldn’t see it now.

  Shots were fired in the back, the noise invading Meg’s brain.

  She dove at the killer, hammering the butt end of the fire extinguisher into his spine. He yelled in pain. Meg beat him with the blunt object until he rolled to escape from the blows. She swept her hand under the seat. Her fingers made contact with a hard object and wrapped around the handle of the machine pistol. As she turned over, the killer landed on her and batted the gun from her hand. He wrapped his hands around her throat and began to strangle her. Meg’s hands flailed through empty air as if she had just fallen off a cliff as she tried to get control of the situation. She was beginning to lose consciousness when she rammed her hands into the killer’s elbows, blowing them out of joint to the sounds of crunching cartilage. The man collapsed, gave a hideous scream, and rolled off of her. Meg tried to crawl free, but a desperate yell set off an alarm in her brain. She dropped to her stomach and rolled to her back. As the madman dove
at her, she stopped him with the bottoms of her feet. Her legs exploded outward, and the killer fell backwards out of the boat into the churning whitewater.

  Three shots exploded and Meg saw a white hand release a round object. The steel ball hit the floor. Trusting her instinct, Meg grabbed the object and tossed it out. A few moments later, a massive explosion erupted behind the boat. In the moonlight, Meg saw a killer step back and aim down at an unseen person on the floor. His black form was outlined by the flash. In the same instant, a wall of flame enveloped him in searing heat. A huge boom followed the explosion, and the shotgun blast blew the burning man into the river. A wall of fire swept over the boat. Blistering heat made Meg roll over and cover her face. The smell of burnt hair and phosphorus penetrated her fear. A moment later, the wind from the rushing boat blew in fresh air. As she turned over, she gasped. The entire canvas was now on fire.

  “Down!” Lomax yelled.

  Wagner slammed the wheel down, and the boat heeled over from the sharp turn. Meg rolled involuntarily from the sudden force, slamming into the rail. Cold water sloshed in over the rail, and Meg screamed, certain that the vessel was about to capsize. A moment later, buoyancy brought the boat back to an even keel. Wagner cranked the throttle back, and the boat drifted in the current.

  “You lunatic,” Meg said. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  The boat was now being drawn down through the rapids by the force of the river. The water’s roar was getting louder by the second.

  Wagner screamed in pain and was slapping his head, putting out his burning hair. “You try and buck rapids while you’re on fire.”

  The flames were out, but his hair was still smoking.

  “I thought we were cooked when he tossed the phosphorus grenade,” Lomax said. “I threw it out,” Meg said.

  “Then you saved our life. We were just outside of the critical zone when it detonated.”

  “My ass, just outside,” Wagner shouted, turning to face the others. “I was a fricken candle. I was burning, damn it. My scalp hurts.”

  The water’s roar got louder.

  “Watch out,” Meg said. Floating sideways, the boat was approaching a large rock and a ferocious set of rapids.

  Wagner twisted his neck around, and his hand hit the throttle. The boat lurched, throwing Meg back to the deck again. Pain from impact sent a shock through her skull. The front of the boat lifted up as the whine of the engine built into a tormented scream.

  “I confess my sins,” Wagner said. “Right now.” He slammed his hand against the wheel.

  “That’ll take all night,” Lomax said. “We don’t have time for that.”

  The boat lurched and bucked. The roar of the whitewater warned Meg of the incredible power that surrounded her. One wrong move and they could all be at the mercy of the uncaring rapids. As the boat sprinted downstream, it lunged and crashed across the churning froth. Before long, the splashing whitewater extinguished the flames in the last few remaining strips of the canvas. The rest had all melted.

  Wagner drove them through the rapids to where the river widened out, and the water flattened into a calm yet swift current. Meg watched him with amazement as he disengaged the engine, hung over the side and dunked his head into the river. It was only when he came up that she realized he was bald.

  “Are you alright?” Meg said.

  “I’m wonderful. They nearly blew my brains out. My hair burnt to the scalp. Lovely. You wanna dance? I’m just great. Never been better.” He sat back down in the captain’s chair and pounded his fist against the console.

  “What’s that sound?” Wagner said.

  Meg looked up river. “Helicopter.” She looked over at John. “I’m hoping that’s your friend Fogerty.”

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Just as he said that, the chopper turned slightly sideways, just enough to where Meg could see a man at the door. Meg grabbed Lomax’s M-16 and yelled, “Gunner.”

  They all got down as a burst of gunfire raked across the boat. Between the river and the helicopter noise, Meg could not even hear the gun, but she could hear the bullets that were hitting the boat.

  Meg swung the M-16 up over the rail and squeezed the trigger. The assault rifle roared in her hands as she concentrated her fire on the pilot and the engines, sweeping the barrage back and forth, causing the gunner to dive for cover.

  As smoke began to pour out of the helicopter, the aircraft swung around and soared downstream.

  CHAPTER 67

  The helicopter crash-landed on a sandbar several miles downriver from where the engine took ordinance from the river boat, and Marcel was furious. The pilot was not moving, and Marcel didn’t expect him to ever move again.

  “My leg is broken,” Jose said. “That damn pilot turned broadside and left me exposed. I hope he burns in hell.”

  Even in the dimness of early morning, Marcel could see the blood oozing out of the bullet wound in Jose’s leg, and the sight gave him just a spark of satisfaction.

  There were only three words in Marcel’s vocabulary and they were kill Meg Coles. That his opportunity had slipped away was unthinkable. The engine was on fire now, and wind was howling down the steep walls of the deepest river gorge in America. The wind gained speed as it dropped down the dark slopes, and when Marcel stepped out of the chopper, the force of the blow almost knocked him over. Using more strength than he knew he had, Marcel heaved Jose over his shoulder and carried him not only to the slope, but close to a hundred yards up the slope to where they could set up an ambush and have the advantage of an elevated position when the river boat tried to get by.

  Marcel could smell the smoke, and that bothered him with these kinds of winds, but he needed to terminate Coles and crew before he tried to hike out of here. It occurred to him that he could get out a lot faster if Jose had an accident and wound up dead.

  Marcel jogged back down to the beach and recovered their Sterling machine guns. By now the helicopter was a raging inferno, and Marcel had no doubt that the pilot was cooked.

  Climbing the hill again, he spotted a nice rock that would provide cover. Jose was wide awake upon his return and holding his handgun, so Marcel carried him over to the rock and played it cool for now.

  “How long till they get here?” Jose said.

  “Depends how fast they go and if they stop. Not long is my guess.”

  Jose got out his lighter, and lying down, he started trying to light the grass on fire, but he was having a hard time getting the flame to go even when he used his other hand and his whole body as a wind shield.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Marcel said.

  “This is our insurance.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “They’ll see the helicopter and suspect an ambush. There’s no guarantee that we’ll get them all.”

  “I said what are you doing?”

  The wind sounded like a freight train as it pounded down the canyon walls.

  “We can’t be sure to get them, but they’ll have no chance of escaping the flames and the smoke.”

  “Are you mad? You’ll kill us both.”

  “No. The wind will blow the flames downward and we will go up. I’ll call for an extraction. Chopper should be here in fifteen minutes.”

  The grass was brown and dead and dry, so when Jose got his flame to keep for a few seconds, the grass began to burn.

  “What have you done, you lunatic?”

  The flames spread rapidly, and just as Jose had predicted, they crawled down the hill toward the water’s edge.

  “I’ve never failed to terminate my quarry. I’d rather die than fail to get a college professor.” Jose said this with scorn and bitterness.

  Marcel wasn’t entirely against Jose’s extreme actions. After all, his own future was also linked to his success in terminating Meg Coles. Using strength borne of adrenaline from the helicopter crash, Marcel carried Jose another fifty yards up the steep slope, his feet sliding often. He found another spot
where the terrain sunk into the slope, providing a stair where they could lie down and take cover. The two men held their machine guns at the ready and waited for the jet boat to enter into the kill zone.

  Marcel was startled and frightened at the fire below. What had begun as a fast-spreading brush fire had now transformed into a scorching wildfire several acres across.

  “The wind has changed,” Marcel said. “It’s pushing the flames to the south rather than down.”

  “It’s just a temporary shift,” Jose said, yet Marcel could hear an edge of fear on his voice.

  Now the wind shifted again and hit Marcel in the face with startling power. It was now rushing up the canyon and climbing the slope.

  The dark wind swept over Marcel like black death. The wind was rancid and poisonous, and Marcel held his breath. Within moments, he could not even see Jose even though the killer was probably only a few feet away crawling up the slope. The smoke thickened and poured over him, and Marcel was shocked to hear the crackling fire as the red glow approached.

  It’s overtaking me. I’m going to die.

  Marcel’s lungs throbbed from the exertion of crawling up the steep wall of the gorge. Holding his breath any longer was almost impossible.

  Holding his breath.

  His mouth burst open and he was gasping in thick black smoke that burned his lungs on contact. Hot black smoke as black as coal and flames not far behind.

  I’m going to die right now, right here.

  The pain filled him with all the agonies of death. He dropped to his stomach and rolled over, choking on poisonous air.

  Realizing that he was dying and would be dead very soon, the sinister irony of his life came into his mind. His legacy unrolled before him like a charred carpet. The mine was a hard life, but at least it was an honorable life. He had left the mine and often pitied those who had stayed behind because one day they would die from the black coal dust in their lungs. Yet Marcel was going to die tonight with his lungs scorched by evil black smoke. Had he stayed in the mine, he might have lived another twenty years. But worse than that was his legacy. He gave up an honest and honorable life to become a killer. His life was a dark cloud, a life lived in the darkness of killing for pay, killing anyone without asking questions, even killing widows. His legacy was a legacy of death and he bitterly regretted that. Right then he would have paid a million dollars to get his job back in the coal mines. He cursed himself for ever leaving the mines of West Virginia.