Where Death Meets the Devil

by L. J. Hayward

  Disconcerted by the expression of humanity and his own wish to see more of it, Jack agreed. “Yeah.”

  What followed was a half-hearted attempt at making a plan to steal the buggy. They both knew it was hopeless, but it took them past the moment.

  They fell silent. Somewhere on the flats a dingo howled. It was answered by the undulating chorus of its pack. They called back and forth for the better part of half an hour and eventually faded into the distance. Jack shivered, relieved. He didn’t want to have to face a pack of hungry, wild dogs.

  Blade went to check the camp again, and Jack considered the dark form disappearing into the shadows. He went over the conversation as he sat alone, looking for any hint it had been something other than two men talking shit. Not that he could see, or didn’t want to see, perhaps. It wasn’t that he hadn’t expected Blade to be smart or have a sense of humour of some sort. It was that he’d never thought the man would be likable.

  Crack!

  Jack jerked to his feet, drawing the Desert Eagle.

  Two more shots came in quick succession, followed by a frantic yell and then more shouts. Blade had been discovered. Even as he raced towards the camp, Jack had to wonder. Blade hadn’t made one misstep so far. It seemed unlikely he would do so simply scouting.

  Jack sidled around a large boulder and ducked into the cover of a smaller rock. Cautiously, he peered out. Three men crouched in the cover of the buggy, another lying under it, probably wounded, if not dead. Two bodies were sprawled at the sentry line. From his higher advantage, Jack saw no sign of Blade.

  Damn it. Had Blade really bungled it? Or had this been his intention from the start? Six men, nothing for him to deal with. But they’d agreed to wait and see what the search party did.

  And there was his problem. Trusting Blade.

  No matter how open Blade seemed with his objectives, Jack couldn’t know how much of it—if any—was true. Believing anything he said was a trap Jack couldn’t fall into. Which made him question everything the man had said from that first word in the torture shack to right this moment, up to and including his prattle about the cars. Screw it. If Jack was that easy to fool, maybe he shouldn’t be made a field leader when he got home. Probably shouldn’t even have a job with an intelligence agency in the first place.

  God. When had he become so stupid?

  “Jack.”

  Twisting, Jack brought the Eagle up. Blade was pressed flat against a boulder just behind his position. He handed Jack the Assassin X and took off his overcoat.

  “I need you to cover the camp,” Blade whispered.

  “We agreed to wait till morning.” Jack couldn’t keep the anger from his tone.

  Blade stalled half in, half out of his coat. “They saw me. I had to act.”

  “Really? They saw you?”

  “They fired first.”

  “Of that I have no doubt. You let them see you. You wanted to take them out right at the start.”

  “Yes, I did. We’re on something of a tight schedule. A night’s delay wasn’t in our best interest.”

  Blade’s calm words worked on Jack’s doubts like the teeth of a saw grating over concrete.

  “Neither is getting killed in some foolish fight that could have been avoided,” Jack hissed. “Nor is alerting Valadian to our movements by leaving dead bodies behind. Isn’t that why you didn’t kill the search team yesterday? Or was that a lie? Did you kill them?”

  Blade went still. Didn’t blink, didn’t twitch, possibly didn’t even breathe. Those eerie white eyes pinned Jack to the spot and seemed to see right through him all at once.

  Oh, God. This was it. He’d pushed too far, too hard. Jack just hoped that when they found his body, the implant was still intact.

  Then Blade looked away and pulled in a deep breath. “I didn’t kill the other team.”

  With absolutely no reason to, Jack found he wanted to believe him. He pushed that impulse down and, caution be damned, ground out, “Then why kill these men?”

  It was a tense ten seconds before Blade managed, “The buggy—”

  “Fuck the buggy. We agreed to wait.”

  “No.” Finally, there was heat in Blade’s voice, as if at long last he was actually expressing something real. “You wanted to wait. I allowed it because I thought it would make you happy.” He snapped his arms free of his coat and balled it up. “And that was a mistake. As was being seen by the men down there.”

  “A mistake?”

  “Yes, a mistake. I do make them, Jack.” Blade’s tone was both patronising and reproachful, as if he were angry with Jack and himself.

  It had taken a while, and some heated provocation from Jack, but it was the recrimination he’d been expecting back at the torture shack. The “you screwed up by not blowing the chopper when I asked” in not so many words. And perhaps an admission Blade had revealed too much about himself to a potential target?

  Blade checked on the camp. “Now they’re getting in the buggy. If they get away and tell Valadian where we are, then this will all have been for nothing. I need that buggy.”

  I. Not We. An unconscious adjustment of his already perfectly settled webbing. A nervous tick, or something more? The implacable determination in his words implied a need beyond fast transport. Blade had fixated on getting the buggy, and anything in his path, Jack included, wasn’t going to survive.

  The deep chill of the night rushed into Jack’s bones, banishing the warmth of his anger.

  “Fine,” Jack whispered. “I’ll cover you, but that’s it.”

  Blade barely acknowledged him with a terse nod before he faded back into the darker shadows, sublimating into the night.

  Jack eased up to a rocky perch on top of a boulder. He didn’t want to kill these men. Five minutes ago, he hadn’t had to and he’d been good with that. If it had been a mistake Blade was seen, fair enough. If he’d revealed himself on purpose . . .

  Jack wriggled into position, putting the rifle to his left shoulder. The circle of green-highlighted world came into focus as he breathed out slowly. One man was in the buggy already, one was dismantling their shelter, and the last one was scanning the space around them, looking for their enemy.

  He could take them now. Three in close proximity, better odds than last night. His finger moved over the trigger. His doubts about just why this was happening stopped him, however. Blade had made the mess; he could get them out of it.

  In the scope, the man finished pulling the canvas free of the buggy. He left it on the ground and jumped onto the running board of the vehicle.

  “Come on,” he yelled, waving to the sentry.

  The sentry turned to look at him. A dark shape reared up from a patch of spinifex. A swift jerk of his arm and Blade slit the sentry’s throat. To the sounds of stunned shouts, the assassin flipped the knife and tossed it. The blade sank to the handle in the driver’s side. He grunted and slumped over, still moving, struggling to haul himself out of the far side of the buggy.

  The last man shouted and opened fire on the assassin. Blade dove to the ground and rolled under the barrage. He came up in a fluid move, leaping and spinning, and kicked the gun from the man’s hands.

  Valadian’s man had some training in hand to hand, but not enough. Not one of his punches landed on Blade, his kicks swinging through empty air as Blade danced around him. It felt like the fight went on forever, but it was over quickly. Blade’s hand darted through a gap in the man’s defences, and he jammed his stiff fingers into the man’s throat.

  Jack watched through the scope as the man crumpled to his knees, neck convulsing around his crushed windpipe, mouth working silently as he struggled for air. Sick, Jack aimed and was about to fire when Blade broke his neck.

  Blade walked away from him. It took all of Jack’s control to take his finger off the trigger as he followed the assassin with the scope.

  The driver hadn’t made it far. He was already dead, so Blade pulled his knife free, wiped it off on the body’s clothes, and tuc
ked it into an ankle sheath. Leaving the dead man with as little regard as he had the other, Blade returned to the buggy and dragged an appreciative hand across the roll bars. Turning towards Jack, he smiled, content now he had what he wanted.

  “I don’t need the armour, ma’am.” Jack nodded to the thin body armour he’d worn the day before.

  “You just spent the morning telling me how proficient a killer this man is,” McIntosh reminded him.

  “And nothing short of not going in that room with him will keep me safe. Armour or not, if he wants to kill me, he will.”

  His director pursed her lips. “Do you think he wants to kill you?”

  There had certainly been times Jack had thought Ethan would kill him: in the torture shack; after the incident with the search party; in the cave; at the compound. Then there was the very real possibility someone had put a ticket on Jack, and Ethan was here to make a profit. Maybe he’d name whatever fancy car he bought with the money after Jack. No. Jack was flattering himself. He’d be worth a hot tub, maybe a pool at most.

  Supressing a snicker, he shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not enough return on it. Besides, he could have done me in the foyer and had an easier escape of it.”

  “I suppose. In case you were wondering, latest intel shows no tickets on you, Jack.”

  A little of the tension eased in his shoulders. “It is good to know.” Picking up a small paper-wrapped log and putting it in his pocket, Jack smiled at McIntosh. It felt hollow and fake. Mostly because it was. “This is it.”

  “Good luck, Jack.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.”

  The walk to the cell was a short one, and Jack hadn’t managed to get any thoughts straight by the time the guards came into view. They patted him down as thoroughly as he’d patted Ethan down, one of them discovering the small package. The guard unwrapped it and cocked an eyebrow at Jack.

  “It’s a bribe,” Jack said flatly. “It’s already been approved by the HoS. Check with him if you want.”

  Maxwell had been given a break from shadowing Jack while he was in the bowels of the building. Security down here was nearly impossible to bypass without lots of explosives.

  The guard did check and when the all-clear came back, the log was returned.

  The other guard turned to the cell door. Beside it was a small screen displaying the room beyond. Ethan sat on the bed, legs crossed, eyes closed, statue-still.

  Depressing a button, the guard spoke into a com. “Please go to the wall opposite the door. Spread your legs and put your hands on the wall.”

  For a moment, Ethan didn’t respond. Then, just as the guard was about to repeat the instructions, he moved. Deliberately slow, the assassin did as told. They waited a full minute, and then the guard punched in the code to open the door.

  It retracted with a quiet whoosh, and Jack stepped through before he could think twice. It closed before he could rethink his policy on not thinking twice, locking him in the room with Ethan Blade. He didn’t move from the door, waiting to see what Ethan would do.

  The assassin remained in his position against the wall. Jack considered seeing how long it took to get a reaction, then decided against it. Ethan could out-patience a saint.

  “You can move, Blade.”

  “Thank you, Jack.” He turned, an amused smile on his lips, eyes half lidded against the glow of the lights. “I’m glad they finally agreed to let you talk to me. I have—”

  “Uh-uh.” Jack had to get control of the situation before Ethan even had a chance of compromising them. “First, let’s make things formal.” He nodded to the table and chairs.

  “Oh, of course. It would be a shame to upset the legal department.”

  They sat and Jack realised this was the only time they’d sat at the same table, like any other acquaintances. Like friends? Of that he wasn’t sure. Wasn’t sure he ever wanted to be sure. How many times had he come close to thinking he could like this man, then had that feeling ripped apart in some gruesome manner? Yet, every time it’d happened, he’d fallen right back into the same trap. Wasn’t that the definition of madness? Doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.

  He took a deep breath and began. “This and any subsequent interviews will be recorded—video, audio, and bio-data. Everything you say and do will be on permanent record with the National Archive and will be withheld from any statute of limitations regarding any information you may pass on, as well as the mandated release of private government records. Please state for the record you understand what that means.”

  Without hesitation, Ethan said, “I do.”

  “Also, anything and everything you say and do will be admissible in any court in Australia. Do you understand what that means?”

  “Yes.”

  “Please state your name, age, and occupation.”

  “Ethan Blade. Thirty-two. Assassin.”

  “Please define ‘assassin’ in your own words, for clarification purposes.”

  Ethan smiled, tolerant and amused. “People pay me to kill other people.”

  “Mr. Blade, could you please state how you came to be a guest of the International Security Office.” Since the Office didn’t officially exist in public records and the Meta-State it operated under was an invisible entity, they used ISO as a cover for most of their intelligence-gathering actions.

  Thankfully not bothering to tease Jack about all the secrets, Ethan looked around the cell pointedly. “Guest?”

  Jack pressed his lips together. “Just tell us how you got here.”

  “Taxi. I was going to walk, but it was too warm out.”

  Jack raised an askance brow.

  “I detest public transport for obvious reasons, and I was hardly going to bring my own car. I had no idea how long I might be detained and didn’t want an exorbitant parking fine when I was finally released. Besides, my local car is an Aston Martin. As if I’d leave her on the side of the road.” He shuddered delicately. “What if they towed her?”

  “Blade.” A hint of impatience leaked out in Jack’s tone.

  “You never did appreciate my love of cars, Jack.” Ethan heaved a long sigh. “I voluntarily surrendered myself into the custody of Jack Reardon of the International Security Office. It was entirely my choice. No one coerced or forced me. I am here willingly, to impart information I feel might be helpful to the security of Australia. Contrary to popular belief, I am not a heartless monster.”

  Jack gave him a cautioning look. “We’re not interested in popular opinion, Mr. Blade. Just the facts.”

  “Aren’t we all, Mr. Reardon.”

  Before things could get any more tense, Jack reached for his pocket. “I have a gift for you,” he said, both as a warning and an announcement.

  Ethan smiled. “I didn’t get you anything.”

  “I know.” Jack took the wrapped log from his pocket and set it on the table.

  Eyeing it carefully, Ethan held back. “Is it . . .?”

  Jack nodded.

  His face lit up with a delighted grin. “Jack, thank you.” Slowly and reverently, Ethan peeled back the waxed paper and revealed a short log of creamy brown fudge. Its top was covered with scattered flakes of salt. He licked his lips, fingers hovering over the confectionary as if scared it might disappear if he touched it.

  “Go on,” Jack murmured. “I didn’t get it for you to drool over. Try it.”

  “Hmm. No knife to cut it.”

  “Jesus. Just take a bloody bite.”

  Ethan frowned. “Wouldn’t you like to share it?”

  Did he wonder if it might be dosed? Should Jack take him up on his offer and prove otherwise? Or should he simply put his cards on the table?

  “It’s not drugged, Blade.”

  Eyes widening, Ethan gaped at him. “I didn’t think it would be. Taint something you love when gas or drugged water would do the job so much better? Have some faith in my reasoning capacity, please.”

  “You’re right. Sorry. In that case,
thank you but no. I already had a log to myself.”

  Ethan considered him narrowly for a moment, then relaxed. “Of course you did. I should have known you wouldn’t share, Jack. In that case.” He picked up the fudge and licked all along it, before taking a small bite from one end.

  Jack kept his amusement off his face, watching as Ethan tasted the fudge.

  The assassin sat for a moment, and then his eyes dropped closed and he slumped back in his chair. He didn’t chew, just let the smooth substance melt in his mouth, no doubt spilling sweet and salty in perfect measure across his tongue.

  “Well?” Jack couldn’t help himself. He had to know.

  Ethan swallowed, licked his lips, and finally opened his eyes. “You were right.”

  “Say it.”

  Clearly trying to hold back a smile, Ethan conceded. “It is the best fudge I’ve ever had.”

  “Now that you’ve admitted that, let’s get to business. Why did your surrender yourself?”

  Ethan carefully rewrapped the fudge and put it aside, but kept one hand close to it, as if in case Jack meant to take it away. “As I said before, I have information I think you might find useful. I am aware of your policy of trading pardons for information.”

  As expected. “You are aware the ISO is only able to address criminal actions taken within the borders of Australia? Any illegal acts performed outside of our jurisdiction are not submissible.”

  “Naturally. I may consider applying for political asylum. It depends on how the negotiations go.”

  Was that it? He was only here to share information? Jack couldn’t bring himself to believe that. If he had another reason for showing up here, Jack was sure Ethan would find a way to tell him. Hopefully.

  Resigned to playing the game, Jack said, “All right. Before any negotiations can begin, my superiors need something to prove you’re on the up and up. Can you give us something relatively easily checked that might be of interest to us?”

  Ethan sat back, head tilted towards the ceiling, eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Hmm. I do have something regarding Deputy Secretary Garrett of the Office of Transport Security.”