John bit his upper lip. Got that covered, he thought as he reached into his pocket and covertly drew out his knife.
Moving fluidly, he kept up with the woman while glancing off to one side watching the street performers. John worked not to appear suspicious to the guards flanking her as he cupped the knife in his palm and used his thumb to work the blade free.
As John closed in, he analyzed all the possible scenarios. Cutting the strap would be easy. But getting away with the bag without alarming the guy bringing up the rear would be tricky. John would have to end up throwing that punch after all. But not to the face. These guys looked like they were built for security detail and knew how to defend themselves. It would have to be a well-placed punch to the throat or a knee to the crotch then he would haul ass and disappear among the masses.
It also helped that John knew the mindset of security guards. To them, anyone who was a threat would try to stay out of sight, at the perimeter of their line of vision. John figured it would make him seem less menacing if he appeared between them and made himself known. So, he veered to the right, bumping into the guard furthest behind, pretending it was an accident.
“Ah hell,” John said. “Sorry, man.”
The bodyguard gave him a nasty look, but answered, “No problem!”
Then just like that, the guard’s gaze turned back to the woman. John remained where he was, keeping stride with a few festival goers. By then, his target was just an arms length away.
He raised his hand.
That’s when a series of loud popping sounds filled the air. Someone had set off a string of firecrackers right behind them. Shrieks were followed by laughter just before the crowd surged.
John was shoved forward.
His hand plunged.
He did manage to cut the strap free from her shoulder.
But the blade didn’t stop there.
John had felt the sensation only once before—stabbing an enemy combatant through the breastbone. He felt something similar now as the knife entered the woman’s back and slid in next to her shoulder blade.
The blade was halfway inside her body before she screamed.
Chapter Six
As a wave of warm crimson flowed over his hand, John’s mind darted in several directions. In a split second, he assessed the danger of his situation knowing the bag should be his priority—grab it and run! But his instincts wouldn’t let him. That’s why he froze and peered down in horror at what he had done.
The woman was on her knees, bent over with her head nearly touching the ground. She was gasping, fighting for every breath while pressing against the bleeding wound in her back. Her hat had fallen off and was being trampled by the crowd of bystanders who were rushing up to help.
That’s when he caught sight of one of the bodyguards raising his right hand ready to plunge his knife into him. John brushed his arm away as he swiveled on one foot and raised the other leg before delivering a crushing blow with his heel to the guard’s throat.
The other guard approached from behind and drew back to throw his punch, which John was able to sidestep. He caught the man’s arm and locked it in his own. Then John pulled back and delivered a swift blow that connected directly between the man’s eyes. The guard stumbled backward and shook his head, struggling to regain his senses.
John considered the Sig Sauer in his holster but decided using it was not an option. A single gunshot into the crowd would cause even more pandemonium. His chances for escape were looking grim. In fact, with several people rushing up to investigate, John figured he might not finish his mission alive.
Wheeling back around, John noticed the guard with the massive neck was coming at him this time in a hunched over position, much like a linebacker. Unable to dodge the attack, John took the brunt of it but managed to remain standing. As the other guard with the knife struggled to wrestle him to the ground and slice his throat, two other men from the crowd stepped forward. But John could tell from snippets of their conversation they were confused—unsure who had stabbed the woman.
John wanted to avoid seriously injuring anyone, but that idea was fleeting. These men would likely kill him, which meant he had to be able to do the same if he wanted to come out on top. With that stark reality, he tightened the grip on his knife and plunged it into the bigger guard’s wrist as he fought for a hold on John.
The guard howled in pain, dropped his knife and pulled his hand away, ripping opened the wound. Without the time to correctly re-orient his grip on his knife, John settled for using it as an additional force behind his next punch. This one was directed at the smaller guard, still coming to join the fight. He partially dodged the punch, John’s fist just managing to clip him on the shoulder. John didn’t give the guy time to retaliate. He brought his knee up high into his stomach. When he doubled over, John caught him in a headlock and applied excruciating pressure.
You have to, he thought. New job, new ballgame…new rules.
John closed his eyes, and repositioned his hands around the guards head, and violently jerked it to the right. Due to the melee all around him, he didn’t hear the man’s neck snap, but he felt it—a grinding sort of snap that made him cringe.
As John dropped the body, the two men from the crowd backed off. Giving him just enough time to notice the massive guard was coming at him again. He landed a clubbing blow with his right forearm straight across John’s face. He felt blood splatter, some of it his own. But John was fortunate the idiot had used his injured hand and pulled his punch.
John only stumbled a bit before regaining his balance then threw a brutal right-handed jab that caught his attacker in the nose. There was an immediate explosion of blood as the guard’s nose broke. He stumbled back and slammed into the side of a nearby building with blood running down his face in a scarlet current.
Trying to appear as casual as he could in the midst of the ring of people who now were enjoying watching the fight, John strode over to the guard and pinned him against the wall. With his adrenaline flowing, his first reaction was to thrust the knife into the man’s jugular vein and be done with it. But if John had the chance to not kill, he was always going to take it. Not to mention that bystanders were watching his every move.
He delivered a short, harsh blow to the guard’s chest. When his head hitched forward, John caught it in his hands and slammed it hard against the storefront wall. The man’s eyes rolled up in his sockets as his entire body went limp.
John stepped away and closed his knife. Slipping it into his pocket, he turned back toward the woman who now was bleeding out on the pavement. He was hopeful when he noticed two ladies were kneeling down stroking her hair and whispering words of encouragement. While approaching, he noticed her face was turned away. Then John knelt down to check her pulse.
Shit, he thought, feeling legitimately sick. She’ll be dead within minutes. I probably punctured her lung…
He loathed himself when he reached out and gently took the leather bag.
I could pull her to the side and try to get help, he thought. I have to, don’t I?
That’s when someone pointed and hollered, “That’s him… he’s the one who stabbed her. Now the thief is stealing her purse!”
John rose to his feet. Gripping the bag, he ran the fingers of his free hand over the butt of the Sig Sauer freeing it from its holster.
Then, as he started forward, he saw her face.
His heart seemed to stop beating for a moment. No, he thought. That doesn’t even make sense. There’s no way…
But when he turned back, he knew his eyes had not deceived him.
Maria…
A wave of nausea washed over him. At the same time, the ramifications of what he had done danced in his head as he rushed through the crowd waving the gun at anyone who tried to stop him.
Was she part of it? Had she waited for him to leave and then slipped out of the hotel on her way with her own agenda?
Picturing Maria waltzing past the cathedral while he had stepped
into the confessional then proceeded on her way to the hat shop infuriated him.
What the hell is going on?
He supposed he might be able to get that answer and more when he finished his assignment.
John tightened his grip on the bag as he pushed deeper into the crowd. His conscience tore at him. It was the first time in his life he had ever doubted a decision he had made while in the middle of a mission, but he pressed on—too late to turn back!
Just as John veered left down an alley, he heard the shrill screams of sirens approaching closer and closer. After wiping the blood mixed with sweat out of his eyes, he slipped the gun back into the holster. But before he caught his breath, John felt a wave of panic wash over him when realized he was trapped inside the city of Barcelona and had no idea which way to turn. He bent over with his hands on his knees and inhaled deeply several times as he worked to fight off his feeling of claustrophobia.
Chapter Seven
When John saw the reflection of red and blue lights off the side of the building, he drew in one last deep breath then rushed down the alleyway still gripping the bag to his side. Suddenly, he winced. For the first time, he realized his injuries might be more than superficial. Had the guard cracked his ribs? He paused for a moment to assess his pain. I haven’t coughed up blood, he thought. The ache subsided when he stood still, but that wasn’t an option.
Moving on, he ducked behind a dumpster and stepped over a dead cat. He almost vomited from the odor but felt reassured no one would look for him there. When he reached into his back pocket and discovered his cell phone still inside, he pulled it out. John’s jaw fell open when he saw the screen was shattered. Feeling the heat of frustration, he pressed all the buttons hoping to revive it, but the screen remained black. FUCK!
John leaned back against the cool wall behind him, needing a moment to collect his thoughts and come up with a plan. The sound of more sirens approaching was almost blocked out by the pounding of his quick heartbeats. Pressing on the left front pocket of his jeans, he was delighted when he discovered his instructions were still there. After pulling the paper out he peeked around the side of the dumpster. The alley was empty, so he slid out into the open before stepping under a streetlight.
Proceed to the fountain near the Plaça del Duc de Medinaceli. Someone will be sitting on a bench. Approach them and ask for the name of a good café that stays open late. If they answer PANDORA, give them the bag and leave quickly.
Holding his aching side, John proceeded down the alleyway and stepped into the street. He relaxed, for a moment, when he noticed he had reached an area of town where the streets weren’t blocked off for the festival. But he was lost and had no idea whether he should turn right or left. Glancing one way then the other, he opted for the bar halfway down the block. He could see the door was propped open by a metal folding chair and heard laughter and music coming from inside.
He walked through the door trying to appear as casual as possible—just another American tourist. When the barkeep stepped up to take his order, he gave John a sideways look. When John recalled his face was covered with blood, and he was carrying a woman’s purse he felt a bit sheepish. Often in moments like this, John relied on his linguistic skills. So, he explained in perfect Spanish that someone had stolen his girlfriend’s bag, and he had hunted them down and now was on his way to meet her in the plaza. First, though, he needed a drink to settle his nerves.
The barkeep nodded and handed John a shot of whiskey.
John slammed back his drink and licked his lips. After dropping a few euros on the bar, he asked for directions to the Placa del Duc de Medinaceli explaining he had gotten lost while chasing the thieves. The barkeep nodded an obliged. Unfortunately, the Plaça del Duc de Medinaceli was nearly a mile away. And with the pain in his side, it was not going to be an easy trip on foot.
Back out on the street, John saw the cops closing in. The police cars were less than two blocks away. That’s when it hit him.
Three murders, he thought. Holy shit…
It made him feel sick. It made him feel lost and alone. His side was killing him, and he was rattled—out of his element. That was hard for John to admit, given that he had been in some truly horrific situations while in the military.
As he came to the end of the block, he was hopeful when he saw two teenage boys sitting under the canopy of what looked like a general store. They were both perched on motorbikes that were beat up and too small for him. But he couldn’t be picky. And after killing three people, the prospect of grand theft auto really didn’t trouble him all that much.
He rushed over and gave the smaller of the two boys a hard shove that sent him tumbling off the back of the bike and onto the ground.
Not my finest moment, John thought as he threw his leg over the seat.
The kid’s friend threw a punch that bounced off John’s shoulder. Ignoring the boys completely, he kicked the bike to life. He could barely hear their voices calling him a variety of names as John peeled out and sped away.
With the directions to the plaza memorized, John puttered along at a reasonable pace, nearly colliding with a few people as he advanced. When he reached a point where the crowd was thinner he rolled his hand forward—surprised at the response from the bike’s engine, he pegged the speedometer.
Halfway down the next block, there was a small bottleneck in the traffic where the police were setting up a barricade. To make matters worse, the smoke from the fires drifting down the street was blinding. It billowed out dangerously, and for a moment, John could not see where he was going. Still, with the certainty that he was moving along at a quicker pace than walking would allow and he was in less pain, stealing the bike was worth the risk.
Yeah, but what about killing Maria? he asked himself. Was that worth it?
He shook the thought away. Her death had been a freak accident and while he would likely beat himself up over it later, he simply didn’t have the time right now. The two guards, he’d get over easily. He’d seen the looks in their eyes; they would have killed him. So really, John saw that as basic battle-etiquette…kill or be killed.
Besides, that was behind him. Now, he had to avoid being captured, make the hand-off and escape with his life.
Chapter Eight
John squeezed the breaks and veered to his right to avoid the blockade. Ignoring the shrill sound of the policeman’s whistle, he sped on. By that time, he could recite the instructions word-for-word.
Proceed to the fountain near the Plaça del Duc de Medinaceli.
Easy enough, now that he had gotten directions.
Someone will be sitting on a bench. Approach them and ask for the name of a good café that stays open late.
That seemed easy too, but then again, he had nearly screwed up identifying the right person in the hat shop.
If they answer PANDORA, give them the bag and leave quickly.
Gladly, he thought. Initially, John had been excited about the job and was very motivated to make it a success. Now, after all he had been through, he was just focused on finishing the mission and wondered how he was going to escape being captured by the police or killed for making a mistake.
He continued to expertly maneuver down the street while squeezing the bag tightly against the hand grip. He was sure he looked silly riding a motorbike that was far too small with a purse in his hand—but then again, there were very few people in the otherwise-entertained crowd that would pay much attention except the police.
Finally, after taking a right at the end of the block, John could see the Plaça del Duc de Medinaceli up ahead. It was a simple square plaza located near the center of the city. Now, John was able to spot the ornate street lamps that lined the parameter of the space.
There was a break in the crowd ahead of him—sweet! A single trail of people were walking into the square, but that was the only foot traffic. Finally, John used his heel to kick down the stand and left the motorbike on the sidewalk. He hoped the kid he’d stolen it from was
motivated enough to search and eventually find it there.
As he turned away, he caught sight of his reflection in a storefront window. Smears of blood were on his forehead and cheek. He tried wiping it off but only made it worse. With his gaze cast down, John fell in with the group of Asian tourists walking into the plaza. His heart skipped a beat when he saw a commotion up ahead, fearful it was the police searching for him. He stopped and began to turn around, then he realized it was just a street vendor selling trinkets.
As he entered the plaza, he noticed the moon was full and cast a pale shadow here and there. He spotted the fountain right away. It was not quite at the center of the park, so if one wasn’t familiar with the area, it could be easily missed. The plaza was quite impressive—open spaces speckled with green shrubbery. He figured the towering palms reminded people that when Barcelona wasn’t awash in the fires of the Saint Joan Festival, it was actually a pretty chill place. The space matched the feel of the rest of the city, but on a day like today, the fact that it was nearly empty made it seem like heaven to him.
He made a beeline for the fountain. Before searching for the person the instructions had mentioned, John knelt at the water’s edge. After glancing over his shoulder to make certain no one was watching, he washed the blood from his hands and did his best to wipe it free of his face. He looked at his reflection in the water. Satisfied he didn’t appear that he had just stepped out of a horror movie, he rose to his feet.
John noticed the bag, also had a few blood splotches on it. Bending down, he did his best to clean it off too, but the stains had already set in. While he scrubbed, he felt something small and rectangular inside. He was surprised. This was the first time he had been tempted to see what was so important. Whatever it was, it felt small and insignificant.
Now, he was prepared to see who was waiting for his delivery, so John scouted out the fountain. There were two benches located on each side. On one of them, three women were sitting, cackling wildly at something two men that stood in front of them were saying.
Caught Fire Page 3
