The Reluctant Assassin Box Set

by Lee Jackson

  Through a shower of glass, the man burst through the door, his left hand dripping blood and his eyes burning with fury. He strode across the room, grabbed Isabel by the neck, and shoved her toward the door. Her pistol clattered to the floor.

  Isabel screamed, and then she heard Kattrina and Jameson whimper in terror from the other room.

  “Shut up,” the man snarled in Isabel’s ear. He grabbed her hair and jerked it around, forcing her to look at him. “Or the children will die.” Then he pushed her outside and down the steps to the woods.

  By the time Atcho had finished relating the details of the threat Klaus posed, he and Bob had walked a full mile along Thayer Road overlooking the river, almost to Thayer Hotel. They turned right on Mills Road to head uphill and back to Lusk Reservoir from the opposite end.

  “I think I’ve got a handle on the whole shebang,” Bob said. “I’m not sure I agree that we need to leave West Point. What about Sofia? What’s her role in all of this?”

  Atcho grimaced, hesitating before speaking. “I need your help on that. I need you to keep her out of it. She has to stay with Jameson.”

  Bob pivoted in mid-stride and held his hands up by his shoulders, palms open, facing Atcho. “Whoa, buddy. I’ll do almost anything you ask, but I’m not tangling with that lady. You want me to handcuff her to a radiator in our living room? Hog-tie and hand-feed her?” He belted out a laugh. “If she thinks you or Jameson is in danger, she’ll be a hellcat, and short of putting my own life at risk, you tell me how I’m supposed to keep her out of anything.”

  Atcho heaved a sigh and smirked. “You’re right,” he said, a note of pride deepening his tone. “She’s a handful and she’s absolutely the reason our past missions succeeded. But…” Atcho’s voice became serious, almost pleading. “If something happens to me, Jameson can’t lose us both. She has to be here for him.”

  Bob placed both hands on Atcho’s shoulders and lowered his head so that he looked directly into Atcho’s eyes. “Count on me for this,” he said. “I’ll protect Jameson along with Isabel and Kattrina. Leave that to me and don’t worry about it anymore. Your mind needs to be free so you can concentrate on Klaus. If anything happens to either you or Sofia, Isabel and I will take care of Jameson. He’ll always have a home, and we’ll treat him like our own child.

  “I’ll give Sofia my best advice, and I’ll pass on to her what I just told you about Jameson, but if she’s determined to do her thing, I won’t stand in her way.” He chuckled. “Not that I could anyway.”

  “Fair enough,” Atcho said, his reluctance obvious. They resumed walking up Mills Road. “I talked with Rafael after I left Burly. He’ll get security out to your extended family—”

  “Your old Brigade 2506 buddies?”

  Atcho smiled. “We’re getting a little long in the tooth, but our guys can still fight. I wouldn’t want to be on the opposite side of them.”

  Rafael Arteaga was one of Atcho’s oldest friends. They had met more than thirty years ago in a firefight at the disastrous Bay of Pigs invasion in Cuba, when the US had deserted Brigade 2506. The unit had been a fighting force of more than one thousand men the CIA had trained to re-take the island country from its dictator, Fidel Castro.

  Years later, after they had both been released from captivity in Castro’s dungeons, Atcho and Rafael had reacquainted and worked together in several black operations. In the first, Rafael had organized and provided security to Atcho’s extended family when they were threatened by a rogue Russian spy seeking to coerce Atcho’s cooperation. He had recruited from among the veterans of Brigade 2506.

  “I sure wouldn’t object to any of them being in a foxhole next to me,” Bob agreed.

  “Ivan will secure our home and the manufacturing plant in Austin,” Atcho went on.

  “It sounds like you’ve got your bases covered.”

  “Not quite,” Atcho responded. “I still think you should leave West Point.”

  Bob shook his head. “The superintendent knows the situation. He’s beefed up security on the post, and he’s specifically increased patrols around our house. If Klaus shows up here, we’ll get him.”

  Atcho whirled around. “Listen to me, Bob. When there was still a wall in Berlin, Klaus found a way under it to go back and forth at will; he kidnapped me out of a hotel with US State Department security at my door; he moved around the battlefield in Kuwait freely; he smuggled a nuclear device into the US; and he escaped the country despite a nationwide manhunt. He’s gained knowledge and experience, and since I killed his brother, he has a vendetta against me. He’ll kill everyone close to me if he gets a chance, and that includes you, Isabel, Kattrina, and especially Sofia and Jameson.” Atcho’s voice became urgent. “If we screw up, those we love will die.”

  Bob studied Atcho in the gathering dusk.

  “Criminy, Bob,” Atcho rolled on, “he tested a nuclear device in Afghanistan. It lowered the top of a mountain by thirty meters.” He caught himself. “That’s classified, and neither the FBI nor the CIA will confirm that’s what happened, or that Klaus was behind it, but they know it and we know it.”

  They were about halfway up the hill, still on Mills Road, at a point where it curved left and continued uphill. Suddenly, they heard a single popping sound, followed by several more in quick succession. They could not be certain of its direction, but they both knew the sound from close-up experience: gunshots.

  They glanced at each other, eyes wide, then turned and raced up the hill. Before they reached the crest, a military police sedan sped by, its blue strobe lights blinking. Moments later, another swept past them, its siren blaring.

  Their lungs heaving, Atcho and Bob pushed uphill until they reached flat ground. Then they raced across a footbridge over the reservoir and loped the remaining distance. Four MP cars were already ringed in front of the house, their roof lights flashing.

  As they sprinted toward the house, two MPs stepped in front of them. Bob pulled his ID from his pocket and thrust it at them. “I’m Major Bernier. I live here. This is my father-in-law.”

  Satisfied, the officers let them through. As they mounted the stairs, an MP captain walked out the front door.

  “Major Bernier?” he said to Bob and introduced himself. “There are two children inside, very scared. You should talk to them. They’re afraid of us.”

  “Where’s my wife?” Bob demanded, still breathing hard.

  The captain shook his head. “There were no adults in the house, and there’s blood on the door.” He spoke in rapid, clipped tones. “Shots were fired. The blood trail leads into the woods.” He glanced at Atcho. “Who are you?”

  Atcho jutted his jaw toward Bob. “His father-in-law. The little boy is my son.”

  Just then another car screeched to a halt down the street. Sofia jumped out and ran toward the house. An MP stepped in front of her.

  “That’s my wife,” Atcho said. “Tell them to let her through.”

  Another MP emerged from the house. “I got the little girl to talk some,” she said. “She says a mean man came to the door and took her mother away.”

  Sofia ran up the stairs in time to hear the MP, then rushed inside without stopping.

  Bob and Atcho followed her. Inside, Sofia stooped to comfort the children while Bob strode into his bedroom. When he emerged, he was carrying a holstered Smith & Wesson Model 3 Schofield top-break revolver. He slapped the belt around his hips and, without breaking stride, headed for the door.

  “This is the best I can do on short notice,” he muttered, “but this just got personal for me too. I’ve got plenty of bullets.”

  Meanwhile, Atcho picked up Sofia’s pistol from the floor. “Where’s the ammo for this?”

  Bob showed him. “Let’s go.”

  The MP captain blocked their way at the door. “My people are on this. The post is already on lockdown. No one moves from wherever they are right now except for my MPs. We’ll get this guy.”

  “That’s my wife,” Bob growled, should
ering past him. “Try to stop me.”

  “That’s my daughter,” Atcho echoed, and followed.

  Isabel’s heart beat wildly as she crashed through the underbrush down the steep slope of the bluff below her house. Her breaths came in short gasps and her feet stumbled over loose rocks and downed branches.

  Her captor followed closely, prodding her in the back and cheek with a pistol he carried in his good hand. A good distance below was another row of houses, but rugged terrain and thick vegetation impeded their way. Whenever Isabel would pause to catch her breath or see where to take her next step in the waning light, he shoved her, causing her to stumble to the ground. Then he jerked her upright and pushed her forward again, down the mountain.

  Above them the wail of sirens had risen to a crescendo and then ceased. Others sounded from every direction. Below them, the rush of the river mixed with leaves beating against each other in a swift wind, and the smell of half-decayed winter vegetation assaulted the nostrils.

  Isabel barely noticed, her mind focused on a single thought—survival. Then, after several minutes that felt like hours, she heard the crashing of bushes and rolling of rocks above them. Her rescuers were on the way.

  Another thought struck. Will he shoot me before they can get to me?

  Her senses now fully engaged, Isabel pictured the ground ahead—steep, overgrown, rocky—and then a sheer drop-off behind the row of houses below, if she could steer their flight to the left of their current direction.

  In the twilight, judging direction was difficult, but Isabel recognized the main area of the cadet barracks glowing to the left. She deliberately stumbled again, and when the man jerked her up, she turned slightly so they would veer closer to them. Two more similar falls and recoveries allowed her to move in her intended direction, and her captor seemed not to have noticed—his panic now evident as he reacted to the sounds of a narrowing pursuit from behind.

  Two voices called, “Isabel!” She recognized them both. Atcho and Bob.

  The man shoved his gun against her jaw, driving it into her teeth, and pushed his face close to hers while bringing one bloodied hand to his mouth as a sign to remain silent. They crouched and waited. The sounds of stumbling and the voices receded to the right and continued below them.

  The man pulled Isabel up and pushed her to the left, away from the pursuers.

  The pause on the slope had given Isabel a brief chance to study him. In the dim light, she couldn’t make out any of his features but saw that he was not much bigger than her. The pain in his hand must have been growing—he had shifted his face to lean over and nurse it.

  They continued downhill at a more deliberate pace, and Isabel noticed that his panic had waned, and he was now paying more attention to their direction of travel. She only hoped she had managed to steer them far enough to the left to provide her the advantage she sought.

  Down, down they went, and she no longer stumbled or fell. Doing so could spell the end. She tolerated the jabs in her back as she stepped downhill, placing her feet carefully until she saw a break in the vegetation outlined by the glow from the distant barracks—and the edge of a sheer, high drop-off.

  She deliberately stumbled again, and when the man reached for her, she rolled away, sprang up, and rushed him, her head low, aiming for his wounded hand.

  She careened against him, jamming his injured palm against his leg. As he cried out in pain, she dug her heels into the rocky ground and shoved harder, driving him to the edge of the bluff.

  Too late, the man realized her intention and teetered on the edge. He swung his arms wildly, then brought his pistol around to train on Isabel and pulled the trigger.

  As his gun swung toward her, Isabel threw her arm up, deflecting his. The shot went wild, the sound muffled in the stiff breeze.

  Isabel dropped to the ground, threw her arms around the man’s ankles, and pulled with all her strength. Her breath came in gut-wrenching gasps.

  With a scream, the man fell over the edge. Scarcely a moment later, Isabel heard a thud, and then all was quiet aside from the sounds of the wind, the leaves, and her own labored breath.

  Isabel stayed in her prone position, breathing hard, until the icy fingers of winter began to wrap around her body. Then images of the children entered her mind and carefully, gingerly, she rose to her feet and began the climb back up to her home.

  The entire family left that evening, including Atcho and Sofia, flying by military helicopter to nearby Stewart Air National Guard Base. They spent the night in guest quarters secured by Marines.

  Many hours later, unable to sleep and still seething with anger, Atcho asked Sofia, “How do you think Isabel is handling this emotionally?”

  “She’s shaken up,” Sofia replied. “She’s never killed a man before.”

  Atcho nodded. “And when she climbed back up the hill, she didn’t know he’d broken his neck. As far as she knew, he could still be after her. She’s traumatized.”

  Sofia caressed his cheek, hiding her own rage. Klaus attacked my family where we live—twice. “She’s strong. After all, she’s your daughter. She’ll be okay. Her confidence should take a jump. She knows she can protect her child. She’s done it, and she kept her wits and saved her own life.”

  Atcho nodded. “Klaus won’t stop.”

  Sofia shot him a glance. “We have to get him.”

  Atcho pulled back and studied her face. Her tone had carried uncharacteristic menace.

  “What are you going to do?” she asked.

  “I’m going back to the New York FBI office in the morning. We’ve got to figure out a way to draw Klaus into the open.”

  “You mean to make him come after you,” Sofia said flatly, then sighed. “I suppose I can’t stop you.”

  Atcho locked eyes with her. “I have to do this. He’s not after just us. He wants to deliver a crippling blow to the US, and he can do it. If he needs to, he’ll put me on a back burner, but he’s still going to come after us personally. If I don’t finish this fight, we’ll always be checking our back-trail—after he’s massacred millions. The more important question right now is what are you going to do? Isabel and Bob will have the same worries about Kattrina.”

  Sofia pulled back and gave him a preoccupied look. “Don’t worry. Our kids come first. I’ll help Bob stave off any onslaughts. Where he’s taking us, Klaus won’t know how to follow. Our family is off the table as a pressure point for Klaus to threaten you.”

  Atcho nodded. “That ranch of Ivan’s up in Montana came in handy.”

  36

  “I should have gone myself,” Klaus groused. He had just listened to a news report about the death of a would-be kidnapper at West Point.

  “You know that wouldn’t have been a good thing to do,” Ramzi replied. “If you had been captured or killed, your part of our plans would be dead.”

  “Why can’t these infidel men teach their wives how to behave?” Klaus said in exasperation. “Their women dress to provoke when they go out in public; they go to jobs and drive to get there. And this daughter of Atcho’s killed Aban. I should have known she could do that. Atcho’s wife is a she-devil who beat up six men at once in Berlin last year.”

  “She did what?”

  “Six men tried to detain her in Little Istanbul last year. She left all of them lying on the street.”

  “You’re joking.”

  Klaus shook his head.

  Ramzi grinned lasciviously. “Give her to me for an hour. I’ll teach her proper respect. The daughter too.”

  Klaus heard him distantly. He pulled himself back to awareness and shook his head dismissively. “We’ll never get close to Atcho’s family now. He’s warned and he’ll move them. I’ll deal with him later. For now, we’d better concentrate on the plan. We need to coordinate to make sure we get the most effect.”

  “And to make sure that if one bomb doesn’t go off, the other does,” Ramzi interjected.

  Klaus looked at him sharply. “What do you mean?”

/>   A cautious look spread over Ramzi’s face. “No offense. I mean that if one system doesn’t work, we’ve configured them so neither one interferes with the other.”

  Klaus’ expression hardened. “Which system would you expect not to work?”

  Ramzi’s gaze turned stern. “We’re brothers working for the same jihad,” he said. “I meant no insult. I know what you did in Afghanistan, blowing up that mountain. If your bomb works like that one…” He shook his head. “You already have the respect of Al-Qaeda, Sheikh Omar, and Osama bin Laden, but the bomb is not proven operationally yet. We can’t risk this mission. My bomb must have every opportunity to succeed, with or without yours.”

  Constrained anger clouded Klaus’ expression.

  “The same is also true about your bomb,” Ramzi added. “Think, brother. We’ll bring down those twin monsters across the river.”

  “You’ve been talking to Kadir,” Klaus muttered.

  “I don’t know Kadir,” Ramzi replied neutrally, “but I can tell you that while your weapon’s potential is recognized in the Kingdom, it hasn’t worked in a real situation yet, despite three attempts.”

  Klaus’ eyes narrowed. “Because of Atcho,” he hissed. “He’s interfered every time.”

  “Which is why we can’t let him get in the way this time.”

  The two men eyed each other for extended moments. Then Klaus nodded.

  “What do you suggest?”

  Ramzi exhaled. “The two bombs should be set to explode nearly simultaneously. Mine will go in the parking garage of the South Tower and detonate first. You should put yours a couple of floors above ground level. If it fails, mine will still topple one tower into the other one. If yours does succeed…” His eyes widened as a grin spread across his face. “It will have the effect of an airburst. Instantly, everything within a mile of the World Trade Center will be covered with radioactive fallout raining down on the city. Millions of infidels will be dead, and the US financial system will be crippled. Our bombs together will leave a black hole in the floor of Manhattan a mile wide, with nothing but rubble and dead infidels. That will be the beginning of the end for this wretched country.”