Hit List

by Jack McSporran

  But that would be a lie.

  Things were far from okay, and the time for grieving and blaming himself could wait. Right now, they had a job to do, and the sooner they completed their task, the sooner the needless violence and deaths would stop.

  They’d parked on the street when Helmsley rang with the news, already on their way to the address Samuel Thomas had given under duress. Though just over three miles from Bucharest’s city center, Ferentari appeared like another world.

  The scenes from outside switched from a well-kept and busy metropolis to a run-down ghetto not even low-end supermarket chains dared to set up shop in. The stunning architecture of the Romanian Athenaeum and the colossal parliament buildings, the quaint little cafés under the yellow glass of the Macca-Villacrosse Passage, and high street stores in the Old Center were replaced with the telltale signs of poverty, from discarded piles of garbage littered through the streets to the scattered high-rise apartment buildings marred with age and neglect.

  “This place gives me post-apocalyptic vibes,” Ashton commented, rolling up his window from the driver’s seat once they got back into the car.

  Maggie sat in the back with Leon and placed her hand over his. Hers appeared so small against his strong and capable fist. She longed for those hands. For his touch. Yet she refrained from inching closer to him and tried to focus on their reasons for being in the slums. Their relationship and her worries for Leon’s mental well-being had to wait. Especially when all of their lives were in imminent danger.

  Maggie ran her fingers over her gun as they drew closer to their destination. She hadn’t had the pleasure of visiting Ferentari before, but it was a familiar sight. There were places like this everywhere in the world, outer city areas where money, opportunity, and education levels were low, and the drug use and violence that came with it were at an all-time high.

  Though most of the wealthy and more fortunate residents of Bucharest would like to forget that Ferentari existed, covering it up like an unsightly blemish on an overall beautiful city, it was a vital and necessary part of the city’s makeup. Without the poor, there could be no rich. Without people to exploit for cheap labor and to sell things to, the wealthy couldn’t live their lavish lifestyles, so they merely pretended ghettos like Ferentari didn’t exist, in the same way they walked past the homeless outside their favorite restaurants and designer stores. They were invisible to people who didn’t have to worry about where their next meal was coming from. Out of sight, out of mind, tucked far enough away from their daily metropolitan lives so as not to be a problem.

  Ashton stopped the car a few streets away and made sure to park behind a row of garages. The rental was a basic Volvo, old and unassuming to match the rest of the cars there. The paintwork wasn’t chipped or rusting, but Maggie kicked in a few dents soon after they left the lot. If they required a quick exit, the last thing they needed was to run to their getaway car only to find someone had stolen it.

  Ashton had tried to pay cash for the car, but Maggie let Leon cover it with his fake Inked International company card. If they were out risking everything for the Unit, the least the government could do was pick up the bill for any damages sustained to the vehicle. Ashton ran the keys across the doors when Maggie pointed this out, his little act of rebellion reminding them that while he may be helping by working with the Unit, there was still no love lost between him and his former employer.

  And so, the waiting started. Four hours of it to be exact.

  Maggie fidgeted in her seat, repositioning herself as she leaned forward to get a better look at the top floors of the building through a set of binoculars. None of the lights were on in any of the apartments, but it didn’t mean no one was there. Still, it gave Maggie pause.

  No one came in or out in the time they kept surveillance. Ideally, they would spend a few days keeping watch and recording any movements. Looking for patterns and discussing the best approach to get inside and what to do once they breached the entrance. Time wasn’t a luxury they had at their disposal, however, and four hours already felt like four days, the ticking clock in Maggie’s head counting down the minutes until another name was exposed.

  “We can’t wait any longer,” she said eventually, and got out the car. Wind whipped through the street and collected garbage along the way, crushed cans and old plastic bottles rattling across the broken tarmac of road like a sorrowful marching band. Mothers yelled from apartment windows of neighboring blocks to herd in the kids as night began to fall.

  Maggie zipped up her leather jacket and hugged herself from the chill, feeling the change in temperature even more due to their recent stops in Mogadishu and Amsterdam. Taking in her surroundings, she could see why Ivan Dalca would use this part of the city as his base. Ghettos were the ideal location to hide in plain sight. The general public from the city center and other nice surrounding areas ignored it, not to mention the government. The police would avoid venturing into it if they could help it, especially at night.

  As for the residents, they’d have learned to keep their heads down and their mouths shut concerning anything about Dalca’s operation. Making examples of a few people early on in their setup would have put a stop to any interference from the locals, and many of them would be on the payroll. If Ivan were bringing money into Ferentari, families wouldn’t be quick to offer him up to the police. To some around here, Ivan would be crowned a hero.

  Leon opened the trunk and began dishing out the contents. Maggie accepted the sawed-off shotgun from him and pocketed extra ammunition. While she preferred the Glock at her waist, the Remington gave a far more dramatic visual for anyone at the unfortunate end of the barrel. Plus, it fit with their cover. The plane ride had allowed them ample time to come up with a plan of attack.

  “Nope.” Maggie snatched the grenade Ashton tried to slip into his jacket pocket and returned it to the trunk.

  Ashton huffed and opted for a pistol and nasty-looking blade instead. “You never let me have any fun.”

  Maggie ignored him and focused on Leon. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” The apprehension of Samuel Thomas had taken a lot out of him, no matter how much he denied it. Even with the questionable pain pills Ashton was giving him, he still walked with a limp from the gash to his thigh. “You can stay in the car and be our lookout.”

  Leon groaned in frustration and slammed the trunk closed. “Don’t patronize me, Maggie. I’m injured, not incompetent.” He walked ahead of them as they rounded the garages and headed toward one of the tower blocks across the way.

  Ashton arched an eyebrow at Maggie, but she didn’t bite back at Leon. He was a grown man, and if he said he was good to go, then she wasn’t about to question him again over it.

  Their presence hadn’t gone unnoticed. Heads popped out from behind lace curtains only to quickly close again once Maggie noticed and craned her neck. Community was all places like Ferentari had, and unfamiliar faces weren’t a welcome sight. Maggie could only hope their presence would remain unreported until they could do what they came to do and make a swift exit.

  Their footsteps were light, the street deserted now that the sun had given way to a dark moon. The lamps around the undeveloped fields surrounding the apartment buildings and the streetlights blinked and buzzed pitifully, most of their neighbors having blown or died out long since.

  Taking advantage of the darkness, the trio made good pace and reached the tower block farthest away from the others, its back facing a field of wasteland covered in weeds and tufts of dying grass, the soil beneath barren. It made sound strategy to haul up there. The tower’s distance from the others, as well as its high vantage point, allowed the syndicate the isolation needed to carry out business while simultaneously providing the perfect watchpoint for any unwanted arrivals.

  Well, most unwanted arrivals. Maggie may have given up her official title as agent, but she might as well have chosen a career as a party clown if she wasn’t able to approach undetected.

  Cloaked in shadow,
they pressed against the once-white walls of the building and rounded to the back entrance. If Dalca’s team were on the watch, the back would be less guarded than the front, especially given the ruined terrain behind them. Any assault would most likely come from the front, and anyone enterprising enough to approach from behind would be spotted long before they made it to the foot of the building, easily picked off by a sniper from one of the upper levels.

  “Ready?” Maggie asked.

  Both men nodded, and Maggie pulled the balaclava over her head.

  Dalca’s goons would recognize their faces from the stolen files, and if things went south, they didn’t want their mug shots to be the next ones to leak in retaliation. Better to have Dalca’s crew think they were robbers trying to steal either the girls or the money than reveal themselves. Enough agents had been exposed already.

  Maggie raised her fingers and counted them down from three. The familiar gesture brought her mind to another time in another place five years before. A mission with three of her colleagues, Leon included. Brazil in the middle of the summer. Sweat beaded across her forehead and dripped down her back as she kicked the door of the bank and barged inside, locking it behind her so no one could get in or out.

  Their target had an appointment with his bank manager that day. A corrupt politician who accepted handouts whenever and wherever they came. After many compromising situations arose that had resulted in a few dead bodies, the Brit made a swift exit to South America. He’d managed to evade the government’s attempts to capture him. Until the Unit stepped in.

  Collateral damage. That’s what people were to think. An unfortunate soul caught in the crossfire of a robbery. A tragic case of the wrong place at the wrong time.

  The niggling itch of that day scratched in Maggie’s mind. Bishop had given the orders to take him out. Maggie had been the one to pull the trigger. Bishop’s favorite, as the other agents liked to tease. Had the politician really been corrupt? Or was he one of the many people Bishop had his agents eliminate to line his own pockets? Had Maggie killed an innocent man?

  Another innocent man?

  “Mags?” Ashton asked, Maggie’s fingers stuck on three.

  She blinked away her thoughts and focused on the here and now, shoving her past deeds to the recesses of her mind where they belonged. Locked away where they couldn’t come back to plague her mind with every mission she carried out. Since learning of Bishop’s betrayal and her role in his side operation, Maggie had lain awake at night trying to decipher which of her missions were legitimate and which weren’t. Trying to tally how many innocent people she’d killed. Trying not to think of the countless lives ruined as a result of her actions.

  Confident the building wasn’t tricked out with the latest high-tech security system—if the building had smoke detectors, Maggie would be shocked—she approached the back door and turned the handle.

  “Locked,” she whispered.

  “I bet you wish I’d brought that grenade now, don’t you?”

  Maggie fished out the pins inside her jacket and got to work on the lock. In less than a minute, and with significantly less noise than a grenade, the lock clicked open, and they were in.

  The ominous darkness beyond lingered like thick smoke, Maggie’s eyes taking time to adjust. Leon switched on a flashlight from behind her and raised it over his head to illuminate their path, checking vital entry points and doorways before they ventured farther in.

  Stone walls and flooring made their careful footsteps echo like a giant’s thundering stomps, her very breathing feeling far too loud against the eerie silence that engulfed them.

  Maggie tightened her grip on her shotgun. One blast would be enough to announce their presence to the entire building, but she’d fire if she had to. Together, they reached the foot of a staircase leading up to the second floor. It also continued below to a basement level with a steel door at the bottom.

  Leon aimed the flashlight up the flight of stairs to find them empty. No noise came from above. No shouting or music. No footsteps or closing doors. Nothing.

  “I don’t think anyone’s home,” he whispered.

  Maggie had to agree. It wasn’t late enough for the building to be so quiet or encased in darkness. The air wasn’t stale, and there were no layers of dust coating surfaces, but the place had an empty feel to it. “If Samuel Thomas has lied to us, I am going to strangle him. Slowly.”

  “He might like that,” said Ashton, with a playful elbow.

  Was this some wild-goose chase? Had Samuel tricked them? Hell, were Dalca’s people even in the country, never mind Ferentari? The sleazy pimp had more balls than she thought if he had fooled them. Not that he’d have them for much longer once Maggie returned to pay him a visit.

  Leon moved his focus downstairs. “It’s worth a look.”

  Taking the lead, Maggie descended and was yet again met with a locked door.

  Ashton tapped the metal door with the toe of his boot. “Your little knitting needles aren’t going to get through this bad boy.”

  “You’re not going back for that grenade. Stand back,” she warned.

  “Spoilsport,” Ashton whined, but he moved back up the stairs to stand with Leon who kept an eye out for any signs they weren’t alone.

  Maggie aimed her shotgun at the lock and let loose. The air exploded as a great boom ricocheted off the walls and reverberated through the building like the enraged cries of an unforgiving beast. It did the trick, though, as the bullet blasted off most of the lock, allowing Maggie to smack the rest of it clean off with the butt of her gun.

  It was even darker within, the basement free from any natural light coming in through windows or glass doors. The indicators of life emanated through the room. The smell of bodies. The remnants of food beginning to rot.

  People had spent a lot of time down here, and recently too.

  Leon arrived and brought his light with him to reveal rows of bunk beds, lined up as close to each other as they could and filling the room like an overcrowded army barracks, only much messier. They’d left in a rush and from the discarded clothes across the floor and some personal items on dressers, they hadn’t taken much with them.

  “They kept the girls down here,” Maggie said, running her hand along the thin fabric of the unmade beds.

  Ashton called over from deeper inside, using the light on his cell to guide him. “And filmed the videos over there.”

  Maggie and Leon followed his voice into a new room, smaller than the living quarters of the low-ceilinged basement, if you could call it that, and entered what appeared to be their tech room. A camera setup lay in one corner, the scene familiar from the videos featuring Tamira and the syndicate’s demands.

  Computers, still wired up and with screen savers on glowed in the darkness, coating all of their faces with a haunting blue glow. While the living quarters held only the bare minimum to sustain life, the syndicate had spared no expense on the makeshift control room equipment. Maggie wasn’t a whiz like the techs and analysts back at Unit HQ, but she knew enough about computers to know Dalca’s crew were working with some serious hardware.

  Ashton shook his head in disbelief. “They hacked the Unit mainframe from this shithole.”

  Maggie wasn’t so sure. Yes, they had some high-tech stuff to play with, but the Unit’s firewalls were some of the toughest in the world to get through. Something wasn’t right about it all.

  “Looks like Tamira left something,” Leon said, camera in hand. A sticky note was stuck onto it with Tamira’s name written in clear haste.

  Maggie switched the camera on to search through the recordings saved to the memory. “Another message?”

  “Could be,” said Leon over her shoulder.

  Maggie leaned into him without realizing it, the gesture so natural for them, their intangible and inevitable pull as strong as ever.

  “Wait, do you hear that?” Ashton asked, looking up from a computer he was trying to hack into.

  Maggie reached for her
gun. “What?”

  Ashton frowned and got up from the desk. He walked back through to the bunks with Maggie and Leon close behind him. “I thought I heard—”

  Right then, the basement door crashed open and in poured a gang of who Maggie assumed were part of Dalca’s syndicate. She swore and cursed Samuel Thomas.

  They’d been ambushed.

  Chapter 20

  Maggie lost count of the number of footsteps, each new arrival too entrenched in the surrounding darkness to tally in her head.

  “Next time, I’m bringing that grenade,” Ashton vowed somewhere to her left.

  “Turn your light off,” Maggie warned Leon.

  “We won’t see them.” Leon shifted on his feet, his flashlight catching glimpses of men spilling in from the entrance and coming toward them.

  “If you keep it on, they’ll know where to fire.” Maggie gripped her shotgun in one hand and tensed her muscles, ready for the inevitable showdown.

  Leon placed the flashlight onto the nearest bed and positioned it toward the door, giving them a line of vision to see those who came out as well as their only exit to escape. As one, all three of them moved back from the light and into the shadows.

  Such close quarters didn’t offer much room.

  Maggie reached out and shoved Leon behind her, then Ashton. Without a word, she aimed her shotgun in front of her, making the most of the confined space, and fired.

  The sawed-off barrel made the gun less precise, but it also meant the range was wider. From the resulting yells and cries that came after the ear-ringing shot, Maggie managed to hit more than a few of their enemies.

  The sounds of pain from the syndicate acted like a war call for the three trained assassins, and they darted toward their victims like sharks smelling blood in the water.

  Shotgun out of ammo, and with no time to stop and reload, Maggie launched the gun into the fray of opponents and switched to a pair of knives, yanking them out from the holster at her thigh. Her Glock was a last resort, gunfire far too risky amid the darkness when she couldn’t be sure where her friends were situated.