by Declan Finn
The redhead turned and charged in Alek’s last known direction…and ran into several Burners, ready to kill.
One tried to clothesline the killer. The redhead was stepping forward on his left foot at the time, and caught the incoming strike with his left hand. He pulled the arm down as his right knee came up, higher than normal, breaking the arm. Another came at him, wound up for a wild haymaker, when the redhead did a small hop, delivering a hammerfist into the man’s chest with one hand; he pivoted and drove another into the other side of his heart, inducing a heart attack. The redhead shot under the outstretched arm and kept moving.
All the people coming at the redhead barely slowed him. He dealt with each quickly, efficiently, and in the most painful ways imaginable for such a short amount of time. Someone got in his way; he crushed the man’s windpipe with an elbow. A woman tried, and he simply jabbed his thumb into her palate, causing the Burner to swallow her own tongue, choking her to death. A throwing knife whizzed past his head through the air. He grabbed it. The redhead grabbed it and tossed it into the kidney of a passerby.
Six Burners jumped him at once. He literally ripped off one of their testes, made another choke on it, used one hand to rip off a third’s face with a bear claw, while driving the elbow of the same arm into the throat of a fourth. Even as he did it, his opposite hand was moving with a palm strike in to someone’s nose, driving the cartilage into the Burner’s brain, then segued into a chop that broke the neck of number six.
After that, all was quiet.
Kyle saw the display of carnage, and knew why the man seemed familiar. He moved like the man who trained him, and Kyle knew who it was—Derek Ruedes.
Derek had told Elsen the truth. Derek wasn’t the killer. But Derek had trained him.
Kyle went back to looking at Kevin, and Anderson had cleared a path, littering the park with any Burner that got in his way, and some that didn’t.
Three minutes later, it was over. The only living Burner left in the park was Frank-- assuming he had survived having a tree fall on him—and Kevin, Kyle and the redhead were the only men left alive.
Kyle collapsed his rifle into a small suitcase, and then climbed down from the roof. He found Kevin waiting for him. A rifle was slung over Kevin’s shoulder, and his helmet was tucked under one arm. The spy was smiling.
“Well, that was fun.”
Kyle took in Anderson’s smiling face, and restrained the urge to hit him. His teeth were gritted behind his closed lips, and the hand he was holding the rifle case in had white knuckles. “Why are you here, Mr. Anderson?”
“Because not only do you have a serial killer as a head of your fan club who’s killing off your targets, but he also bugged the Ground Zero with Hacker tech. When the fracas started, I didn’t want some Burner deciding that, when in doubt, burn the Windmill as a distraction.”
Kyle was about to object when a motion in the corner of his eye caught his attention. He dropped to one knee, drawing his pistol, while Anderson unslung his rifle, both focused on the same target.
And there, at the corner of the windmill, was the redhead. The man stood perfectly still, standing at attention with a military precision that neither Kevin nor Kyle had seen in years. At this range, Kyle could tell he was closer to twenty than eighteen.
“Master Assassin, sir,” the young man said with a deep bow, “I am sorry for interfering with your kill. I thought I could interject myself into the affair without upsetting the situation. I was apparently wrong.”
Assassin and Exile blinked, and slowly lowered their weapons. Kyle stood, not expecting courtesy. Courtesy in San Francisco was like a professional killer—there was a possibility it existed, but never expected. “Who are you?”
“My name is Emmanuel, Master Assassin.”
“You’ve interfered with my kills.”
Emmanuel shook his head politely. “I would hate to disagree with you, but I have not. I have left payment along the pay scale of the Assassin’s Guild.”
Kyle blinked, then thought a moment. There had been those mysterious payments left behind at the Ground Zero, each of which were 55% of what Kyle would have made on each kill. The Guild had taken a 55% cut on each kill an Assassin made.
Emmanuel was paying Kyle as though Kyle was the Assassin’s Guild, and the redheaded serial killer was a member.
“You are not an Assassin, nor will I allow you to be.”
The redhead cocked his head. “I didn’t say I was, Master Assassin. I simply figured that since I was killing your targets, I should at least pay you along the same lines. I was trying to be respectful. After all, I wasn’t doing it to piss you off, and you would have gotten around to it yourself sooner or later…” He smiled. “I just got there sooner.”
Kyle was about to reply, but what was there to say? The only thing that came to mind was, “Why?”
“Because,” Anderson answered, “he was looking for a challenge. And what better challenges than those given to the city’s last Assassin?”
Kyle looked from Emmanuel to his associate and back.
The redhead nodded. “Perfectly true. But, I concluded that doing it arbitrarily would incur your ire. Thus, I left the payments.”
Kevin nodded. “Basing yourself on the best model of killer you can find?”
The serial killer smiled and nodded. “Exactly.”
Kevin smiled and laughed, clapping the assassin on the shoulder. “Oh, heck, Kyle, I like him. He’s got style.”
Kyle looked at his acquaintance and blinked, honestly confused. The Exile had been hunting this killer for weeks, and now he was impressed? “What are you talking about?”
“Well, imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. And he’s done a darn thorough job of trying to stay on your good side. And, hell, it’s not his fault we didn’t understand him sooner. In fact, I think he should be rewarded. Don’t you?”
“How so?”
“Well, I think a little token of appreciation would be polite. A little something? After all, he’s the only person in this wretched city who took into consideration your thoughts on killing, and he does seem to admire your work.”
“What would you suggest?”
“Hmm,” Anderson began, as though thinking. “Your gun.”
Kyle blinked. “My gun,” he repeated in a toneless echo
“How about we give him an actual Assassin’s gun? From an actual Assassin.”
“My gun,” Kyle echoed again, looking at his pistol.
Kevin reached over and grabbed the pistol by the barrel, then lifted it from Kyle’s numb fingers. The Assassin thought about stopping him, but didn’t want to.
Kevin tossed the pistol to Emmanuel, and the serial killer snatched it out of the air by the grip, and looked down at it with a touch of wonder. “An Assassin’s gun…” he said with a touch of surprise. “Wow,” he added, with less wonder and more of a statement.
His other hand cupped around the one with the gun, and his grip tightened with more surety.
“Why don’t you fire off a few rounds?” Kevin helpfully suggested.
Suddenly, Emmanuel’s face went from one of wonder to a small, cold smile. His eyes flicked to Kevin, and only his wrists moved. With a blur, he re-angled the gun to Kevin’s face and pulled the trigger.
No one blinked as the trigger clicked.
Emmanuel stiffened, and the gun tumbled from his hands. Each palm was red with tiny pinpricks from where they had held the weapon. Emmanuel stumbled back, and then fell to the ground, his body in convulsions.
The last thing Emmanuel saw as his body shook like a seizure was Kevin Anderson crouched over him and smiling. “Didn’t you know? Assassin weaponry comes encoded with the Assassin’s DNA. If someone other than an Assassin uses it, they get jabbed with needles loaded with neurotoxin. Quite poisonous. Have a nice day.”
Kevin took the pistol between two figured and lifted it so Kyle could see it. “Your weapon, sir.”
Chapter 24: Red Tape
February 29th, 2094. London, England.
“Can I go home now?”
The official looked down at her passport. “Amanda Esmarelda Rohaz, right?”
Mandy’s light blue eyes narrowed at him. She tucked a length of black hair over one ear, and tried to count to ten. “You can call me Lieutenant.”
The British Foreign Office official gave her a tight smile. “Of course, Lef-tenant. You’ve caused quite a stir here.”
Say it one more time, I dare you. Then I’ll stir your internal organs with a blender. “I saved some girls from white slavery in the Islamic Republic of France.”
“We don’t like to call it White–”
“Call it sexual slavery if you like. Don’t care. Don’t want to care. Won’t care. I have a ton of money – literally – that I want to get around to spending.”
“Ah, yes. The gold. About that.”
Mandy leaned forward, and pointed at her face. “See this? This is not another pretty face. This is someone who had to gut one of her own colleagues because he was trying to get revenge for his brother. I had to go through Hell to get those girls and the gold. If you or any of your fat, overpaid British cretins try to take off with my money, I’m doing to throw you out your cushy 14th story window. Are we clear?”
***
“But dad, why can’t I kill the FO fucker?” Mandy asked outside the building.
“Because dear,” Major Rohaz explained to her, “they’re one of our better paying clients.”
Mandy growled in frustration. She had expected to land back in the UK with the container of gold and girls, and be on the first plain to San Francisco, via the mercenaries’ private airfield in DC.
But noooo. There’s “gun law” this, and “customs” that, and “international law” the other thing. Next time, I’m just going to nuke France, and plant a flag over what’s left. Then I’ll be a sovereign nation, and you can take it up with my state department.
“You can stop fantasizing about ruling over a nuked France now,” Rohaz told her.
Mandy blinked. “How did you–”
“You’ve had that fantasy since you were six,” Rohaz stated. “You can’t cut the red tape with a stiletto.”
“Damnit,” she muttered. “Oh, Dad, come oooonnnn.”
Rohaz chuckled. “Sorry about that. But if you’re going to hold onto the money, you have to stay there.”
Mandy simply growled. Rohaz just plain laughed. “Mandy, just be patient. I know it’s not your forte, but your patience will add up to money.”
“Meh.” She took a deep breath, and let it out. “How’s Kevin?”
“Thank you. I’ve been waiting for that. Well, aside from the serial killer, he was fine, last time I checked.”
Mandy blinked. “The serial what-now?”
There was a click, and a beep. Her comms had gone completely dead. That was odd.
“I said serial killer.”
Mandy smiled, and turned straight into her father’s hug. “Hey, Dad.”
***
After the two of them had sat down at one of the nearby British tea shops, Rohaz started to explain. There was a lot of confusion and backtracking, since it had been some time since Major Rohaz had been required to write up a full situation report. He didn’t even like writing up quarterly reports.
“But he managed to trick the man into trying one of Kyle’s guns.”
Mandy winced. That was mean of Kevin. Really mean. Death by neurotoxin might have been “quick,” but far, far from painless. But it fit well with what she knew of Kevin. He would proudly, and happily give someone a chance, up until the point when they pulled something, then he ended them with extreme prejudice.
Mandy frowned. “But I have a question, though. What the hell would Kaye Wellering be up to by bugging the bar? Alienating the triplets isn’t usually her style.”
Rohaz shrugged, and leaned back in his wire-framed chair. “I’ve never been able to understand her, or her ’Omar Zephyr’ character.”
Mandy nodded slowly. She stirred her tea absently. “How long has she been around, Dad?”
“This generation of Wellerings? No idea. Keep in mind, we had some of the earlier Guild technology built by the hackers. I may have dealt with her father? I think. I was never clear on the genealogy.”
Mandy nodded, still staring into her tea. “Of course.” She took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Follow along with me, and make sure I get everything right. The first target is someone Kyle was about to do in. In fact, from what you mentioned, Kyle was going to get the guy in a matter of hours. Heck, the corpse had a few hours to live, one way or another. This killer, Emmanuel, then paid Kyle the money as though he were the Guild itself, supposedly as a way of showing respect …though given the respect shown at the end, Emmanuel really just wanted Kyle to not kill him until he was ready.”
Rohaz pondered this a moment as he popped his cigar between his lips and lit up. “A reasonable presumption.”
Mandy took a sip of her tea, then held the cup aloft, studying the pattern. “He wants a challenge. He wants several of them. If Kaye were behind this, being paid by Emmanuel, wouldn’t she have become suspicious of the bodies hitting the floor? We know she would have monitored the feed, if only to take advantage of being paid for collecting data she might not otherwise have. She would have known something was up by the second body. Is it possible this guy got his hands on Hacker technology without her knowing about it?”
Rohaz shook his head. “Unlikely. The bugs were cleared out of the Ground Zero, and they were certainly Hacker equipment. There’s no doubt about it.”
Mandy shook her head. “You misunderstand. I’m sure it was Hacker tech. He’d need that to get past the triplets. Emmanuel wouldn’t have been a Hacker, you think?”
Rohaz shook his head. “Not possible. Kaye would have made her displeasure known. Even if she had sent a harshly worded memo, she would have sent some sort of measure in regards to the loss of one of her own. Even if the bastard was a murderer.”
“Great.” She sighed. “Oh well. Do me a favor. Keep an eye on Kaye for a while. Make sure she doesn’t make a move on Kevin. After I clear up this thing with the British, the French, and whoever else gets in my way, I’m going to pay San Francisco a visit.”
Chapter 25: Sympathy for the Devil
March 3rd, 2094
Despite the noise of the bar, Derek Ruedes heard the slide of the dagger pulled from a leather sheath behind him. He sighed, waved to the bartender for two more, and said, “Kyle, please, have a seat.”
Kyle Elsen sat next to his former classmate, sitting on Derek’s left side. In Kyle’s right hand was his dagger, which Kyle slid up under Derek’s jacket. The long blond hair was loose today, which helped cover what Kyle was doing. “You lied to me, Ruedes.”
Derek shook his head and sipped his shot. He glanced over at the man he had once so virulently hated. Kyle was smart, sure. He was brilliant. He was also flakier than a snowstorm and probably more broken than an action figure thrown from the Pyramid building. He went back to his drink, finishing it off as the next two arrived. He slid one down to Kyle without even looking at him. “Are we back to Emmanuel?”
“You knew who he was?”
Derek shrugged, still not looking at Kyle. “I figured he was a possible. He was always possible. Then again, so are half the psychos I’ve trained since I was thrown out of the Guild.”
“You didn’t mention him when I asked you before.”
“If you had asked me about the laundry list of every nut I’ve ever trained in my life, we would have been there all day.” Derek scoffed. “Trust me, I wasn’t going to be comfortable like that after a few hours. Besides, there are some things that I have to be discreet about.”
Kyle leaned in, his voice cold and empty. “You think Emanuel was worth dying over?”
Derek rolled his eyes, looked at Kyle, and leaned right back in, going almost nose-to-nose with Kyle. “He had the coloring of Kaye Wellering,
and tech from the Hacker’s Guild. He also had the money to burn. Trust me when I say that I had reasons for not pissing him off.”
Kyle blinked. It was a natural blink, and didn’t seem like one of shock. However, Kyle was good at faking. “You think he was a relative?”
Derek smirked. “Not out of the realm of possibility. Emmanuel gave me no reason to say no, and he gave me no reason to get on his bad side. If I was wrong, the worse that could happen is that you killed me sooner or later. But if I got on the bad side of the bitch-queen of Alcatraz, she could do much, much worse to me.” He raised his shot to Kyle. “Yes, there are some things worse than death, Kyle. You are not the scariest little bastard in the universe. You merely kill people. Sure, you might torture me to death, but Kaye could keep me alive. Maybe forever, for all I know.”
Kyle growled a little, probably disgusted and disappointed that Derek hadn’t given him a good enough reason to kill him. Derek chuckled at that.
Derek turned back to the bar, drank his shot down, and stood, completely ignoring Kyle’s blade. “You do what you like, Kyle. I don’t care anymore. Because if I’m right about Emanuel, then I’m not the one on Kaye Wellering’s shit list.”
He grinned. “Kevin Anderson is.”
Kyle slid his knife away and rose. “I have business.”
Derek nodded as pleasantly as he could. “Oh yes. Good luck with that. I hear you’re going after the head of the Burners. The little shits are bothering the hell out of me. Outside of that…” He frowned, thinking over the various and sundry ways this could go. He sighed. The enemy of his enemy was a good distraction. “I think the Forsaken might be a place to start.”
Kyle stopped, then turned, slipping back to simply confused. “Excuse me?”
“No, I won’t.” Derek swiveled around on his bar stool and faced Kyle.”Look. I don’t hang out in the nice places like you do, going back and forth to your bar and the Guild Hall.” He scoffed. “In the neighborhoods I’ve been in, I’ve had to fight off my share of Forsaken and Burners. They’ve run into each other from time-to-time, but they’ve never interacted. Not even a cross word. Strange for two groups who have it in their mission statement to kill people. Don’t you think? Hang out in the Muir woods long enough, I’m sure you can put three in the head of their leader.” He shrugged. “Then again, considering how well the night in the park went, he might be there right now.”
