by Nick Thacker
Roderick screamed in frustration, then turned toward the girl. She anticipated however, and turned the same gun toward him. He froze, then immediately started backpedaling. She fired, twice, but both shots flew wide. Gareth saw her lurch forward into action, her long, thin legs jumping down the set of stairs and onto the gravel driveway.
She tried to aim and fire, but Roderick had already turned and was running full-tilt to the Chrysler. She would be on him in seconds, but he was fast. Faster than his large frame gave him credit for, and within another second he was in the car, starting the engine.
Latia shot out the windshield, then turned the weapon up and aimed at Roderick, but the man was covering his eyes with one arm while steering with the other, and he was already driving directly toward her. Latia was forced to duck and roll out of the way, and the Chrysler made a wide arc in the driveway and spun out near the grass, fishtailing wildly until the front of the large sedan was pointing downhill. He floored it, shooting gravel and rock chips up and into the air, some hitting the window Gaspar Likur had previously been sitting in front of.
The car bucked and bumped down the driveway and onto the dirt path, but Roderick only sped up. Gareth had crawled out of his space beneath the edge of the fountain now and was on his knees, delicately poking at his side and testing the wound.
Latia was there, standing over him. Aiming down at him with his own pistol.
28
“WAIT,” HE SAID. HE HELD up his hands. “Just wait. Let’s talk about this. I don’t want to kill you, and I don’t think you want to kill me, either.”
“To kill is the only way to make this right,” she said.
“But I’m not the person you need to kill,” he shot back. “Am I?”
He stood up, knowing that his extra head over her could be used as a tactical advantage, and in this negotiation he figured he could use whatever help he had. She was smart, standing far enough away that he couldn’t swing out and hit her, or take her weapon, and she was standing with one leg just behind the other. Leverage, prepared for the shot, and — with her training, whatever that might be — she couldn’t miss.
Finally, after a tense moment of standoff, she shook her head. “No. You are not the one who needs to be killed.”
“Good. Got that out of the way. Now, do you trust me enough to drive us out of here? You tell me where to go, and we end this. Together.”
She looked at him another few seconds, the gun still steady in front of her, pointed at him. She sighed, exasperated. “Yes. That is fine.”
He let out a breath he’d been holding. “He has a car, in the garage,” he said, pointing. “I’ll find the keys inside the house. I don’t know what kind of car it is, or if it works, but it’s our best shot. Unless you have a helicopter.”
She shook her head. “My sister has the helicopter.”
Gareth did a double-take. “Wait, really?” He assumed this woman was not must of a joker, and this was hardly a time for joking.
Suddenly it made sense. Of course, he thought. This is how she’s been everywhere before us. First, there wasn’t just one ‘she.’ Latia had a twin sister, somewhere out there. And apparently the twin sister was a capable helicopter pilot, and owned or had access to one. Not an unheard of thing, especially in this country. It would be far quicker, even having to stop and refuel at tiny airstrips along the way. They could skip airports almost entirely, so there wouldn’t have been any driving time to catch a plane.
It was a perfect mode of transportation, actually. And if all of the clients were Russian and located relatively close to one another geographically, their travel could be cut down to hours, instead of days.
Which meant they’d been ahead of Gareth and Roderick from the beginning, and there was no way they could have caught up to them. Which meant that by the time the two of them were driving to the airport in Yakutsk, then catching a plane ride to Vladivostok, the sisters would have reached their first destination, one of them getting off here while the other flew to the next destination. They would have had time to observe the clients, their targets, with just about all the time in the world.
It was a perfect plan, and Gareth realized they had just gotten lucky in finding Likur just as Latia was about to make her move. He remembered the way she’d stood up, in the forest, staring back at him.
She could have shot me then, he knew. He’d felt it in the moment, the shudder and slight recognition of how close he’d been to death. But she didn’t.
She hadn’t taken the shot, and for all he knew she hadn’t been planning to take the shot. She’d stood up, knowing that he’d see her, but she hadn’t shot.
He thought about it. If she wanted to remain undetected, she should have just stayed put, lying on the ground and watching them interact with the man. She would have missed her 8:58 appointment anyway, but she wouldn’t have put herself in danger by blowing her cover.
What did it mean? Gareth couldn’t figure it out. It was another in a long line of unsolved mysteries about this mission. Who is Latia, and what does she really want? And why did she allow herself to be spotted by me?
He found the keys inside the house, exactly where he’d have stowed them. On a tiny hook near the door in the entryway, sitting alone on a whole line of tiny hooks. He had to step over the dead facedown body of Gaspar Likur, but felt no remorse for the man’s death. He’d seemed to be eagerly awaiting it earlier, and besides — Gareth had no time for mourning. He didn’t even know the man. It did seem odd to him, however, that he still felt nothing seeing him there, all the life removed from his old body.
He swiped the keychain and ran toward the garage. The door was latched shut from the inside, and when he pulled it open and pushed the button to open the outer door he saw Latia standing there, next to the car.
“This will work,” she said.
He smiled. “Yes, yes it will.”
The car was a Russo-Balt, and looked like it had been shined and detailed an hour ago. Perfect tires, chrome accents, and a beautiful matte blue color. The facade was sleek, and resembled some sort of attack helicopter. He walked up to it and swung the driver’s side door open, then slid in. He adjusted the seat to account for his long legs, then got comfortable. Why not enjoy the ride while you can? he thought.
Latia even seemed impressed with the vehicle, and she rubbed down the interior of her door as she stepped inside. Leather and wood — probably both real — everywhere, and an aftermarket stereo system that didn’t detract from the beauty and luxury of it all.
He started the engine, saying a silent prayer and hoping that the owner hadn’t neglected the vehicle or left it low on gas. Neither was true, and the car started up perfectly after a single crank, and he backed it out of the driveway.
“Seems wrong for us to steal his car, too,” Gareth said.
“Not wrong. Perfect,” she said.
He drove it around the fountain, getting a feel for it, then headed down toward the dirt road. The engine purred nicely, and he couldn’t wait to get it out on a flat, open road. The Chrysler had a head start, but the Russo’s V12 engine would make quick work of the race. The problem was he wasn’t planning on following Roderick. He was planning on going somewhere else: wherever Latia told him.
“Why is this ‘perfect,’ Latia? I’d love to get some answers.”
“You do not know Likur Holdings, do you?”
He shook his head.
“That is why I stood up, why you saw me. I did not recognize you. I think there was no way for you to know what is happening.”
“Thank you,” he said. “An astute judgement. But you wanted me to see you? Why?”
“I knew you were trying to block me, to prevent me from killing Likur. So I wanted you to see me. I wanted to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“What is happening.”
“Well, you’ve got a captive audience, Latia, and a solid drive in front of us, to — where?”
“We are going to Moscow.”
He opened his mouth to agree, then closed it. “We — we are?”
She nodded.
“That’s… how long of a drive?”
She grinned at him. A slow, painful faint wisp of a smile, but a grin nonetheless. “It is many hour. Over one-hundred.”
His eyes flew open. “You — you’ve got to be kidding me. I’m not driving for —”
“We are not driving. Flying.”
“Your helicopter?”
“Too far. Plane. We go to Vladivostok airport. Take plane. You must purchase ticket.”
“Oh, right. Sure, just purchase a ticket. To Moscow.” He turned his head and saw her staring once again out the window to her right. Not smiling anymore. “Sounds good.”
This is still going to be a long trip.
29
THE TRIP WAS SHORTER THAN he’d imagined. They didn’t talk much during the drive, and both of them fell asleep as soon as they’d boarded the plane and slept nearly the entire trip. All he got out of her before that was that her sister was to meet them in Moscow, the final destination.
The last client.
From there he had no idea. But he couldn’t argue with the sleep, and the food. It had been too long since he’d eaten a decent meal, and the hamburger and fries from the airport restaurant was the perfect antidote to his growing starvation. She’d eaten little, opting instead to nibble on a protein bar she’d snagged from some newsstand and stare out at the planes landing at and taking off from the small airport.
When his boots hit the gangway in Moscow, he felt a shift in Latia’s mood. When before she had been light, even openly nice, the glare returned to her face and her look of angry dread came back.
Whatever this girl’s been through, it ain’t good, he thought. He decided to leave her alone, to just tag along. Let her lead, as long as she’d allow him to follow.
It was a terrible plan, but he had to have something. He’d never been one to back down from a fight, and this was a fight he felt he’d already lost. Might as well see it through to the bitter end. If he was lucky, he might even meet up with Roderick again and tell him a little of what was on his mind.
Using his fists, of course.
Latia rented a car, a small compact similar to the one she’d left at Gaspar’s mansion, and the two of them got in. Latia, this time, drove.
“Will you answer my questions now?” he asked.
She didn’t respond. Not a good start.
“I want to help you, you know.”
She looked at him.
“That’s why I’m still here. And you know you want my help, or you wouldn’t have stood up, back in the forest. Right?”
“Right.”
“Okay, then. So since my last teammate was very stingy with details and information, I think it’s best for us to get to know each other.”
“You do not need to know anything about me. Only the mission.”
“Sorry, tried that method already. At least tell me your last name, Latia.”
“I tell you already. I have no other name. Latia. This is it.”
“Okay, fair enough. I’m Gareth Red, United States Army. Currently off-duty, but I was previously on a well-paying non-government mission to find you.”
“With Roderick Halding.”
He took in this information slowly, deliberately. She’d said the name like a mashup of Rod and Derek, and then the man’s last name. Even he didn’t know the man’s last name.
“Halding?”
“You did not know?”
“Like I said, he wasn’t much for dishing out information.”
“Yes, he is the son of the final client.”
The final client. The last one on their list.
“He’s their son? That’s — that’s why he’s so motivated to finish this. To kill you. Both of you.”
“Right. Yes. He wants to protect his mother. She is Gloria Halding. Owner of Likur Holdings.”
“I see. And can you tell me about Likur Holdings?”
“It is not what it once was. When I was part of its system, my sister and I, it was very bad company. Now, no. Just a empty company, a ‘shell’ as they say.”
“They do say that. What do you mean you and your sister were in its system?”
“We were ‘employee,’ I believe. Worked for Likur Holdings.”
Gareth closed his eyes. “And what were you doing for Likur?”
She sniffed. “It was called a ‘ring.’ You know this term?”
“Like a circle?”
“Yes.”
“A ring… for what?”
“For sex.”
Oh, God. He kept his eyes closed. Closed them even tighter. She’s the product of a sex-trafficking ring. A ‘ring.’ Latia and her sister, both sex slaves.
“How long?”
She glanced at him as she drove, carefully and slowly, through the streets.
“How long were you and your sister, uh…” he wasn’t sure how to word the question, so he didn’t. Just simply let it sit there, open and raw, assuming she’d know what he was asking.
“From eight years old to fourteen.”
He sucked in a sharp breath. Felt a wave of fear, of recognition, a recognition of something he couldn’t even recognize. It was familiar. He’d of course never had any interaction or association with such an enterprise, thankfully, though he’d heard of them. But his mind told him otherwise. It told him he knew the feeling. That he understood this young woman in a way that not many people could.
He swallowed. But what the hell do you say to someone like this? What could I say?
“You are good man. I can see that. That is why I show you.”
“Show me what?”
“Myself.”
That’s why I revealed myself to you in the woods. I wanted you to see me.
The familiarity returned, quickly and with a vengeance. See, it was telling him. I told you. You know her. You have been her.
But he hadn’t. Not really, anyway. In no lifetime or bad dream had he been in this poor girl’s shoes, but… and there it was. But…
But what? Why was he having such a hard time dismissing the fact that he knew how Latia felt? Why could he have such a distinct feeling of I’ve been there when he’d never, certainly in life or his own mind, been there.
But.
But he had been there, at least emotionally. He had felt her pain. The tight, wrenched feeling of someone physically pressing in against your heart, forcing it to beat harder and harder and harder until you either woke up or died or just gave in. And he’d given in, losing everything he’d ever wanted and cared for, and it had all left him in a moment.
Just a single, solitary moment. This girl had six years. Six years of similar moments. Her entire life sucked away from her, replaced by pain and fear and suffering and hate.
And she was turning it around the only way she knew how. The only way she could, really. This was her goal, her only desire. To finish it. To end it. To make things right.
He knew it wouldn’t change a damn thing, not for her, not for the people who were ‘already dead.’ It would change nothing, but it was the thing she could see. The only thing she could see, and the only thing she could now care about.
Latia, the girl who had been forced to grow up too fast, to take her life into her own hands, had done just that. Her sister was the pilot, the transportation. Latia was the orchestrator. The avenger.
“You learned to shoot,” he said, finally.
“Yes,” she nodded. “We both did.”
“How?”
“Private instruction.”
He nodded. “What about your sister? How did she learn to fly? Private instruction?”
“No. Military.”
“Really? Russian?”
“No. Chinese.”
He frowned, not understanding.
“We live in China as children. After we escape Likur. A family take us in, teach us. Chinese military was looking for young girls to train. Special
program. They think we are easier to teach, and younger are better.”
Gareth nodded. Makes sense, I guess. “So you learned to shoot straight and fly helicopters in the People’s Liberation Army Air Force.”
“Basically, yes. Then we run away from home, back to Russia, and live together in Moscow.”
“What did you do for work?”
“Prostitute.”
“I see.”
“We planned. We waited. All of it, made it all happen.”
“Well, it’s been effective so far,” he said. “You’ve got one more client. One more kill.”
“Yes,” she nodded. “One more and it is over.”
He knew it was a lie, and he thought she could tell it was a lie, too. He’d been there, felt that pain of knowing the solution to your problem couldn’t be found in this world. It didn’t exist on this world, so you did whatever you could to fix it. Bandage it up, learn to ignore it, take it out on someone else, but you dealt with it.
Latia’s coping mechanism was elaborate, and intense, but it was effective. It worked, helping her get from one thing to another — from one item on the checklist to the next — day after day.
Except that the list eventually ran out of tasks. It stopped. It ended. There was no way around it, and Gareth knew that personally. He’d learned it the hard way, just as Latia was about to learn it. Her list would expire, her tasks would be complete, and she would be… the same.
Or different, but not in a way that mattered. Not enough. Different a bit, possibly satisfied, but not changed in a way that could really change her. She would still be the broken little girl who had been stolen and trapped and abused and ignored and discarded, and this little spree would not erase that. It couldn’t, and it wouldn’t.
He knew it, but he couldn’t tell her that.
There was nothing to tell someone like that.
30
THEIR DESTINATION WAS, IN SOME ways, the same house, the same fountain, the same woods, that they’d been to before. Outside of Moscow this time, an entire continent away, and the house was different, but everything was the same. The fountain was a different color and shape but it stood over a circular driveway. Different gravel, but the same purpose. The mansion was smaller, too, a completely different style of architecture, with different paint and windows.
