Codename: UnSub (The Last Survivors Book 2)

by Declan Finn

He almost allowed himself to smile at that. She had caught on to what skills he was looking for, and what kind of person he was hunting, and concluded that, after her little display with the Burners, she fit the bill perfectly.

  “I was at a networking meeting last night,” she continued. “I could give you at least fifty witnesses to my presence.”

  The spy nodded. “That’s a good start. If you have a computer, I can show you what I’m looking for. I uploaded a set of digital photos online.”

  She cocked her head. “You want the Hackers’ Union to see this, then?”

  “I sent it in a burst transmission, so not even Kaye Wellering can trace it. I’m only online for a few seconds, and my satellite connection is physically disconnected before and after all of my bursts. If I may?”

  Kraft pushed away from the desk, revealing a computer under the counter. He nodded appreciatively. Most San Francisco thieves weren’t very bright, or incredibly diligent, so the simple act of keeping the computer out of plain sight was half the battle in theft prevention. He stepped forward and bent down, tapping in a password.

  It was one of his disposable passwords, in case she had a keylogger program on her computer to call it up later. His primary password was something different, M-zero-one-r-a, the one and the zero representing the letters “I” and “o.” It was a combination impossible to crack without considerable research, and significant knowledge of the way his mind worked. Not even the vaunted Kaye Wellering knew the name of his deceased wife.

  Kevin stepped away so Nevaeh could take his place at the monitor. He leaned over her shoulder so he could see exactly what she studied, and for how long.

  Nevaeh Kraft scanned the photos after they came up. They were quite gruesome, even for San Francisco. “Interesting. I can see why you’d want to look at Exiles. Have you considered looking for Assassins? Former or otherwise?”

  “I have someone else looking into that.”

  She glanced away from the computer to look at him, and their eyes met from only inches away. The eyes glittered with amusement. “I didn’t think anyone could ‘have’ Kyle Elsen doing anything he doesn’t want to.”

  He grinned sheepishly. “Lucky guess, is it?”

  She shook her head. “This is something Kyle would want to look into, and he would be your first stop after finding the body. Otherwise, how would you know he didn’t do it himself? And once he heard about this, he’s going to come as close to AWOL as he probably ever has.”

  They looked into each other’s eyes a moment. Hers weren’t all that bad, he decided. “You’ve done your research, Nevaeh.”

  That light smile was back again, only one end of her mouth was quirked into a smile this time. She looked away from him, back to the screen. “I met him. My mother was an Assassin, remember? Anyone who had connections to the Assassins’ Guild back then has at least heard of Kyle Elsen, if not more—then again, I think the trick is to find someone who will admit to having such connections. Kyle was their brightest light, and their most dangerous killer. Since Dad was in government work, and Mom was a killer herself, they both thought that it would be good for me to see what some of that stuff was like. The Assassins liked to show off Kyle. I’m not even sure he noticed, and even if he did, he certainly didn’t care.” She stared at the screen in silence a moment as she changed to another frame. “He certainly didn’t care all that much when I came to pick up my parents’ bodies.”

  Kevin blinked. That would be an interesting conversation, but for another time. “So, what do you think about my killer?”

  “Well, let’s just put it this way—I hope he’s a killer for hire, because otherwise, he’s having far too much fun. More than even I think is healthy.”

  Chapter 5: A Lesson in Contempt

  It was a Monday. The women’s self-defense classes Kyle taught now happened on Mondays, and he had spent the morning completing his own exercise routine, running through the techniques he intended to practice with his students that afternoon. At first, they had been more than a little frustrating, but now many of them had started to benefit from their training, and they were grateful at how much less difficulty they were having on the streets, now.

  San Francisco was relatively quiet, and the only noise Kyle heard was some music echoing from the Ground Zero a few blocks away. He taught there, and he wanted the time to have a little lunch before they began for the afternoon. As word had spread about the classes, Kyle had found himself with a constantly increasing number of students, and he had gone from teaching one hour an afternoon to three hours.

  It was all basic technique so far, and the women had benefited from it, both physically and mentally. Many of them had been out of shape, and with Kyle’s help they had become fit, and certainly more confident. The hookers who had joined the classes said they benefited from the muscle control the exercise had taught them, and their time with their johns had become much less dangerous, at least in most cases. Two of his students had disappeared recently, and their friends had no idea where they had gone.

  Several of them had begun asking him to teach them more advanced technique, but he had gently explained that their level of proficiency with what they knew needed to improve significantly before he would be willing to teach them anything more.

  A moment later, a high-pitched giggle caught his attention, and he looked up. A teenager was standing in front of him, holding a knife. Three other kids flanked him. “Hi there. Wanna play?”

  Kyle frowned. He had more important things to do than be bothered with a group of psychotic teenagers. “Go bother someone else, friend. You won’t like the results here.”

  The giggler frowned. “Oh, I think I’ll like ‘em just fine.” He nodded at his friends, who moved to flank Kyle. “Particularly once we fry you.”

  Kyle’s frown deepened. Burners. One of the other three young men withdrew a lighter from a pocket as his friends moved to surround Kyle, and the giggler grinned. “’s not like there’s anything you can do about it. We beat you, we burn you, and then we go find someone else to play with.” He shrugged. “No big thing.”

  “Look at it however you choose…” Kyle shifted his weight as he spoke, preparing to defend himself. “Go away, or you’re dead.”

  The young men didn’t say another word. The one with the lighter launched himself toward Kyle, throwing a punch that the assassin stepped around with almost no effort, shoving the young man forward from his shoulder into his friend with the knife. The third stood there dumbstruck, staring at Kyle as if he had no idea what to do next.

  He had no chance to do anything except scream as Kyle kicked his knee out from under him.

  Kyle twisted past him, striking at the wrist of the one with the knife. A loud CRACK told the Assassin that the young man’s wrist was dislocated, and that man, too, screamed as he fell to the ground. His friends didn’t wait for Kyle to close on them, turning and running away as fast as their feet would carry them.

  The young Burner who had wielded the knife whimpered from his place on the sidewalk, and Kyle glanced down at him. “If your friends come back for you, tell them not to bother me again.”

  Without another word, he turned and continued down the street toward the Ground Zero. He wanted the time for a glass of water before he began instruction for the evening. That, and a short conversation with Mr. Anderson about the Burners’ presence so near the bar.

  ***

  The ‘Zero was just as loud as usual, and Mac was having a busy night behind the bar. He had gotten a few leads from the evening’s first customers, but nothing really worth much. There hadn’t seemed to be much else, and so he just served drinks and watched the room. Mickie was in the back working on her concoctions, and Lotus was researching the threat that the Hackers had recently made to the outside world.

  Mac didn’t understand what the hell “Masada” was a reference to, but he knew that the Hackers’ Guild took the program behind it very, very seriously. It scared the hell out of him, when he thought about it
. If someone were to take out San Francisco, the rest of the world would go with it.

  Naturally, Mac was afraid that someone was going to try to get control of it away from the Hackers. If the Children knew about it, they would probably have been attempting to batter down Alcatraz’ gates. Fortunately, they didn’t, and with a shrug he went back to mixing drinks.

  Kyle walked out of the VIP room a few moments later, his last class concluded for the evening. Without a word, he walked over to the bar, sitting down as Mac put a glass of water on the bar in front of him. He picked it up a moment later, taking a long drink.

  “So, Kyle, how are they doing?”

  The assassin shrugged. “Training is no substitute for practical experience.”

  Mac raised an eyebrow. “Huh?”

  “In other words, Mac, they are doing as well as they may without having had to use what they are learning for real.”

  “Oh.”

  Kyle took another drink of his water, and then placed the empty glass on the counter, pushing it toward Mac, who filled it. “They can spar with each other, and that will help them learn to use what they are learning, but nothing will substitute for actual experience.”

  Mac nodded. “So, in other words, if they don’t get in to a fight of some kind and have to use what you’re teachin’ ‘em, they can only do so much, right?”

  “Yes, Mac.” Kyle took another drink, and settled on his stool. A few moments passed, and it was as he took another sip of water that someone came over and tugged on his coat.

  “Mister Elsen, sir.” A voice sounded from his right, and Kyle looked down to see a small boy standing next to him.

  “Yes?”

  “My boss’ boss’ boss wants you to contact him, Mister Elsen.” The boy reached up with a scrap of paper, holding it toward Kyle’s hand. The assassin reached down and took it without a word.

  “Thank you, Mister Elsen.” The boy moved back in to the crowd without another word, leaving Kyle sitting on his stool with Mac.

  “Well, that was strange. What the hell was that kid talking about?” Mac’s voice sounded curious, and he was staring at the paper Kyle held.

  Kyle glanced down at it a moment later, unfolding it. “We will find out shortly, Mac.” He took a breath, holding the paper out to Mac. “I need you to find out who the contact e-number on this paper is for. If this is for a contract, I would like to know who I might be working for before I make direct contact.”

  Mac nodded, taking the sheet. “Got it, Kyle. I’ll give it to Lotus right now.” He looked at the number. “Although I’m pretty sure this is the number for a Broker. Can’t tell you which one, though.”

  “Thank you, Mac.”

  ***

  A few hours later, Lotus had told Kyle that the number belonged to one of the major Drug Brokers in the city. Kyle had used the number, and was unsurprised when the voice on the other end gave the warbled tones of a scrambling device. Only the Hacker’s Guild supposedly knew who the Brokers really were.

  “Mister Elsen. Good evening.”

  “I was informed you wished to speak to me?”

  “Yes, Mister Elsen. I am having difficulties with the Burners, and I wish to hire you to remove those difficulties. Their leadership is disrupting my business, and I want you to kill their leader.”

  Kyle nodded. “What are the circumstances?”

  “The Burners have been killing my employees, Mister Elsen, and they have been burning the drugs those employees had in their possession to ash.”

  Kyle nodded again. “Do you have a specific target that you wish me to deal with?”

  He had no answer for a moment, and then the Broker spoke. “I do not know who is responsible for their actions, Mister Elsen. I am willing to pay for any information you need to acquire, however, to complete the task I am hiring you for.”

  “Alright. You are familiar with my terms of contract?”

  The Broker paused.

  “I understand you are a professional, Mister Elsen, and a former member of the Assassins’ Guild. I will presume, therefore, that you operate under their terms of contract and payment?”

  Kyle nodded. “If you are familiar with the information, then you know I will give you proof of intent to complete the contract, but I will require at least forty percent of my fee up front.”

  The Broker cleared its throat. “That sounds a little extreme, Mister Elsen…”

  “I am the last living professional in this city.” Kyle’s tone was casual. “If you want me to take your contract, you will meet my terms.”

  The Broker nodded. “Understood, Mister Elsen. Please contact me with the information as to where you will want the money sent, and how much it will be to start.”

  Kyle nodded again. “I will contact you as soon as I have determined the target, and once I know what will be necessary to complete the contract.”

  “Very well, Mister Elsen. I ask that you do not take too long. I have already lost enough supply to those animals.” The signal ended.

  Kyle took a long breath, thinking for a moment. A contract to kill the head of the Burners’ organization... Being able to find out the man’s identity might be difficult enough, but killing him...

  He exhaled, stepping back out to the bar and stopping in front of Mac. “I need your sister to run a background for me, Mac.”

  Mac lowered the glass he was cleaning and nodded at the assassin. “Sure thing, Kyle. Who do you need to know about?”

  “The chief of the Burners, Mac.”

  Mac nearly dropped the glass he was holding. “Excuse me?”

  “As I said, Mac. The chief of the Burners.”

  Mac swallowed. “Kyle, that’s going to be very, very expensive, if she’s even able to get it. You know the Burners don’t keep records.”

  “Your sister has been able to get me material that has been just as difficult in the past, Mac. I’m sure she’ll be able to find this out for me without an extraordinary effort.” Kyle took a sip of water from his glass. “And my employer will be paying for Lotus’ work, Mac, so as long as you are reasonable about the fee, I think you will certainly get paid well for it.”

  Mac nodded, moving away. “Alright, Kyle. I’ll ask her to get to work on it immediately.”

  Chapter 6: Point of Origin

  (2083 - approximately 7 years before The Last Day)

  A voice spoke, pleading and a little agitated. “Alek, please listen to me. I’m telling you that this doctor has done this procedure before! He’s done it more than a dozen times, and every time, the person has come out looking… well…” the voice halted a moment, clearly sounding more than a little awkward.

  Another, younger voice answered. “Normal. Is that what you were going to say, Dad? That he’s ‘fixed’ all of those other albinos he’s done this procedure on? That he’s made them look like ‘normal, ordinary’ human beings? Why the hell do you have such a problem with what I look like, anyway? It’s my body, Dad! Not yours!”

  Both voices were clearly male, and from the hoarseness that both were showing to their speech, they had been arguing for quite a while. One was tall and thin—an albino with white hair, skin to match, and strange, pink-orange eyes.

  The man sitting across from him had his hands in his lap, and he was awkwardly shifting himself back and forth on his chair. He had short, mousy brown hair and dark brown eyes - he was overweight and of average height, but from the way he carried himself, he seemed to be a very small man.

  When it came to his son, however, things were different. It was clear this fight was making the man very uncomfortable, but he continued to speak regardless, certain he could convince his son of what he had already convinced himself of a few days earlier. “Alek, he can make you better… people will stop giving you strange looks, and they won’t be so afraid of you.”

  Alek sighed. This was not the first time he’d had this fight with his father, and he was certain it would not be the last. He looked down on the living room table at the doctor�
�s brochure and sighed. His father just didn’t know when to quit.

  “Dad, it never bothered Mom, and I have never had anyone giving me these ’looks’ you keep claiming you’re seeing! You’re the one who can’t seem to handle this! I don’t get it! What the hell do you think is so wrong with me, Dad?” He crossed his arms, looking his father in the eye, causing the man, after a moment, to flinch his gaze away. Alek chuckled as his strange eyes provoked their usual reaction in his father.

  “I don’t care if it never bothered your mother, Aleksandyr! I’m your legal guardian, now, and I say you’re going to have that surgery! It will help you fit in better with the rest of the world around you! You’re going to do it whether you like it or not, and that’s final!” His father’s voice had gone from normal volume to extraordinarily loud, and Alek was certain that the neighbors had heard almost every word his father had said.

  He sighed, nodding. “Yes, sir.”

  His father nodded and walked out of the room without saying another word. Alek sighed again, shaking his head. His father had only started to show his feelings about what Alek looked like after his wife had passed away. Around every corner, he seemed to think he saw another person staring in fear at his son—staring at him, horrified, at having such a creature for a son. Alek’s father was a man driven by his ego—driven by the approval others had for him, his appearance—his life, social and otherwise. Alek knew that, and he was disgusted by it. Until he got old enough to get out and live on his own, though, he would have to accept his father’s rulings about matters like this. That was the way of the world in his life, for now.

  A few days later, they had gone to see Dr. Yeager for the first time. He was a skin specialist—a dermatologist. Dad had explained the word to Alek as if he was a child, and it was more than a little offensive to Alek that he’d done it. Alek understood what was going on, and Doctor Yeager (unlike his father) had treated him with dignity and respect. Yeager had tried to be positive about the whole matter, but he knew that Alek’s father was pushing his son in to having the surgery, and he seemed to be reluctant, as well as uncertain, consequently, when discussing the matter.