INSIDIOUS ASSASSINS

by Jack Ketchum

  Evgeny nods again. “‘The Animal Trainer’. Another legendary—and eccentric—assassin. Uses trained animals and insects to carry out his hits, making it difficult for authorities to charge him with murder since he rarely kills anyone directly.”

  “You’re on a roll here, Evgeny,” the Polack says. “I sort of like this Animal Trainer guy. Never met the bastard myself but he’s got panache. Uwagi zdobywające! You hear about the hit he pulled off last year at La Sabaneta, right? Took out the entire prison block his target was pent up in by filling the joint with scorpions, didn’t he?”

  “Phoneutria, actually,” Evgeny replies. Sensing the Polack’s confusion, he elaborates, “He took out the prisoners by unleashing thousands of Brazilian wandering spiders into the prison’s ventilation system.”

  “Ah yes, that’s what it was then,” the Polack says. “You’re two for two here, Evgeny. The last potential bell-ringer is ...”

  “Kliment ‘Fakel’ Krasnomyrdin,” Evgeny interrupts. “The Torch.”

  “Look at this kacap bastard here,” the Polack marvels, gesturing his hands toward Evgeny. “Quick on the draw and accurate to boot! Clearly your intel is on point as usual. What do you know about this Torch guy?”

  Evgeny takes a deep breath before responding, “One of the deadliest assassins in recorded history. An ex-Hishnik turned rogue mercenary after falling out with the clan’s higher-ups. Fakel was responsible for the extinction of this once indomitable faction. Flamethrowers are his signature weapons of choice. A very dangerous man.”

  “That’s three for three, Evgeny! You see where I’m going with this?” the Polack says.

  “Unfortunately I do,” Evgeny responds, his brow furrowing deeply.

  “These are the pajace that clipped off Marcin Kalinowski. The less you know about that the better. But my people have been receiving chatter that these knobs are holed up in a fortified cathedral in the Czech Republic. They’re trying to assemble an entire hive of legends to put the assassination game on lockdown,” the Polack says. “But here’s the thing that’s going to make this job tricky. There’s all sorts of underground politics involved here, but my associates and I need Prizrak to rub out the Mad Gasser and the Animal Trainer ... but the Torch can’t be touched—not even in self-defense. I can’t stress the importance of this stipulation enough.”

  A look of abject confuzzlement worms its way across Evgeny’s face. “But Fakel torched your associate’s nephew, did he not?” he says. “How could you wish to eliminate the other two yet let him walk away unscathed?”

  “Well,” the Polack begins, “that’s where we get into the realm of underground politics and the poop of the matter. It turns out Fakel’s done a lot of big favors for a lot of big people—including some of my closest associates ... so if I were to put a hit on him, I’m liable to be ventilated myself. Plus, let’s be frank here. Marcin was dead before The Torch lit his ass up … if the poisonous gas didn’t do it, I’m sure the tiger tearing his throat out did. My associates are willing to let Fakel slide for desecrating the corpse, but the other two pajace ain’t fortunate enough to have such important benefactors, and my associates want them both taken off the shelf, see?”

  The Polack senses hesitation in Evgeny that he’s never detected before in all their years of negotiating hits. He reaches below the table, retrieves another briefcase, and slides it over to Evgeny. “Look,” he says, “I know this job ain’t a cinch by any means. Infiltrating a hive of legendary killers is a good way to get popped—especially when you’re forbidden from even dumping off at their leader. I get that. But I’m offering this job to you because Prizrak’s the best. If anybody could pull off this contract ...”

  “It’s a suicide mission, Kozłowski, and you know it,” Evgeny snarls. “Do you really expect Fakel to sit by idly while his comrades are liquidated?”

  “It very well may be. I certainly can’t expect Prizrak to infiltrate this hive without getting stung. I can offer a few of my own men to go in there with your client as back-up. But I know how adamant you’ve been in the past about Prizrak not playing well with others,” the Polack says, wiping a thin layer of perspiration and sausage grease from his upper lip with an embroidered silk handkerchief. “There’s a lot of dough in that briefcase, Evgeny ... and you know that’s only the first installment.”

  Evgeny sits silently, staring vacantly at the two briefcases before him. He knows that the likelihood of Ogrifina walking out of that cathedral alive is miniscule. As gifted as she is, she stands little chance against an entire hive of legendary assassins—a hive whose population is unknown. Declining the contract, however, would strip Ogrifina of her first—and perhaps only—concrete opportunity to confront the man responsible for the extinction of her clan. And yet the stipulations of the contract itself forbid Ogrifina from eliminating her archrival. How would she be able to reconcile her lifelong adherence to the Kredo Krovi—which forces her to abide by these stipulations—with her compulsion to exact revenge?

  After ruminating deeply, Evgeny exhales plosively, unfurrows his brow and rises, lifting both briefcases from the table. “Where can we obtain the dossier for this job?” he asks.

  The Polack grins gleefully. “It’s in that briefcase. GPS coordinates, blueprints of the cathedral—the whole nine yards. I know this one’s a herculean task, but Prizrak’s never failed me before.”

  “You’ll hear from me after the job’s completed,” Evgeny says as he exits the room, briefcases in tow.

  Ogrifina is summoned by Evgeny to a run-down warehouse in K-Town that’s occupied by one of his most dependable weapons suppliers. He fills her in on the details of the contract, and is astonished by how calmly she reacts as he divulges the identities of her targets and the particularities of the mission. Below the surface, she can feel her lust for vengeance throbbing more powerfully than ever before, yet she remains composed as Evgeny breaks the mission down for her. The hive is located in Moravia. It will be heavily fortified and even more heavily guarded. Ogrifina’s targets know that they have prices on their heads and will be ready to defend themselves against anyone who comes to collect their bounties.

  Ogrifina has the pick of the litter in this warehouse when it comes to weaponry. Virtually every weapon imaginable is in stock and at her disposal. But, aside from a few specialty items she requests (flash grenades, explosive broadheads, a rebreather mechanism for her facial helmet, and canisters of flame-retardant barrier gel), she opts to keep her arsenal simple and lightweight. While Ogrifina inspects the warehouse’s collection of submachine guns, Evgeny unfolds a set of architectural blueprints from the mission’s dossier folder. After selecting a pair of Kashtan AEK-919Ks, she joins Evgeny in reviewing these blueprints. They pinpoint an entry point through which she may be able to infiltrate the hive undetected—a large ossuary in a nearby cemetery that connects to the cathedral’s undercroft via a network of underground tunnels. Not knowing exactly how many assassins are stationed in the hive, stealth is of critical importance. She knows that, once her presence has been detected, she’s liable to be swarmed by assassins, and, confident as she may be in her ability to neutralize multiple assailants simultaneously, this will only make her job more difficult.

  Within a matter of hours, Evgeny has arranged for a private plane to transport Ogrifina to Moravia. As she is preparing to board, examining her gear one final time to ensure that everything’s in proper working order, Evgeny’s heart grows heavy. He can’t help but worry that this might be the last time he ever sees her—this lethiferous killing machine he’s come to love like a daughter. Yet he knows that he cannot stop her from attempting to sate her retributive bloodlust. There are no teary-eyed goodbyes or lingering hugs. He maintains his composure and simply winks at Ogrifina as she boards the plane. After the plane has taken off, however, Evgeny Klebakhin breaks down and weeps.

  Suited up in full Prizrak regalia, her abalest slung across her back and carrying a small drag bag filled with her gear, Ogrifina makes her way
through the small cemetery adjacent to the Moravian cathedral her nemesis has reportedly established as his hive. Cloaked by the darkness of night, she is soon able to locate the ossuary she’d pinpointed as her point of entry. The cathedral’s undercroft is accessible via a secret passageway connected to one of the ossuary’s dank tunnels. She switches on her helmet’s night vision optical system and begins her descent into the ossuary. Slipping through the catacomb’s narrow tunnels, which are lined on either side with unlit torches and the intricately arranged bones of long-dead villagers, Ogrifina blends seamlessly with the darkness surrounding her.

  “The Hishniki have no greater friend than the shadows, sol’nishka,” her father used to say. “Under the veil of darkness, you may move imperceptibly both before and after your job is completed. To succeed as a Hishnik is to seek out and embrace the darkness—to become one with it. An assassin who embraces the light of day is an assassin whose career will be short-lived. Therefore, you must eschew the light and find the darkness—let it engirdle you in its acherontic embrace. Become the darkness.”

  Ogrifina Voronina has become the darkness. With each silent step taken as she advances, she can feel her bloodthirst intensify. Though she struggled internally during her flight to Moravia with how she would handle this job’s contractual restrictions, her mind is now firmly decided. She will kill everything that stirs once she enters the cathedral—especially the one individual she is forbidden from eliminating. Her clan is extinct. The Kredo Krovi is now no more than a series of memorized words to her—a meaningless mantra. Her wrath is alive and beckoning to be sated. Tonight she will have her reckoning. Tonight her saga ends.

  She soon finds herself standing before a large wrought-iron door leading directly into the cathedral’s undercroft, and makes short work of the door’s decorative lock. The fact that this doorway is not heavily guarded raises an immediate red flag. Her instincts tell her that something isn’t right—that this mission isn’t quite what she was led to believe it would be. Yet she presses on undeterred, making her way down a long corridor and into the undercroft itself, where torches burn brightly along the walls. She flicks her helmet’s night-vision optical device off and steps silently through the doorway, hugging the undercroft’s tenebrous walls cautiously as she sidesteps behind a large marble column to scan the room for activity.

  All is deafeningly silent—too silent for an active hive. She reaches inside her cloak and softly grips one of her Kashtan’s handles. Suddenly, she hears a distant high-pitched chattering sound. Her eyes dart along the undercroft’s ceiling attempting to pinpoint the source of these strange squeaking sounds, which grow louder by the second. She soon spots something in the distance—small and black—flying toward her, the high-pitched squeaks growing louder as it approaches. When Ogrifina realizes what it is—a large bat with a small explosive device strapped to its body—she’s barely able to dive aside before the bat detonates mere feet away. The explosion sends chunks of the nearby limestone wall hurtling in every direction. Before the dust has fully settled, another bat-bomb swoops down, forcing Ogrifina to roll out of its path as it explodes, leaving a massive crater in the stone floor. She leaps to her feet, seeing several more bat-bombs hovering in the distance, and, withdrawing her Kashtans, opens fire on these bats, causing them to detonate on impact amidst a shower of exploded bat matter and shrapnel.

  Suddenly, a deep voice rises above the ringing silence left in the wake of these explosions. “Welcome to our humble home, Prizrak. We’ve been eagerly awaiting your arrival.” Ogrifina remains silent, taking cover behind another marble column to holster the Kashtans and load her arbalest. “Aww, it’s impolite to ignore your hosts, Wraith,” the voice sneers. “Perhaps you were expecting a warmer welcome? Well, fear not—your formal welcoming party will arrive to greet you shortly.”

  A large wooden door on the opposite end of the undercroft creaks open slowly. Ogrifina peers around the column, fixing her gaze on the open doorway and resting her index finger on her arbalest’s trigger, ready to squeeze at the first sign of movement. A deep roar is suddenly emitted from behind her. She jerks her body around just in time to see the orange-and-black blur of a massive Bengal tiger barreling toward her. Before she’s able to squeeze, the tiger leaps at her and sinks its fangs deep into her left shoulder, crushing her clavicle and tearing out a huge chunk of flesh and muscle. She screams out in agony as blood gushes profusely from her shoulder.

  “Don’t mind Mr. Nibbles,” the voice shouts—a voice she now knows belongs to Finbar “The Animal Trainer” Freiling. “He’s just so excited to have company.”

  Acting quickly and instinctively, Ogrifina yanks a flash bomb from her utility belt, squeezes her eyes tightly shut, and hurls it at the tiger’s feet. Blinded by the flash bomb’s detonation, Mr. Nibbles, whose chops are stained red with Ogrifina’s blood, growls menacingly and stumbles into a nearby wall.

  “No!” the Animal Trainer screams in protest as he rushes out from behind a statue of Saint Lazarus, brandishing an UZI. Ogrifina rolls behind a nearby pillar just as Freiling begins to spray the room wildly with bullets. Once he’s run out of ammo, he reaches into his boot and withdraws a stiletto switchblade, then charges recklessly toward Ogrifina. Before he’s within striking distance, Mr. Nibbles, still disoriented from the flash bomb’s detonation, lunges blindly through the air in another orange-and-black blur, knocking Freiling to the ground. The Animal Trainer lets out a bloodcurdling shriek as Mr. Nibbles begins to maul him mistakenly.

  With great difficulty, Ogrifina rises to her feet and watches the tiger tear its own master to shreds. A faint rattling sound can be heard emanating from Freiling’s throat as Mr. Nibbles devours his trainer’s flesh. Her first target effectively eliminated, she tears a swatch of cloth from her cloak and fashions a makeshift tourniquet around her damaged shoulder. She then goes through the open doorway on the undercroft’s opposite end and ascends a long set of winding stone steps that lead into the cathedral’s nave. She moves cautiously, her arbalest and drag bag slung across her back and a Kashtan at the ready in each hand.

  The cathedral is brightly illuminated with lit torches situated along its walls beneath grimy stained glass windows depicting the Via Dolorosa. Candles burn brightly around the altar. As Ogrifina steps through the nave’s entryway, she can see the back of a figure hunched slightly forward upon one of the center pews—the bald contour of a pale, liver-spotted head. She raises both Kashtans, aiming directly at the figure’s head, and approaches it cautiously from behind. The figure remains motionless as Ogrifina glides silently through the cathedral’s center aisle to inspect it. She hears the door she’d entered through suddenly slam shut behind her and ducks down beneath the pews.

  Crawling closer to the figure seated in the center pew, she realizes that it’s merely a waxen effigy of an elderly man. Strapped to its chest is a small black box upon which a red light flashes. Before she can leap to safety, the effigy erupts in a violent explosion, obliterating the pews around it in a cloud of splintering wood and unsettled dust. The body armor Ogrifina wears beneath her cloak takes the brunt of the impact, but tiny bits of shrapnel from the explosive device are able to pierce through her bodysuit’s ballistic nylon material. Ogrifina winces at the sharp, stinging sensations in her torso and legs where the shrapnel has penetrated deep into her flesh.

  Her helmet has also sustained substantial damage from the blast. She can feel the warm sensation of her own blood trickling down her left cheek where the helmet has fractured, and her ears, suffering from minor acoustic trauma, are filled with a deafening ring. A thick green fog of poisonous gas now begins to fill the cathedral. Disoriented yet vigilant, Ogrifina retrieves her Kashtans from the floor and rises unsteadily to her feet, ready to dance with target number two—The Mad Gasser. Fortunately, her helmet’s rebreather mechanism remains intact and appears to function despite the damage it sustained in the blast, enabling Ogrifina to shield her lungs from the chemical gas being pumped into the room.<
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  A figure emerges from a doorway beside the altar—a tall, thin man heavily clad in ballistic body armor, his face obscured by an antiquated gas mask. In his left hand, the Gasser clutches his signature Flit gun. A quavery nonagenarian voices issues from behind his mask.

  “Welcome, child, to my holy tabernacle of death,” the Gasser says as the cloud of chemical fog grows denser, making it impossible for Ogrifina to pinpoint her target’s position. She fires her Kashtans at random, blindly spraying lead in every direction amidst a cacophony of metallic clacking. When both magazines are empty, Ogrifina takes cover behind a pew to reload. But the Gasser advances on her through the fog with startling agility for his advanced age, wrapping a garrote around her neck from behind and twisting it tightly against her throat. With Ogrifina subdued, he reaches down with his right hand, unbuckling the straps of her helmet, and tears if from her head, cackling maniacally while his garrote constricts ever tighter around her throat.

  Just as Ogrifina can feel herself losing consciousness, the Gasser abruptly releases his garrote’s grip around her throat and begins to taunt her, “Breathe, child. Just a few deep breaths and this will all be over.”

  Ogrifina recalls how she felt on the night she knelt on the floor of the Hishniki hive, cradling her father’s immolated body, and is filled with a sudden cocktail burst of adrenaline and enmity. Without consciously sensing it, her body shifts into autopilot mode, opening a small pouch on her utility belt and retrieving an octagonal shuriken. She quickly reaches back and severs the Gasser’s right Achilles tendon, forcing him to stumble backward into a pile of splintered pew debris. Still holding her breath, she seizes this opportunity to grab her helmet and secure its rebreather mechanism over her mouth, enabling her to safely gasp for air. The Mad Gasser struggles to his feet and lunges toward her. But Ogrifina, reaching into her cloak and unholstering a Ruger Super Redhawk double-action revolver, has the drop on him, and empties six rounds into her opponent’s chest.